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¡Tequila! Distilling the Spirit of Mexico traces how and why tequila became Mexico’s national drink and symbol. Starting in Mexico’s colonial era and tracing the drink’s rise through the present day, Marie Sarita Gaytán reveals the formative roles played by some unlikely characters—such as the revolutionary Pancho Villa, who was himself a teetotaler. She also shows how tequila’s cultural status was shaped by US-Mexican relations, the tourism industry, shifting gender roles, technology, regulation, film, music, and literature.
Like all stories about national symbols, the rise of tequila forms a complicated, unexpected, and poignant tale. By unraveling its inner workings, Gaytán encourages us to think critically about national symbols more generally—especially the ways they both reveal and conceal—to tell a story about a place, a culture, and a people. In many ways, the story of tequila is the story of Mexico.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780804793100 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Stanford University Press |
| Publication date: | 05/25/2023 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 224 |
| Sales rank: | 554,441 |
| File size: | 7 MB |
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Read an Excerpt
¡Tequila!
Distilling the Spirit of Mexico
By Marie Sarita Gaytán
STANFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
Copyright © 2014 Board of Trustees of the Leland Stanford Junior UniversityAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-8047-9310-0
CHAPTER 1
FERMENTING STRUGGLES
Pulque, Mezcal, and Tequila
In 2003, the National Institute of Anthropology and History, in collaboration with state officials and the National Chamber of the Tequila Industry (NCTI), began the lengthy process of seeking U.N. Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) World Heritage recognition for the Amatitán-Tequila valley. Jalisco Secretary of Culture Sofía González Luna contributed the following statement to the official application:
The cultural profundity of the agave landscape and the production of tequila harkens back to the very foundation of our nationality—for it fuses the closeness to nature and the land of the indigenous populations with the transforming and fundamental spirit of the Spanish settlers. From this union the spirit of a new culture was born, giving rise to the traditions and values that now characterize the Mexican people.
Like many of the individuals that I met over the course of this project, González Luna described tequila's linkages to nature, heritage, and the idea of lo mexicano—an enduring national symbol that seamlessly (and romantically) reflects the nation's mestizo legacy.
Contrary to popular belief, tequila was not always a celebrated—let alone obvious—icon of Mexican identity. For most of the country's history, the agave-based drinks, pulque and mezcal, better reflected people's preferences. Pulque is a fermented, mildly alcoholic drink (between 3 and 4 percent) that was consumed by diverse ethnic groups for centuries before the arrival of the Spanish. Despite its far-reaching popularity, pulque's close association with native identity and urban unrest made it an unlikely contender to symbolize the modernizing nation. Mezcal is a distilled and high-proof spirit (between 35 and 55 percent) that—according to recent findings—might have been produced in limited quantities when the Spanish landed in New Spain. As distillation technologies evolved, mezcal became associated with qualities of progress that made it a more appealing alcohol alternative for the growing colonial population. Although mezcal's reputation increased steadily, it too would lack what sociologist Pierre Bourdieu refers to as the "symbolic capital" necessary to represent the nation. By the mid-nineteenth century, a certain type of mezcal from the Tequila region of western Mexico started to acquire distinction and would soon be known simply as "tequila." The tequila industry's ties to the city of Guadalajara and the state of Jalisco—and their status as possessing more European cultural attributes than indigenous ones—bolstered its standing as a product in its own right. However, its newly acquired prestige would also face challenges as nineteenth-century elites aligned themselves with European values, practices, and goods. Here, I explore how, by the beginning of the revolutionary period, tequila was in the best position to become Mexico's national spirit.
Agave in Mesoamerica
Pulque, mezcal, and tequila derive from the agave, also known as the maguey, or the century plant. Indigenous legends recorded by Mesoamerican and Spanish clergy relate stories about the origin of agave, pulque, and their interconnections. For example, the fifteenth century pre-Hispanic Nuttall codex described seventeen types of agave used by the Mixteca. Spanish chronicler Fray Bernardino de Sahagún noted that the Olmeca credited male gods, including Tepuztecatl, Quatlapanqui, Tliloa, and Papaztactzocaca, with inventing pulque. In his classic study of alcohol in ancient Mexico, Henry Bruman explained that the Huaxteca of northeast Mexico referred to the drink gods collectively as Ometochtli, or "Two Rabbit." In total, there were over 400 celestial deities linked to the agave-based brew.
A mysterious and nurturing natural resource, agave sustained human life and its association with the moon complemented the sun's instinctual, rhythmic relationship with Earth. Various indigenous groups adopted the virtues associated with the moon and applied them to their daily routines. Attesting to these deeply held connections, the name Mexico comes from the Náhuatl words metztli (moon), xictli (navel), and co (place). However, some have suggested stronger etymological ties, claiming that Mexico comes from the Náhuatl word me xitl co, whereby the root word metl relates directly to the maguey's (agave's) association with the moon. Thus, depending on the source, Mexico means "place in the moon's navel" or "place in the maguey's navel."
