We are at an unnamed mezcal distillery high in the mountains of Oaxaca, Mexico. The tiny distillery consists of a dirt yard, the pit, and a shed that contains an old copper still, a holding tank brimming with fermenting agave fiber, and an immense stone wheel. Beyond the enclosure, fields of spiky agave, or maguey, stretch up into the forested slopes.

This yard is one of hundreds of mom-and-pop distilleries that dot the mountains south of Oaxaca City. A far cry from the modern autoclaves of the big tequila distilleries, these operations work with fire, dirt, stone, and the age-old art of fermentation. You want artisanal booze? Try something burro-powered. Yes, the stone wheel that crushes the maguey fiber is actually pulled by a burro.

Making Mezcal (the traditional way)

Here’s the process: Men and women harvest agave from the surrounding fields and mountains. Jimadores (professional agave harvesters) cut off the spiky leaves and bury the agave hearts, or piñas, in a giant roasting pit. After roasting for about a week, the smoking agave hearts are removed from the pit and ground to fiber. Next the palanquero (distiller) settles the fiber in vats, where it will ferment for a week or two. At the end of the fermentation period, the viscous liquid is ready for distilling in a copper or clay still. Mezcal is typically distilled twice.

Tequila and Mezcal: What’s the Difference?

Mezcal is a distilled liquor made from the agave plant, a member of the botanical order asparagales, which includes asparagus and narcissus. Historically, mezcal was a blanket term for any type of agave spirits, meaning that tequila is technically a type of mezcal, albeit one made in a specific region (Jalisco and parts of four surrounding states) and from a specific type of agave, agave tequilana.

Today, tequila and mezcal are considered separate designations. Taste-wise, tequila differs from traditional mezcal because tequila distilleries employ industrial processes, replacing pit roasting with modern ovens or autoclaves. Good mezcal is smokier, earthier: these distinct flavors stem from artisanal methods: the smoke of the pit, the use of diverse species of agave (including wild plants) and, sometimes, from the clay of the traditional still. (That said, mezcal doesn’t need to be super smoky in order to be good — some quality mezcals don’t taste particularly smoky.)

Mezcal was once tequila’s wild, unregulated cousin, but these days Mexico has gotten hip to the cultural and economic value of its heritage liquors, and mezcal is now its own denomination, with its own sets of rules, regulations, and certifications. If a bottle is officially designated “mezcal artesanal” and labeled as such, it means that the spirits were made in a specific region by a specific process that may include either pit roasting or the use of masonry ovens.

Varieties of Mezcal

Like tequila, mezcal is sold “fresh” and aged. The current mezcal designations are as follows:

Blanco or Joven — unnaged.

Reposado—rested for a minimum of two months in a wooden container.

Madurado en vidrio — rested in a glass container for a minimum of twelve months. (This has a wonderful mellowing effect.)

Añejo — rested for a minimum of twelve months in a wooden container.

Abocado con — mezcal that directly incorporates additional ingredients for flavor. See fruit, herbs, flowers, honey, vegetables, or insects.

Destilado con — mezcal that’s distilled with additional ingredients, which may range from plums to the famous pechuga, or chicken breast.

Agave must mature for between four and ten years before harvest, which distinguishes agave spirits from all other forms of liquor. More than any other spirit, mezcal is influenced by the plant itself. Thus, mezcal labels often reference the type of maguey used in production. For example, tobala mezcal is made from A. potatorum, a small wild maguey that grows in the extreme highlands. While tobala is sought after, it’s not the holy grail: Tepextate mezcal costs upwards of $200 a bottle because it’s made from a wild agave so rare that a maestro mezcalero might find only five or ten plants in his lifetime.

The politics of mezcal

Mezcal was once the drink of Mexico’s working class, and derided as firewater. These days it’s the hippest thing on the menu from Mexico City to Brooklyn. Unfortunately, the boom in popularity isn’t necessarily helping the rural people who make traditional mezcal.

