In my youth, upon visiting
Mexico City, I would sometimes see a very plain looking building
with no door and no windows that had scrawled upon the wall outside
the words “pulqueria”. I once asked my best friend Edgar
what this place was, and he told me it was a drinking establishment
for a very specific type of drink. The drink was called pulque.
And when Edgar described it to me, he would wince and shudder as
to express his utter disdain for the beverage. Edgar was obviously
not a big fan of pulque. But then again, Edgar was not a fan of
tequila either. He only politely drank and tolerated tequila when
it was offered to him as a toast, or dared to him by a friend. And
pulque, being derived from the same family of maguey plants as tequila
and mezcal, was not very high on his list of favorites. Couple this
biased aversion against the maguey family with lurid myths about
pulque’s mysterious production and origins, and in no short
time Edgar had convinced me never to want to try it.
 Fast-forward
15 years. One enchanted evening I find myself walking down Calle
de Jesus in San Miguel de Allende, when the scintillating beats
of electronic music catch my ear and the dimly lit warmth draws
me into this building like a meandering moth. I enter this quaint
watering hole called En Agua, a self-proclaimed “Electro-Pulque-Lounge”.
Curious, I approach the bar and ask the female bartender, “What
gives here?” She tells me there are many things to choose
from, but most come here to drink one thing: pulque. Could this
be the same mysterious concoction of my youth? The same vile liquid
I was sworn to abhor and reject? She asks me if I would like to
try some. Uncertain, I look around, and contemplate reverting back
to my old standby, vino tinto. But for some reason, I trust this
place. The music is excellent and the vibe is to my style. And I’m
feeling a bit adventurous tonight, “One pulque please.”
She asks me if I would like a small or a large serving, as she pulls
out two tin cups of varying sizes. The cups remind me of an old
James Cagney prison movie and in my head I want to burst into song:
“Nobody knows the troubles I’ve seen…” I
play it safe and go for the smaller of the two, still unsure if
I will be able to manage. She opens her refrigerator and pours me
a cup of the potion and sets it in front of me. The concoction is
milky-white in appearance, with a curious froth on top, as if it
had been shaken or stirred. I slowly bring the cup to my lips, immediately
sensing the strange contrast of tin to the mysterious liquid. There
is no falsehood in their advertising: There is definitely an “electro-chemical
reaction” going on here. The drink goes down smoothly. A bit
sweet, slightly bitter, but not a trace of alcohol as you would
expect from something presumably so close to mezcal or tequila.
“What’s in this stuff?” I ask between voracious
gulps. “It’s pulque,” a tall, slim, dirty blonde
haired and mustached young man answers me, “And it is a gift
from the Gods.”
HISTORY
The young man is named Cielo Garcia, he’s in his late twenties
and he is the proprietor of En Agua. Pose him an innocent question
about the origins of pulque, and his eyes light up as he begins
on an impassioned rant about the sacredness and divinity of this
ancient drink. And he is eager to share his vast knowledge on the
subject with a curious and attentive listener. Pulque has its origins
in ancient Mexico, where Indian stone carvings report it having
been drunk as early as 200 A.D. The maguey plant, from which pulque
is derived, was one of the most sacred plants of ancient Mexico
and was highly esteemed in mythology, religious rituals and commerce.
The great royalty and high priests of the time used pulque during
special religious ceremonies. And it was rewarded to the fiercest
warriors in celebration of great victories. Its use and importance
has been well-documented in pre-Hispanic hieroglyphics.
The exact origin of pulque is unknown, but many folk tales have
been passed along the oral tradition explaining its mythic origins.
According to Indian history, during the reign of Tecpancaltzin (990-1042
AD) a Toltec noble named Papantzin, discovered how to extract aguamiel
(“honey water”) from the maguey plant. After the Spanish
conquest, Fray Bernardino de Sahagun gathered a group of native
elders to create a written history of Pre-Hispanic times. One of
their essays was entitled “The Invention of Pulqueî”
and claimed that “A women named Mayahuel learned the art of
scooping out the heart of the maguey and collecting its juice, but
it was her husband, Pantecatl, who learned to ferment the juice
into pulque.”