In precolonial civilizations, agave served a vital function in the organization of everyday life. Cultivated in many regions throughout Mexico, agave is described as the "universal understory upon which the later food resources were superimposed." More than a source of sustenance, agave fibers were used for building homes, roofs, and walls; its leaves (or pencas) were used for making plates, paper, and rope. Early Mesoamericans planted agave to delineate tracts of land and prevent alluvial erosion; in treeless or deforested areas it served as the primary source of construction material. As one scholar aptly put it, agave "thrive[d] and sustain[ed] human life." Spanish colonizers were impressed by its numerous uses. The sixteenth-century writer José de Acosta went so far as to describe agave as "el árbol de las maravillas—or "the tree of wonders." Fray Francisco Jiménez explained that "with this plant alone, it seems enough to provide all things necessary to human life." In his second letter to King Carlos V, explorer Hernán Cortés discussed both agave and pulque by explaining that the natives made "syrup from a plant which in the islands is called maguey [agave] ... and from this plant they also make sugar and wine, which they likewise sell." Despite their initial admiration, early impressions soon wore thin as the "indios" (the Spanish for "Indians") started to cause problems for the new arrivals.
In pre-Hispanic times, pulque (octli poliuhqui in Náhuatl) was a sacred mixture in Aztec culture that only the elderly, nursing mothers, and the ruling class were allowed to drink during religious festivals. Pulque provided vitamins and minerals (vitamin C, vitamin B, and carbohydrates); it was also used for medicinal purposes. More important, it served as a source of potable water in arid areas where water was scarce or contaminated. Regardless of pulque's nutritive and healing qualities, there were limits on how much people could drink. Regulations dictated the size and number of cups allotted to different groups of people; for example, the elderly and nursing mothers had to use small cups, while children used even smaller ones. The penalty for drunkenness involved public humiliations such as head shaving and beatings; for repeat offenses of drunkenness, the punishment was death. Indigenous populations were cognizant of the potential danger that alcohol posed for their societies and incorporated a number of restrictive measures.
With two ethnically distinct sectors of governance, the república de los españoles (Spanish nation) and the república de los indios (Indian nation), the Spanish initially limited their interaction with indigenous communities and considered many of their habits and practices "nauseating, savage, and diabolic." The consumption of pulque, with its bitter flavor, sour smell, and phlegmy texture, was among the local customs the Spanish found offensive. Pulque's central role in religious ceremonies and public celebrations also concerned the Spanish. Imbibed to commemorate births, weddings, funerals, and warriors' rites of passage, it was common for drinking celebrations to last for several days. Pulque was an important aspect of cultural life, not only because of its spiritual significance but because its consumption strengthened community bonds.
Initial colonial accounts were riddled with "fantastic, hyperbolic, or fabulous tales that mythified the American countryside and nature." The Spanish meticulously documented flora and fauna and compared new objects to those found in Europe. Detailed descriptions resulted in new taxonomies and systems of classifications. Consequently, codices—the texts produced under the supervision of Catholic clergymen (and often unacknowledged Nahua consultants)—legitimized the aspirations of colonial expansion at the same time that they narrated an epic tale of discovery. From the perspective of early Spanish settlers, who considered themselves gente de razón (people of reason), pulque's centrality in the lives of the indigenous, whom they considered gente sin razón (people without reason), was evidence of their inferiority and "the cause of virtually all sins and social problems." For example, a report included in the Recopilación de leyes de los reynos de las indias (a set of governing laws and codes) stated that, when Indians drank pulque in moderation, their actions could be tolerated. However, when they mixed pulque with certain roots, the drink then "deprived them of their senses," "inflame[d] the body," and "sicken[ed], stupefie[d], and kill[ed] them with the greatest of facility." More deplorable still, under the influence of this mixture they engaged in carnal acts, became violent, and committed idolatries. Simply put, the Spanish viewed pulque as embodying the moral inferiority of the native population and encouraging civil disorder.
In spite of its nutritive qualities and its use in a range of drinking practices, pulque, according to this and numerous other historical references, reinforced ideas about Indian savagery and provided a context for the Spanish to justify their efforts at conquering the native population. Although Spanish elites expressed concern over indigenous drinking, non-elite colonists distilled agave, producing their own versions of mezcal—or what was more popularly known as vino de mezcal (mezcal wine). European experimentation with alcohol was common practice throughout the colonial world, as water was laden with bacteria and often unsafe to drink. Accustomed to consuming large amounts of wine, the Spanish brought grapes to Mexico but were initially unsuccessful at cultivating these crops. Other circumstances, including "loneliness, unfamiliar surroundings, the threat of foreign invasions, epidemiological disasters" were among the many uncertainties that led early European colonists to drink. That colonists drank frequently, and presumably also drank in excess, seemed to elicit little concern among officials who reported to the crown. For less affluent settlers, the high cost of imported alcoholic beverages likely encouraged experimentation with local raw materials such as sugar cane and coconut palm. Even with the increased availability of domestic products, Spanish elites continued to hold onto their Old World drinking habits and exclusively drank imported wine and sherry.