Many small distilleries don’t have any way to get their product to a bigger market. Big distributors will pay small distilleries a pittance for their quality mezcal, label it, and then sell it for $100 a bottle.

This year, the Mexican government issued a new labeling law: Norma Official Mexicana 177 (NOM 177). Ostensibly mezcal designations allow small producers to differentiate their product from big industrial producers. But the NOM also allows industrial nontraditional producers to label their bottles as mezcal. Mezcal made by old school methods will be labeled “mezcal artesanal” or “mezcal ancestral.” Here’s the breakdown on the new labeling standards:

Mezcal

This broad designation covers “mezcal” produced using the same industrial processes that are used by major tequila manufacturers.

• Agave hearts or juice may be cooked in autoclaves.
• Crushed by basically any method.
• Fermented in wood, concrete, or stainless steel tanks.
• Stainless steel column stills are permitted.

(This doesn’t mean that all mezcals that fall under this label are using totally modern methods. For example, a mezcal may use some traditional methods but fail to meet one requirement for the artesanal label and thus be relegated to the underclass.)

Mezcal Artesanal

• Agave hearts may be roasted in an underground stone oven or above-ground masonry oven.
• Crushed by traditional or industrial methods.
• Fermented in stone, earth, wood, clay, or animal skins. Agave fibers mandatory.
• Distilled with direct fire on a copper alembic or clay pot still. Agave fibers must be included.

Mezcal Ancestral

• Roasted in an underground stone oven.
• Crushed by hand, with a tahona, or with a Chilean or Egyptian mill.
• Fermented in stone, earth, wood, clay, or animal skins. Agave fibers mandatory.
• Distilled by direct fire on a clay pot still. Agave fibers mandatory.

What to drink?

We asked renowned mezcal expert Clayton Szczech of Experience Mezcal to weigh in on a few of our favorite brands. In choosing producers for his tastings, tours, and “mezcal camps,” Szczech considered politics as well as taste. “Right now there’s a real need for people to understand why mezcal costs what it does,” he says. “What I’m trying to do is look at these brands and figure out where more of that money is getting back to the producer.” With that in mind, he came up with four recommendations for delicious mezcal that is produced with respect for the environment and culture of rural Oaxaca.

Tosba

“This is a (rare) producer-owned brand. Mezcalero Edgar González is single-handedly reviving the mezcal tradition in his remote Zapotec village of San Cristobal Lachirioag. He’s produced espadín, tobalá and pechuga from the beginning, and many of his experimental plantings of maguey from other regions are about to mature, and all will be worth seeking out. This is one of the best mescals you will find at such an accessible price point.”

Real Minero

“Real Minero is a family-owned brand of delicious clay-pot distilled mezcal from Santa Catarina Minas. The distillery is run by Graciela Ángeles. She’s a unique combination of traditional (having learned mezcal from her late father) and modern (being a rural sociologist by training) and they maintain one of the most traditional processes of any mezcal you can buy in the US. As demand for wild agave grows, the survival of many species is under threat. Real Minero is doing more than perhaps any other brand to preserve and repopulate over a dozen wild varietals.”

Vago

“I unabashedly recommend this as an awesome artisanal mezcal. Vago was started by Judah Kuper, a gringo surfer who fell in love with and married the daughter of an old-school, traditional mezcalero, Aquilino García, in the remote village of Yegolé. Some Vago expressions are produced by Aquilino, and the even more old-school clay-pot distilled expressions are made in Sola de Vega by “Tío Rey” Rodriguez. Vago’s labels are meticulously detailed, so you always know exactly what you are buying, down to the date it was produced.”

El Jolgorio

“This is a Oaxaca-based brand. They’ve done more than anyone to bring previously unknown magueys to the marketplace. The El Jolgorio line is mostly wild magueys.”

(Still thirsty for more? Consider planning your next trip around mezcal. See Experience Mezcal for details on tours  and camps.)