But it is widely believed that it was the Otomi Indians who actually
discovered the process of making pulque. The Spanish described them
as being a tribe of half-naked barbarians who spent their time in
a pulque-drenched haze. In order to control the population’s
excessive consumption, native rulers prohibited the use of pulque
by anyone except the elderly, nursing mothers, and the ruling class
during high religious festivals. People who violated this law often
faced rough penalties ranging from the shaving of heads, to beatings,
to death. The lone exception to this law was during la dia de los
muertos (The Day of the Dead) festival at the end of the calendar
year, which signaled a five-day pulque binge during which everybody
got their pulque on. When the Spanish came, it was good times again
for native pulqueros (those that drink pulque habitually), as there
were no laws governing its consumption. This lack of centralized
control is often cited as a significant factor in the rapid decline
and demoralization of the indigenous society. The term “pulque”
was probably mistakenly derived by the Spanish from the Indian word
“ìoctli poliuhquiî” which actually meant
“spoiled pulque”.
 Pulque
was an excellent source of tax revenue for Spanish officials who
were hesitant to curtail its prevalence. But by 1672, the health
and moral state of the masses had deteriorated so, that the Viceregal
government passed a series of regulations meant to control and curb
its consumption. Minimums were put on the amount of pulquerias (pulque
bars) that could open in Mexico City. Of the 36 documented pulquerias
at the time, 24 were for men and 12 were for women. Today women
are banned from all pulquerias. A woman then, with a lust for pulque,
was served through a sort of “drive thru” window located
in an alley alongside the pulqueria. The laws stated that pulquerias
were to be located in open areas, without doors, and close at sundown.
Food, music and dancing were banned. Men and women could not patronize
the same establishment. No credit was allowed or bartering of goods
for pulque. Drunks were vilified and publicly shamed. The addition
of any substance to pulque was prohibited. And the church censored
any vendor, customer, or official who fell in violation of these
laws. The church also disliked the fact that pulque was so highly
revered in native culture, that it rivaled its own dogma, and considered
the ancient worship of the maguey and its juice idolatry.
The role that pulque played in developing the socioeconomic history
of Mexico cannot be underplayed. Pulque was the fourth most important
source of revenue for the government during colonial times and the
early years of independence. In Mexico City during the early 1900’s
trains would arrive every morning bringing fresh pulque from towns
such as Apizaco, Apan, Otimbus, Ometesco and Oltepec. During the
reign of President Porfirio Díaz owners of pulque haciendas
turned a rich profit, and a typical hacienda could have close to
500,000 magueys, 1000 laborers, 500 mules, and 10,000 sheep. In
1953, the two largest pulque producing states, Hidalgo and Tlaxcala,
obtained 30 and 50% of their total revenues from pulque, respectively.
Today, in some areas, pulque remains the only source of income and
prosperity to the native population.
PRODUCTION
 But
in order to get to the bottom of this mystery, Cielo tells me to
put away the history books and invites me to the ranch that supplies
his pulque. We drive about 20 minutes outside of San Miguel de Allende
where the ambling ranchos dot the vast Mexican landscape, where
clouds and mountains dramatically collide in awe-inspiring formations.
Driving up a beaten dirt road we come upon a particular ranch where
a donkey greets us with its classical eeeee-hor, and many chickens,
pigs, turkeys and dogs abound. It is here that Cielo introduces
me to his friend and pulque supplier Don Jaime Gallegos. Don Jaime
is a short, stout and swarthy Mexican man in his mid-thirties and
is a relative novice in the game of pulque production. He supports
a family and dedicates himself mainly to ironwork. But when an aging
neighbor had four magueys that were reaching maturity, and would
have otherwise gone to waste, Don Jaime offered to take them off
her hands. Curious about pulque production, he began to question
some of the neighborhood elders more familiar with the process.
Within five months, Don Jaime was producing small quantities of
the juice as a hobby. But word quickly spread around the neighborhood
of Don Jaime’s success, and according to Cielo, it’s
the best pulque in town.
The maguey thrive best in the cold, dry climates of the central
highlands north and west of Mexico City, where the best pulque is
produced in states such as Hidalgo and Tlaxcala. It was the Spanish
who dubbed the plant “maguey”, and it remains the common
name used today for the more technical Agave. The Agave was the
source of food, fiber, thread, rope, soap, sugars and other products.
