Tequila

As I’ve mentioned, The Flâneur always travels with a can of Spam. Just in case I come across a chef who has never heard of it. Then I give them a can and ask if they’d mind using it in a meal (without telling them anything about it). The results are always remarkable (see my story about the Ritz-Carlton chef at Montego Bay, Jamaica who jerked a can of Spam for me).

Well, Saturday night I ended up at the Hacienda El Carmen, a Colonial hotel not far from Tequila that, back in the mid-1700s was a convent (for some reason I’ve spent many an evening sleeping in former convents; something for this former altar boy to ponder). It’s full of old stone arches and bell towers and dark, moody rooms with thick walls and artwork from old Mexican churches. My kind of place.

The Hacienda El Carmen, a former convent. Photos by David Lansing.

The chef at Hacienda El Carmen, Ambrosio Saavedra (how can you not love a chef named Ambrosio?), has been here forever and has a reputation for serving Jalisco specialties like conejo adobado, a wonderful rabbit stew braised in adobo sauce, and lomito de cerdo—sweet pork back in a pasilla chili sauce. So naturally I wondered what Ambrosio would think of my Spam.

When I gave it to him in his dark, dungeon-like kitchen, and asked him if maybe he couldn’t make a little something with it before dinner, he turned up his nose. And handed the can to his sous chef, Manuel Rodríguez.

“¿Qué es? “

“It’s a type of meat,” I told him. “Muy popular entre algunas personas.”

Then he took it out of the can and dumped it out onto a plate the way one might a can of dog food. He looked at the Spam, looked up at me, looked back at the Spam and shook his head. Which is when I took my leave.

That evening, as the guests sat down at the long wooden table under the portales outside the kitchen, Manuel came out with not one, but two different appetizers made from the Spam. In the first, he’d taken a home-made plate-size tortilla and covered it with thinly-sliced Spam, dots of bacon, roasted pasilla chiles, and Oaxacan queso. Sort of an open-faced quesadilla—or maybe a Spamsadilla.

Manuel Rodriguez with his Mexicanized Spam dishes.

The other dish was sort of a variation on Chef Ambrosio’s conejo adobado. Manuel had replaced the rabbit with Spam, cooked it in the adobo sauce with some onion, and then wrapped it in an avocado leaf and steamed it. I thought it was amazing, but I wanted to know what some of the other guests thought, so we passed it around.

Alexandria, from Argentiana: “This is very different. I like the picante of the adobo with the sweetness of the meat. I love it. Maybe I make this at home.”

Kerry, from England: “It’s quite good, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever tasted Spam prepared this uniquely.”

Alex, from New York: “Believe it or not, I’ve never tasted Spam before. But this is fabulous.”

An unnamed French guy: (Shakes his head when I ask him which is his favorite and, after making a little puffing noise, gives me a look of disgust as if I’d just asked him whether he’d prefer the Gallo red or the Gallo white.)

Well, you can’t please everyone.

Two things that might surprise you: One, the most popular type of tequila in Mexico is reposado, which makes up over 50% of the market. In fact, at some places in Jalisco, like around Puerto Vallarta, reposado is about 80% of the market—or more. In fact, when I’m shopping at my favorite tequila store in Bucerias, I might find 30 or 40 different reposado tequilas compared to five different brands of blanco. The rest is anejo. What I’m told, by people in the tequila industry, is that older people like blanco tequila because they like the “rustic” taste of the agave while younger consumers prefer reposado which, for the most part, they dump into cocktails.

Which brings us to the second surprise: The most popular Mexican cocktail, for the younger crowd, isn’t a Margarita but a Paloma. This is particularly true with women. So what the hell is a Paloma? Well, at most restaurants in Mexico if you order a Paloma what you’ll get is a tall glass filled with ice, a shot of reposado tequila, and then topped up with Squirt. That’s a down and dirty Paloma. But we can do better.

Ingredients for a Paloma cocktail.

You can improve this drink tremendously by doing a couple of things. First of all, only fill the glass half-up with ice. Then sprinkle a pinch of salt on the ice cubes. This seasons the drink. Then give yourself a good pour of tequila (I usually do two ounces). Now squeeze half a Mexican lime in there, fill the glass with more ice, and top it up with some sort of grapefruit soda (I prefer Jarritos Toronja to Squirt, but that’s not always available).

This is a pretty damn good Paloma. But if you want to make it perfect, let’s do one other thing. Instead of using grapefruit soda, use half-a-cup of fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice and then top it up with club soda. Now that’s a Paloma that could stand up to a perfectly made Margarita.

Across the street from the Cuervo distillery is a visitor’s center called Mundo Cuervo. To get into the Rojeña you have to give a secret knock at the door. I’m not sure what this is about. Maybe just to lull you into thinking that some quiet little abuela is going to open up the massive wooden doors and let you into the secret garden when instead what happens is that there’s a woman dressed up as Mayahuel, the goddess of tequila (you didn’t know there was a goddess of tequila?) who chants and lifts up a burning pot of copal just before the ayi-i-i-i-i-i’s start up and two charros, a father and son team, start twirling ropes and a mariachi band goes into action.

Photos by David Lansing.

It’s all kind of hokey, sure, but it’s also kind of fun (helped along by the margaritas they start handing out). And, as you can see, makes for tremendous visuals.

But the highlight of the day was a tequila tasting given by Ana Maria Romero, a tequila master who has developed an “aromatic circle of tequila” for agave heads who not only want to identify the orange blossom in their blanco tequila and the walnut in their reposado, but—from just a sip—can tell you whether the tequila is from Arandas or Teuchitlan.

“The flavor of the agave grown around Arandas is sweeter and more intense,” says Ana Maria. “That’s because there is more iron in the soil and this makes the agave larger and they produce more sugar. A tequila with more of a herbal taste—pepper, mint, artichoke—probably was made with agave grown in the Valle de Tequila.”

Okay, I tasted about a dozen different tequilas with Ana Maria and I can’t say I ever picked up on the artichoke. But I did get the sugar thing. And maybe, just maybe, the next time someone blindly serves me nice blanco I’ll be able to sniff it and say, “Ah…from Arandas, I’m sure.”

Or not.