Looking for a great Cognac for your next event? We have you covered on crafting a tasty Old Fashioned.

The post Mezcal Isn’t Just Cheap Tequila: Here’s What You’re Drinking appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

If you’re looking for action…You’ll want to consider Sayulita or Vallarta.

Twenty years ago, Sayulita was a sleepy little surf town on the jungled coast of Nayarit. Now it’s one of the most popular destinations in the state, but somehow retains a certain “alternative” credibility. If you’re a hipster who likes to party, this is the place for you. Here you will find your vegan burritos, your yoga classes, your beachside dance parties, your beginner surf lessons. Verdict: my personal hell.

Sprawling along Banderas Bay, Puerto Vallarta is divided into two major areas: Nuevo Vallarta, and the two older neighborhoods, downtown and Viejo Vallarta (old town). Nuevo Vallarta is a hell-zone of high-rise hotels, malls, box stores, and horrifying night clubs. There’s probably some cool places, but I wouldn’t know because I avoid Nuevo Vallarta like the plague. In contrast, the older part of town can be charming if you know where to go. From the beach, the cobblestone streets climb up the jungled mountainsides, and tiled roofs peek through the greenery. If you’re on a budget, check out the hotels on the east side of Old Town. You’ll still be within walking distance of the beach and the famous malecon (boardwalk), but you’ll also enjoy the perks of a real Mexican neighborhood: excellent tacos, carts selling fresh orange juice, and interesting little tiendas. I like Viejo Vallarta because it’s relatively small but offers a gamut of activities: from high-end restaurants to street food, from hole-in-the-wall bars to fancy gay clubs. Verdict: Fun if you don’t mind crowds of tourists. Must see: Wander through Cuale River Island, a forested park between Old Town and downtown.

If you’re looking for a mellow vacation…You’re in luck. The Pacific Coast is dotted with low-key beach towns. For a great road trip, start in San Pancho and drive Highway 200 south to Barra de Navidad.

Just north of Sayulita, San Pancho (officially called San Francisco) is still a sleepy little beach town, albeit one with a decent selection of restaurants and a large population of expats. San Pancho has a gorgeous beach, tasty seafood tacos, interesting shops, and a laid-back attitude. The only real flaw is the huge waves. Swimming here is not for the faint of heart. Verdict: Perfect if you’re looking for a low-key vacation and don’t mind big surf and a scary undertow.  Must see: If you like campy hotels, rent the penthouse suite at Villas Paradise, which is replete with 40-foot ceilings, columns shaped like elephant feet, and amazingly bad art.

Located a couple of hours south of Vallarta, Punta Perula is even sleepier than San Pancho. Here you’ll find a giant perfect beach, thatched seafood restaurants, streetside pozole, classic Mexican hotels, and snowbirds in RVs. Verdict: Ideal if you don’t mind rustic hotels and a limited (but good) range of cuisine.

If Punta Perula is too hoppin’, you’ll want to check out Tenacatita, easily one of the best camping beaches in the world (provided you have a high tolerance for mosquitos and roughing it). Located between Punta Perula and Melaque, Tenacatita is a ten-minute drive from the highway. The beach was once a hot spot for locals, Mexican vacationers, and expat campers.  But in 2010, a developer illegally seized the beach,destroyed the small restaurants and hotels, and blocked public access. The local people fought back and succeeded in getting the beach open to the public. But the battle continues. While the land is in dispute, camping is free, but there’s no facilities. Why go to the hassle? Four gorgeous adjacent beaches, a coral reef, and an amazing mangrove swamp. Verdict: for hardcore campers only. (Although the nearby town of Rebalsito has a couple of small hotels.) Must see: Watch the sunset from the roof of an abandoned hotel; take a boat tour of the mangrove swamp (information available at Chito’s Restaurant, 1 km inland); and visit Restaurante La Mosca at the Boca (ask a local for directions).