Agave, sometimes called the century plant, has over 400 varieties,
six of which are preferred for the production of pulque: A. salmiana,
A. mapisaga, A. atrovirens, A. ferox, A. hookeri, and A. americana.
When the Agave is ready to reproduce small shoots called "mecuates"
begin to grow around the base of the adult plant. And when they
are 18 - 20 inches in height, they are cut away and placed in a
nursery where they are left to grow. At three years of age they
are transplanted back to the fields, where they will grow until
they are ready to harvest at 7-10 years of age. Fields that are
solely dedicated to Agave production can yield between 500-700 plants
per hectare (2.5 acres). As the plant reaches maturity, a thick,
large stalk resembling a huge asparagus (called a “quiote”),
begins to protrude from its center. This growth signals the plant’s
maturity as it gathers all of its energy and stored sugar to quickly
shoot up a single flower stalk, which may reach a height of 18-20
feet, and spreads its seeds in yet another manner of reproduction.
But alas, this final step in the plant’s reproductive cycle
is cut short by its effective "castration". It is in this
very moment that Don Jaime “quiebra”, or hacks off,
the top of the heart, located in the center of the plant, creating
a gaping hole about 12-18 inches in diameter. He leaves this cut
to dry and scar for up to two weeks, after which he punctures the
scar through its surface. A fibrous pulp is then scooped away which
leaves a shallow cavity (cajete) into which the aguamiel seeps,
not unlike the sap of a maple tree trickling into a collecting cup.
 Don
Jaime, acting as the tlalchichero (or field worker), makes the rounds
to scrape and collect the aguamiel from his Agaves about four times
a day at: 6:00 am, 12:00 pm, 6:00 pm and 12:00 am. He does this
to avoid the aguamiel from fermenting in the field, which happens
due to naturally occurring yeasts that grow on the Agave itself.
One of these agents is a biological anomaly, since it is a bacteria
(termobacterium mobile) and not a yeast. The average plant yields
about 6-8 liters of aguamiel per day and as much as 10 liters per
day. He scrapes at the cavity of the plant with a steel spoon-like
tool. Between scraping sessions, Don Jaime protects the collecting
puddle of juice from the many bugs, dust, and pulque’s #1
fan, the drunkard possum, by covering the cavity with the Agave’s
own bent leaves weighed down by a large heavy rock. After 3-6 months
the plant will have yielded many hundreds of liters of aguamiel,
and robbed of its essence, begins to dry and finally dies.
The aguamiel that is collected is carried from the field and dumped
into large fermentation vats, also known as tinas. In my parent’s
youth, these tinas were traditionally made out of uncured cowhides
that were stretched between four wooden poles. A rather unpleasant
stench has been known to emanate during this particular stage of
the process. Today, most tinas are made of oak or plastic and hold
about 1000 liters. Once the aguamiel is in the vats, a starter is
added to “jump start” the fermentation process, much
like the starter that is added to sourdough bread. This starter
consists of mature seed pulque, also known as Xanaxtli.
Much secrecy surrounds this part of the fermentation process, and
many trade secrets are withheld and passed within families from
father to son. Much like my mother’s rather uncalibrated approach
to cooking, the fermentation process, which takes anywhere from
7-14 days, seems to be governed more by the majordomo’s perception
than by any overriding sense of scientific principle. Bearing on
this process, we can assume that the ambient temperature, humidity,
time of year, quality of the aguamiel, and perhaps even the moon’s
position, may all factor into the equation.
The fermentation area, known as the tinacal, is generally off-limits
to strangers and women, who are considered dirty. Besides the importance
of protecting trade secrets, it is believed that any variety of
seemingly unrelated infractions may ruin a good batch of pulque.
The majordomo who is in charge of the fermentation is extremely
careful not to have any soap, creams, deodorants, colognes or artificial
chemicals on his body while in the tinacal. The consumption of canned
fish, which can supposedly leave a bad taste on the pulque, is prohibited.
And even the wearing of a hat inside the tinacal can bring bad luck
to the production. Only by filling the perpetrator’s hat with
pulque, and having him quickly drink it all down, is this hex reversed.
 With
the initial fermentation process complete, Don Jaime has now obtained
his base of pulque “fuerte”, which he calls pie, to
which he will eventually add more aguamiel, and in turn make true
pulque. As a vessel for this transformation, Don Jaime selects a
traditional large clay pot, which he prefers over a plastic bucket,
because it lends the pulque a better taste, much like the oak barrels
used for wine and liquor storage. In order to first cleanse the
pot, Don Jaime rinses it out with alcohol and then lights a match,
allowing the alcohol to burn away for up to three minutes. On the
side, he prepares a dinner plate full of mixed chilies, cinnamon,
a little brown sugar and some burning in embers, which he allows
to smolder. He then turns the still seething pot over onto the prepared
plate, allowing it to collect and trap the smoldering spicy fumes.