Documentation on the manufacture of mezcal during the colonial period details the taxes garnered and the names of those who applied for licenses. For instance, in 1608, the governor of Nueva Galicia (present-day Jalisco, Nayarit, and southern Sinaloa) imposed a tax on mezcal as a means of competitively protecting imported Spanish alcohol. Beyond these records, very little is known about the production of mezcal and other distilled drinks during the first two centuries of colonial rule. What is known, however, is that by the early eighteenth century the commercial spirit industry began to emerge in Europe and in the Americas. During this time, rum sales started to outpace beer and ale in the colony of New England. In Mexico, improvements in distillation led to greater access to mezcal. These circumstances possibly contributed to the overall growth in mezcal production; however, unlike rum, mezcal did not surpass the popularity of pulque. Throughout the 1700s, the production of fermented and distilled agave products increased in scale and, for the latter, evolved into a commercial enterprise.
Adaptation, Castas, and Control
Spanish angst about alcohol consumption among indigenous and mestizo populations was tied to their concern about religious conversion, as a society that valued intoxication over abstinence was less likely to adopt the doctrines of Christianity. Missionaries aggressively set out to baptize natives, only to realize that they sometimes combined aspects of their former faiths with Christianity or reverted to their pagan practices. The destruction of Mesoamerican temples and the initiation of baptism were not enough to fully or neatly indoctrinate the diverse ethnic communities into Christianity. As one Franciscan missionary explained, Yucatan Indians were "a simple people" who were "up to any mischief" because, in spite of the theological efforts of friars, they continued to partake in the rites and ceremonies that involved pulque. Apprehension regarding religious conversion in relation to drinking habits during the colonial period was not limited to Mexico. Historian Frederick Smith reports that, in the Caribbean, indigenous populations (and later slave populations) were often described as more inclined to drunkenness, thievery, and idleness. Smith argues that these reports were likely embellished because missionaries needed to explain and justify their failure at converting the Carib to Christianity. "Mischief" or not, native populations throughout the New World (to the dismay of the Spanish) negotiated the arrival of foreign religious doctrines into their cultural practices at their own pace. Not only did the Spanish miscalculate the ease with which religious adaptation would occur; they also underestimated pulque's spiritual, physiological, and ceremonial importance to native communities.
Colonists' desire to convert the native populations was exceeded only by their aspiration to secure their social status. In Spain, the wealthy ate food that reflected their privileged position in society and distinguished them from those of different religious or ethnic backgrounds. Food products that crossed the Atlantic to accommodate the colonizers' penchant for European ingredients included olive oil, capers, saffron, and fruits preserved in brandy. Eating Spanish food rather than the local fare was not a simple indication of taste preference—social rank was intimately linked to what one consumed, especially in the anxiety-ridden colony. In ruling over a racially diverse populace, privileged Spaniards feared being perceived that they were "going native"—any hint of adopting indigenous customs could be interpreted as undermining the legitimacy of their status. Increased cultural mixing threatened the regimented class and racial hierarchy. If elite colonists abandoned their Spanish heritage by consuming Indian beverages, it would be only a matter of time before strict class lines were challenged or, worse, eliminated.
Rigid class and racial boundaries loosened—but remained important—as creoles and Spanish lived and worked among diverse ethnic communities. The decreased ability to visually determine someone's class from his or her phenotype was especially troublesome. Intent on reinforcing their dominance, beginning in the eighteenth century, Spanish elites began commissioning a series of casta (literally, the Spanish for "caste") paintings that denoted an elaborate system of racial classification that emphasized Spanish superiority. Originally, castas illustrated men and women of different races with one or two of their children. Also included were written descriptions that identified the race of their offspring. Portraying racial differences in a range of social circumstances and public spaces, these taxonomies served as a cataloging system not just for subsets of people but for objects: flora, fauna, and food products. Casta paintings were sent to Spain, where elites could whet their appetite for information about mysterious New World "others." Like other exotic foodstuffs, such as corn and cacao, pulque was a common artistic subject through which racial hierarchies were solidified.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from ¡Tequila! by Marie Sarita Gaytán. Copyright © 2014 Board of Trustees of the Leland Stanford Junior University. Excerpted by permission of STANFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS.
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Table of Contents
Contents
Illustrations,Introduction,
1. Fermenting Struggles: Pulque, Mezcal, and Tequila,
2. Intoxicating Icons: Pancho Villa, Masculinity, and U.S.–Mexican Relations,
3. Gendering Mexicanidad and Commercializing Consumption: Tequila and the Comedia Ranchera,
4. Touring Tequila and Harvesting Heritage: The Past's Enduring Presence,
5. Pursuing Prestige: Regulation, Resistance, and the Limits of Mexican Authenticity,
6. Consuming Complexity: Tequila Talk in Mexico and the United States,
Coda,
Acknowledgments,
Notes,
References,
Index,