If you’re mellow but not THAT mellow…Consider Barra de Navidad or La Manzanilla.

Located just south of Tenacatita, La Manzanilla is small but packed with restaurants, bars, vacation rentals, and Canadians. The beach is nice, the region is beautiful, and the town still retains a Mexican charm. Verdict: An ideal choice if you’re traveling with a group that has a range of needs and interests. Lively enough, but still fairly chill. Must see: Walk the boardwalk through the crocodile-infested swamp.

Twenty minutes south of La Manzanilla, the old pirate port of Barra de Navidad is a fun little town with a handful of bars and a laid-back party atmosphere. Verdict: you had me at pirate port.

If you have kids…Perula is perfect because the beach is reasonably safe and the town is not overwhelming. You might also want to consider Melaque/San Patricio, a classic Mexican coastal town that shares a beach with Barra de Navidad. Melaque has tourist amenities, but retains a distinctly Mexican feel. Be sure to eat in the market. Rincon de Guayabitos has a similar vibe but is located farther north, in Nayarit. Verdict: Both towns are crowded but fun and muy Mexicano. And really, what could be better than that?

The post Exploring the Best Beach Towns on Mexico’s Pacific Coast appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

“It’s probably just a flock of wild turkeys, like that time in California,” I said, taking a swig from the bottle of Siete Leguas and handing it to Rich.

We were scrambling down the side of a volcano in the dark because I’d had a romantic notion that it would be fun to watch the sunset from the rim of the Tequila volcano while drinking tequila.

Inland Jalisco is the epicenter of Mexico’s tequila industry. Agave, or maguey, is everywhere—the spiky blue-green plants cover the rolling hillsides and grow around houses. Some farmers even take advantage of extra space and plant right up to the shoulder of the highway. Every town boasts a distillery or two hundred, and the main streets are lined with folksy liquor stores.

We were three days into an open-ended road trip through the region. Our goal was to get off the beaten path, and enjoy  Jalisco’s famous birria, tacos de barbacoa, volcanoes, lakes, and, of course, tequila. Our first stop was Atotonilco el Alto, just east of Guadalajara on Highway 90. The town was  devoid of tourists and beautiful in a distinctly Mexican way, the market pungent and bustling, the plaza hemmed by colonial buildings painted in saturated colors: sky blue, lime green, burnt orange, violent purple. More beautiful yet was the sight of the giant signs heralding the home of one of my favorite tequilas: the estimable Siete Leguas. I felt like Charlie on his way to the chocolate factory.

Siete Leguas headquarters is not a distillery, but contains a liquor store that reminded me of the duty-free shop at the airport. The woman behind the counter was impeccably made up and seemed confused by our request for a distillery tour. We’d stupidly neglected to make an appointment.

“The tour started at 11,” she said in Spanish. “It’s already over. Just one today.”

My heart sank. We’d driven 3,000 miles to get here, and Siete Leguas had been one of my major goals for our trip to Mexico. We had to be in Guadalajara that evening for a baseball game (Charros de Jalisco v Tomateros de Culiacán), so this had been our only chance to tour the distillery. We were forlornly standing  in the shiny gift shop when an elegant older woman breezed in. She wore her black hair long and loose, and a slouchy black-and-white scarf accented her silk blouse and black capris.

“You’re here for a tour?” she asked, in very good English. I suddenly realized how scruffy we looked, but she gazed upon us with absolute warmth and courtesy.

“Yes. I’m sorry we didn’t make an appointment. Siete Leguas is my favorite tequila.”

“Is it?” she smiled with genuine delight. “I think we can work something out. In fact, I’ll give you a tour myself.” I got the impression that giving tours wasn’t really part of her job description, but she was completely gracious about the interruption.