After five minutes of this treatment, he turns the pot right-side-up
and quickly tops it off, trapping the fumes inside and allowing
the pot to cool down. It is in this pot that Don Jaime places his
new pie, and then buries the entire pot underground. The soil keeps
the contents of the pot cool and fresh, especially in the warmer
summer months.
Over the next three to four days, Don Jaime adds fresh aguamiel
to his pie four times a day, waiting patiently for the entire mixture
to become true pulque. At this point, after some rigorous taste
testing, he decides if the pulque is ready for consumption and doles
it out accordingly. He warns, however, it is extremely important
to always leave more pie at the bottom of the pot than aguamiel.
A minimum of six liters of pie should always remain. But again,
this variable ratio depends on the size of your pot and how much
aguamiel you have collected and added. For if this delicate ratio
becomes unbalanced, you will not produce proper pulque. A well-maintained
pie can last up to 10, 15, or 20 years. But if you deplete or exhaust
the valuable pie, then you must start all over again from the beginning.
DISTRIBUTION
Once the initial batch of true pulque has been produced, it only
takes Don Jaime two hours to prepare any subsequent batches. And
because the fermentation process is so quick, the fresh pulque must
be distributed and sold daily. The timing is critical so that the
fermentation does not proceed too far along before all the pulque
can be consumed. It is at this moment that Cielo makes his daily
evening appearance to save the pulque from just such a tragedy.
Before the advent of railroads and automobiles, pulque was extremely
limited in its distribution by its transport in bumpy mule trains
and wagons, which greatly accelerated its fermentation. Cielo is
careful to insulate his large plastic jugs full of pulque within
the cushy confines of his 1980 Volkswagen bus, which despite its
machine gun muffler, is a relatively smooth ride back into town.
We give thanks and part with Don Jaime, until tomorrow, when the
process begins anew.
On the ride back, Cielo further extols his reverence for pulque
and lays out the concept for his unique bar, En Agua, the only one
of its kind in the world. For nearly two thousand years, pre- and
post-Hispanic occupation, pulque was enjoyed by the indigenous tribes
of Mexico and savored by the highest classes. Modern biochemists
have found pulque to be rich in important body nutrients such as
Vitamins C, B-Complex, D, E, amino acids, minerals, energy giving
alcohol and unfermented sugar. All these were helpful supplements
to the native elderly and nursing mothers who were prescribed pulque
(in moderation) hundreds of years before this information was available.
A person who drinks only pulque all night and becomes inebriated
by its relaxing and euphoric buzz—somewhere between the effects
of wine and marijuana—may find upon awaking the next morning
that they have no hangover. However, if this same person makes the
grave error of mixing pulque with other beers or liquors, they may
very much indeed regret life the next morning. (Both these theorems
were successfully put to the test during my extensive research.)
Pulque is not as caustic or damaging as other alcohols, full of
impurities, to organs such as the liver and kidneys. And although
it may leave you somewhat temporarily bloated, as it continues to
ferment within your stomach, pulque is also non-fattening. So how
could something so ancient, so pure, so natural that was accepted
by everyone and esteemed by the highest of high society, become
a drink that today is associated with the lower classes and dregs?
There are many misconceptions about pulque, and Cielo has heard
them all. One by one, he dismantles each of the myths and practices
that have tarnished pulque’s noble reputation.
In the 1920’s and 30’s, during the United States’
prohibition on alcohol, American liquor and beer companies, fearful
of losing revenue, had to find alternative markets to export and
sell their products. As is often the case with items that are banned
in America, these companies set their sights on the Third World
and Mexico as new markets to peddle their contraband. But when the
alcohol companies arrived in Mexico, they found that they had an
already well established and formidable competitor in the form of
pulque, which was produced on small ranchos and sold to the direct
market. How could the American liquor companies compete with such
a natural and established national beverage that was cheaper, cleaner,
required no marketing, no advertising and hardly any production
or distribution cost? The simple answer is: They couldn’t.