She led us to a pick-up truck and a mustachioed driver chauffeured us to one of the company’s two distilleries. Due to our negligence with reservations, we were able to see the facility that isn’t a showcase. La Vencedora, our guide explained, is the less-traditional of the two distilleries. At the show distillery, El Centenario, they grind the agave with a traditional stone wheel pulled by mules (a tahona), while La Vencedora uses a roller mill. Tequila from both distilleries is mixed to make the final product.

For a distillery that wasn’t designed as a showcase, La Vencedora was surprisingly old school. We walked into a cavernous building filled with mountains of maguey. Jimadors hacked at the agave hearts with coa de jima (flat-bladed knives attached to wooden poles), and then tossed the piñas into nifty shoots that drop to the room-sized brick ovens, where the agave steams for days.

The overall impression is of a straightforward and meticulous operation. Siete Leguas isn’t cutting any corners. Instead of the speedy stainless steel autoclaves used by bigger distilleries, Siete Leguas slow cooks in brick. We sampled dark pieces of cooked maguey that reminded me of caramelized pumpkin. The distillery also practices open-vat fermentation, which  likely contributes to the flavor of the tequila.

We climbed up metal stairs to check out this step in the process: the fermentation of the baked hearts. Pond-sized vats bubbled with fibrous liquid. With delight, I breathed the sweet, yeasty air. I sniffed the spicy notes of tequila blanco emerging from the tall stills. The entire building was suffused with intoxicating smells.

The copper stills were manned by stern-looking men in work clothes. We watched tequila pour, sparkling, into a metal vat the shape of a giant tea cup. Our gracious guide filled us snifters directly from the spout. The tequila was smooth yet complex, sweet yet spicy, mellow yet vibrant. I must have looked appropriately appreciative, because she looked pleased. “It’s her favorite tequila,” she told the distillers, who actually grinned and seemed genuinely gratified, as though they were surprised to hear that some random gringos would have ever even heard of Siete Leguas.

When we left, our guide casually handed us two bottles of Siete Leguas reposado.

“Two free bottles of some of the world’s finest tequila?” I said in wonderment as we walked back to our dusty Hyundai. “That can’t be typical. Plus, the tour was free.”

“Yeah,” Rich agreed. “I don’t think we’re going to top that.”

Instead of touring more distilleries, we decided to go camping and explore the countryside. We’d do wholesome things like visit ancient ruins, swim at the local water parks, and hike. Which was how we ended up getting lost on the side of a volcano in the dark with a bottle of tequila.

On our first attempt, we’d driven from our camp in Etzatlan to the town of Tequila, which sits at the base of the verdant Tequila volcano. As we drove in circles looking for the road up the mountain, we were hit by a sudden and torrential rainstorm, the kind that turns streets into rushing brown rivers in mere minutes. Visibility was terrible, and we were forced to park the car and wade to refuge: a bar on the Tequila town square, where we drank overpriced palomas and listened to the drunken flirtations of hipster gringos and rich kids from Mexico City.

The following day we toured the ancient Guachimontones ceremonial site, sampled the local pulque, and wandered through a cemetery. In the afternoon, we headed to the volcano. It took us nearly an hour to even find the cobblestone road that ran out of  town and up the side of the  Volcán de Tequila. And then it took us an hour to drive up the  17 kilometer road, which started out bad and got worse gradually, insidiously, until I worried that our axles would snap. We traversed potholes the size of ponds and drove over rubble piles that jacked the passenger side up so far that I worried that we’d flip. But we’d persevered. Because, in addition to have romantic notions, I’m extremely stubborn.

I peered anxiously at the setting sun. “I think we can still make it,” I said. “We’re only a couple of kilometers from the top.” We rounded the corner to face an imposing gate and a number of no trespassing signs.

As we were taking this in, a gang of boys roared down on motorbikes, riding through a narrow gap in the fence. They skidded to a stop and stared at us.

Hmm…A motorcycle gang on the side of a volcano. This was the stuff of B movies. But I tried to keep things nonchalant.

“Hey, is it still possible to get up to the rim of the volcano?” I asked in passable Spanish.

He grinned. “Yeah, don’t pay any attention to the signs. It’s just a little way. You can still go up on foot. It’s not a problem!” He then issued directions in the typically Mexican rapid-fire style, and he and his buddies roared down the mountain.

The sun was sinking low, lighting up lakes like mirrors on the floor of the valley 8,000 feet below. Despite the late hour and my brand-new fashion huaraches, we squeezed past the gate and set off on foot.

“A little way,” turned out to be two or three kilometers straight up. We weren’t even in sight of the top when the sun set, but we paused to stare at the tangerine ball of fire sinking into skeins of clouds over fields so far away that they’d faded to blue. Against the bright sky, the oak and pine trees were sharp black silhouettes. We passed the bottle of Siete Leguas and contemplated the land from whence it came.

We never did see the spine of hardened lava at the center of the volcano. We got lost and we got blisters. When we finally found the car again, it was well into the night. We jolted back down the mountain and drove through the warm Jalisco night. Off the beaten path indeed.

The post Off the Beaten Path: Adventures in Tequila Country appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

Drive. Driving in Mexico terrifies the average gringo, but do you really want to be the average gringo? Once you get over your gut-pounding fear and play chicken with a semi or two, you’ll find that driving in Mexico is actually fun. It’s predictably unpredictable, but the other cars are prepped to that—your average Mexican driver is both more alert and more accommodating than your average American driver. Sure, he may pass on shoulders or blind corners, but he’ll be paying attention when you’ve just passed six cars in a row and are trying to get back into your own lane before you get mowed down by a bus.

Don’t make reservations. Your average Mexican town has more hotels than it knows what to do with. Unless it’s a holiday or Los Tigres del Norte are in town, you don’t need a reservation. Sure, I get it. You’re tired from your flight and you want an immediate shower and a place to ditch your luggage. So book your first night online, but don’t commit. Tomorrow you can explore and find someplace more interesting. Many cheap yet charming hotels don’t even have websites, and there’s always the chance that you’ll meet someone who’ll rent you a room, hut, or beach house for half the price you’d pay on Airbnb. If you give yourself more flexibility, you’ll be better able to take advantage of the many strange and winsome opportunities that make Mexico special.

Take the Libre. Around 25 years ago, Mexico introduced a system of toll highways, much to the delight of foreign travelers and rich Mexicans. These multi-lane highways run parallel to the pitted free roads, and are usually in better condition than an American freeway. The toll road, or cuota, offers a quick and reasonably safe way to get from point A to point B. So what’s the downside? Well, they can be expensive as fuck. And, in true Mexican fashion, the pricing often seems to be completely random. You’ll pay 40 pesos (about 2 USD) at one toll booth and 150 (7.50 USD) at the next. Over the course of an eight-hour drive, you might shell out as much as $75. And perhaps this seems a small price to pay to escape from the death-defying driving on the free roads, or libres. But there’s a hidden tax: missing Mexico. The cuotas bypass cities and towns. Which is great if you’re in a hurry. But if you really want to see and understand the country, driving through random towns is your ticket. Stop at the market and sample the carnitas. Stretch your legs with a walk around the plaza. Drink an ice cold coconut at a roadside stand. Buy a bottle of the local hooch. Or explore anything that strikes your fancy. There’s a reason they call it the libre.

Check out random towns. Puerto Escondido, Puerto Vallarta, Sayulita, Zijuatanejo, Guanajuato, San Miguel de Allende, Aijijic, Playa del Carmen. You’ve probably heard of these places. Why? Because they draw tourists like flies. And sure—they have their charms. But for every Aijijic, there’s a thousand Mexican towns and cities you’ve probably never heard of that are at least as charming. Etzatlan, Uruapan, Hermosillo, Arandas, Punta Perula, Morelia, Colima…The list is long and alluring. Do you like tacos, tortas, old buildings, plazas, questionable cantinas, and friendly people? These towns are calling your name. Just pull out a map, close your eyes, and point.