So instead, the American companies went on the offensive. First,
by purchasing thousands of acres of maguey plants and then systematically
destroying them—decimating the potential for any future pulque
production. A simultaneous dirty marketing campaign was launched,
claiming that pulque was the drink of the poor and disenfranchised,
spreading rumors and myths about its mysterious origins, including
tall tales that the beverage was fermented with the use of animal
and human feces. This particular rumor has seemed to have had some
legs, for even my own best friend Edgar, someone I consider an educated
individual, recounted it me in our youth. But in all my research,
and in Cielo’s 15 years of being a pulquero, this claim cannot
not be substantiated, and remains but a myth. And each subsequent
pulquero Cielo has ever approached on the subject has answered him
with nothing but fits of laughter. But in the end, this dirty campaigning
has seemed to have taken its toll, as pulque, like many other ancient
indigenous traditions, has been further obscured and distorted by
the passage of time and false history.
CONSUMPTION
 Today,
the typical pulqueria has the overtly masculine, clubbish atmosphere
familiar to many cantinas or pubs found around the world. A casual
visitor may be ignored or feel initially unwanted. And not until
that person has paid his dues with frequent visits, or established
his manhood with better than average consumption of pulque, is he
then grudgingly accepted. The modern pulqueria tends to present
a rather uncouth and grimy appearance, with sawdust scattered about
the floor and an aggressive fly population, which is attracted by
the sweetness of the drink. There’s also the ever-present
stench of stale pulque hanging heavily in the air, which can often
be detected from the street. Restroom facilities are nothing to
write home about and are often limited to a urinal troth at one
end of the room. Women are unwelcome, and frankly, would probably
not want to step foot inside of an actual pulqueria. The only women
present in a true pulqueria today are often working as prostitutes.
Contrast this stark image to the pulquerias of the 19th century,
during pulque’s “glory days”, which boasted beautiful
mirrors, mahogany bars, and were distinguished by elaborately painted
murals and bore rather fanciful names. But in spite of its former
popularity, pulque represents only 10% of alcoholic beverages that
are consumed in Mexico today. In 1870, there were 822 pulquerias
in Mexico City. By 1998, there were only 80. The complex fermentation
process limits its distribution, and its relatively low alcohol
content (somewhere between beer and wine) and the quality and accessibility
of domestic beers have all reduced its demand.
This is in no doubt partly due to the shameful practice of some
pulquerias often serving less-than-reputable product. Since there
are no controls or standards on pulque production, distributors
will often find innovative ways to cut corners and cheapen their
overhead. Some of these nefarious methods include: adding water,
thereby doubling the amount and diluting the solution; adding baking
soda, lending the mixture its more familiar effervescence; adding
sugar, to supplement its now diluted sweetness; and finally the
addition of grain alcohol, to give it that extra “kick”.
The combination of these insidious ingredients are recipe for disaster—not
to mention hangover—and have only served to further damage
pulque’s already suffering reputation.
Cielo hopes to change all that. And in his own words, his goal with
En Agua is to “break these fallacies and dispel these rumors,
bringing pulque back to its former glory by introducing the mystical
drink to a brand new generation of young pulqueros.” He wants
to start a “new era of pulquerias” that are closer to
our modern bars today, where men and women alike can come and enjoy
“the most fine, the most clean, and the most divine drink
in the world--the sacred drink of the gods.” En Agua is definitely
not your typical pulqueria. And your average Mexican ranchero might
think twice before entering its retro-chic décor, serenaded
by hip modern electronic music, and ordering himself liter of the
house brew. But that would all change the moment his lips tasted
Cielo’s sweet brand of nectar. It seems that pulque, too long
considered the beverage of the poor and the downtrodden, is due
for a major makeover and resurgence in popularity. And the masses
in San Miguel are spearheading this movement. Natives and tourists
alike, who had never dreamed about entering a traditional pulqueria,
now find themselves flocking to En Agua in droves, ordering the
house special and exhausting its supply. Taking pulque’s potential
to the next level, En Agua also offers a pulque “curado”,
which has been cured with the addition of natural fruits and juices.
It has gotten to the point where Don Jaime’s smalltime production
can barely keep up with En Agua’s thirsty customer’s
demand. And most nights, the limited pulque runs out before you
can enjoy your fifth, sixth or seventh liter. Best get your pulque
on early, and quickly! |
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