The post Five Tips for Avoiding the Tourist Trail in Mexico appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

“Mexico is a cosmopolitan country. Forget piña coladas and Cancun’s Senor Frog t-shirts. Envision eating at a decadent restaurant and shopping for fine leather shoes in Mexico City.”

Rule #1 Stop ordering margaritas

Mexicans, as a general rule, don’t drink margaritas. Perhaps this is because Mexican margaritas tend to be slushy sugar bombs. If you want to impress a local lady or bartender, order your tequila straight. And, of course, eschew Patron for something more interesting. Repeat after me: Un trago de Siete Leguas por favor. Your tequila will appear in a shot glass, but don’t feel pressured to shoot it. It’s perfectly acceptable to sip and savor. If straight liquor’s not your thing, drink like a local by ordering a Paloma, or tequila and grapefruit soda with a salted rim.

Rule #2 Leave the beach

We all need our fix of hammock time, but consider planning an inland vacation. Mexico is a cosmopolitan country and home to a handful of the world’s greatest cities, including Guadalajara, Oaxaca, and, that shining jewel–Mexico City. Instead of guzzling piña coladas and shopping for Senor Frog t-shirts in Cancun, eat at one of the world’s best restaurants and shop for fine leather shoes in Mexico City.

Rule #3 Talk to the locals

A true gentleman understands the art of conversation, and is willing to make the slight effort to extend that art across the language barrier. Take the time to learn the Spanish phrases you need to politely engage. Often a few phrases are enough to get the conversational ball rolling—in cities and tourist areas, most locals speak some English. Your respect and interest will be rewarded with local intel and, often, good company. After all, you won’t find the best restaurants, bars, or music by hanging out with other tourists.

“A few phrases are enough to get the ball rolling. Take the time to learn the Spanish phrases you need to politely engage. You won’t find the best restaurants, bars, or music by hanging out with other tourists.”

Rule #4 Ditch your flip-flops

Speaking of which, if you want to set yourself apart from the tourist herd (thereby improving your chances of getting the benefit of the doubt from interesting locals), pack some good clothes. If the heat mandates shorts, fine. If you must. But pack nice threads too. Show the residents some respect by dressing as good, or better, than you would in your home territory.

Rule #5 Stay awhile

Think slow travel. A month of in Mexico will give you the opportunity to polish your language skills, find the coolest haunts, and forge lasting relationships. Sadly, we don’t all have that luxury. But you can make the most of a short vacation by spending it all in one place and refusing to over-schedule your activities. Enjoy a daily routine, get to know a neighborhood. Rich in strange detail, Mexico is best savored at a leisurely pace, as befits a gentleman.

The post Ditch the Flip-Flops: A Gentleman’s Guide to Mexico appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

Cinco de Mayo—or the fifth of May—commemorates the Mexican army’s 1862 victory over France at the Battle of Puebla during the Franco-Mexican War (1861-1867). A relatively minor holiday in Mexico, in the United States Cinco de Mayo has evolved into a celebration of Mexican culture and heritage, particularly in areas with large Mexican-American populations. Cinco de Mayo traditions include parades, mariachi music performances and street festivals in cities and towns across Mexico and the United States.

I may not know much about the real history of Cinco de Mayo, but I do know a thing or two about what people will be drinking to celebrate this day. Shots of Tequila, Margaritas, and ice cold bottles of Corona Extra with a wedge of lime jammed down the neck of the bottle will be flowing freely across the country. While I enjoy these drinks as much as the next guy or gal, it’s always a good idea to break with tradition and try something new whenever possible.

As luck would have it, a new Cinco de Mayo inspired cocktail called the Cinco de Laphroaig landed in our inbox, and we are still enjoying it today. As the name clearly states, this cocktail is made with Laphroaig Single Malt Scotch Whisky. Here’s the recipe:

• 1.5 ounces Laphroaig 10 Year Old
• Mexican Coca Cola
• Lime Wedge

Method: Pour the Laphroaig 10 Year Old into a Collins glass with ice. Top with Mexican Coca Cola and garnish with a wedge of lime.

Since I didn’t have any of the standard issue 10 YO on hand, I decided to try this cocktail using the cask strength version of the 10YO Laphroaig which is bottled at 58.6% ABV vs. the standard issue’s bottling strength of 43%. Given the significantly higher ABV of the cask strength Laphroiag, I used just 1 ounce of the whisky in this drink instead of the 1.5 ounces that the recipe calls for. Now that you know what’s in this cocktail and how to make it (could it be any easier? I think not!), let’s find out how it tastes…

If you’ve had the cask strength Laphroaig 10 on its own, then you already know that this is an incredibly unique and intense dram of whisky. Fiery peat. Sea spray. Iodine. Lemon peel. And even a bit of sweetness. All that stuff and so much more is in this whisky. And if you’ve ever had a Mexican Coca Cola, then you know that it’s slightly different from the United States version thanks to the use of can sugar vs. the corn syrup that’s used in the US version of the soda.

While this combination of Islay whisky and Mexican soda sounded a bit odd when I first read about it, I have to admit that I really enjoyed how these ingredients tasted together. The peaty whisky helped to offset the sweetness of the Coca Cola, while the sweetness of the soda helped to tone down the strong maritime flavors of the Laphroaig. And then there’s the lime which brought all of the flavors together by adding a subtle tartness to the drink. This was one delightfully balanced cocktail!

Peated Single Malt Scotch Whisky may not be the first thing you think of when it comes to Cinco de Mayo, but if you’re looking for something other than the usual Tequila / Margarita / Corona, then the Cinco de Laphroaig is well worth trying.

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Honestly, the hard part is getting out of the US. That’s not  because the Mexican Border Patrol is incredibly thorough and diligent – they aren’t; they couldn’t care less who enters their country – it’s because Southern California highways are such fully-loaded shit sandwich with shit fries awful. Just getting to the border is a trek and a half. But after you’ve made that trek and driven under the faded “Bienvenedo A Mexico” sign and crossed into Tijuana, you are in the promised land. Adult Disneyland.

The bombed-out third world country that is Tijuana is a rude slap to the face after driving through the affluence that is San Diego. TJ is stop #1 on every one of my surf trips. You’ve gotten up ass early in the morning, you’ve braved the freeways, and now its time for a reward. Park your ride, hide your valuables and not-so-valuables, and find yourself the best tacos you’ve ever eaten. Don’t worry, they are everywhere. I know the brothels, pharmacies, and knick knacks are tempting – and stop for an hour if you must satisfy that particular urge – but then its back on the road ASAP for you have waves to catch son.

The coastal route down to Baja offers other-worldly views, wide open skies, and a veritable parade of California drivers. Seriously, despite all the signs being in Spanish and distances in Kilometers, despite the abject poverty and shanty towns, and despite the rock-solid sensation that this place is a lifetime away from the US, 90% of cars on the road are luxury SUVs with California plates. Yuppies.

Keep pushing South and you’ll leave most (but certainly not all) of them behind. Soldier on until you start to see quite a few desert racing trucks. This a good sign. It means you are nearing your surfing destination – Ensenada. North Western Mexico offers several surf destinations, from the decent to the pro-only. You can hardly go wrong, but my pick is San Miguel. This cobblestone beach is my slice of paradise. No, the water is rarely all mine, but the locals here are friendly and the vibe of everyone in the water is positive. The waves are non too shabby either.

Get your sets in until you’re delirious, then head back through Ensenada’s outskirts and grab some more righteous food to refuel yourself for either the drive back or a night out with the local senoritas. Either way, you’ve surfed, you’ve eaten tacos, and you’ve lived.

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