Michelle and I went to Oaxaca, Mexico last week, the state where mezcal is produced. We got to tour the mountainous areas where the agave is grown, and stayed in Oaxaca city, a culinary destination with ancient buildings and cobblestone streets rich with history. In short it was gorgeous, and amazing, and educational, and in a lot of ways I feel like I'm still there, largely because I've been shitting my brains out every hour or so for the past few days. We got to see some traditional palenques, where they make small batches of mezcal by hand (like in this photo above of a tahona, a horse-pulled grinding stone wheel used to crush the baked pinas), and drink our way through dozens of mezcals. We also spent a night in Houston, which wasn't as bad as that sounds. Check out about a billion photos below won't you? We'll learn a little bit about mezcal, and more importantly, look at lots of pictures of my weird face.
Here I am standing beside a palanque, the name for the stone pit where the pinas, or the heart of the agave plant, are roasted. The most common type of agave used is called espadin, which you can see growing in the background. They light a fire in the pit to heat the stones, then bury the agave under layers of leaves and dirt. This is where the characteristic smokiness of mezcal comes from, distinguishing it from tequila, which is cooked in a different fashion, often baked in larger ovens, or pressure cookers. Either way, the point is to convert the starches of the plant into sugars so the fermentation process can begin. More on this stuff in a bit, but first a back track.
All farewells should be sudden (). They are really, really not. The original trip we had booked from Boston to Mexico City had us flying out at 6 am on Thursday morning. No fucking way I'm getting up at 3:30 in the morning to go anywhere, no matter how much I want to be there. And the idea of staying up all night just to get a shitty, restless 45 minutes of napping done on a plane before beginning a trip doesn't work either. So instead we planned a layover for the night in Houston. Why Houston? Well, I called the airline and said "let me go literally anywhere in the country that will prevent this scenario we've got booked." Neurotic beggars can't be neurotic choosers right?
SHOUT OUT TO GUYS WHO STAND UP AS SOON AS THE PLANE STOPS TAXIING AND ARE STUCK THERE FOR 45 MINUTES WAITING FOR EVERYONE ELSE TO MOVE.
Instead of teaching multiculturalism in college white people should simply have to fly regularly to appreciate what it's like to be invisible and powerless. Wah wah, right? I have to be mildly inconvenienced to magically fly to an exciting place across the world. Yes, I've heard the Louie CK bit too, so save it.
Flying is miserable and dehumanizing -- relatively speaking of course. No offense to, you know, people's whose lives are actually horrible. There is no recourse for any slight, you pay exorbitant fairs to be treated like an assumed criminal at all turns, constantly under suspicion, then you're bilked at every turn for basic sustenance and entertainment because you're a captive audience. You're just at the mercy of these bureaucrat automatons who don't even consider you as a customer never mind as a citizen or a human being. Sorry, we're holding you in this cramped metal box for an extra two hours for no reason, fuck you. Sorry we're stranding you in this airport in the middle of nowhere for no reason, fuck you. Excuse me, I'm going to need to take your wife inside this official harrassment box here and feel her up (true story), because my machine told her to and one time ten years ago some people died. Oh you might miss your flight? Fuck you. Actually, all of that's an exaggeration, they don't say sorry first.
Flying is miserable and dehumanizing -- relatively speaking of course. No offense to, you know, people's whose lives are actually horrible. There is no recourse for any slight, you pay exorbitant fairs to be treated like an assumed criminal at all turns, constantly under suspicion, then you're bilked at every turn for basic sustenance and entertainment because you're a captive audience. You're just at the mercy of these bureaucrat automatons who don't even consider you as a customer never mind as a citizen or a human being. Sorry, we're holding you in this cramped metal box for an extra two hours for no reason, fuck you. Sorry we're stranding you in this airport in the middle of nowhere for no reason, fuck you. Excuse me, I'm going to need to take your wife inside this official harrassment box here and feel her up (true story), because my machine told her to and one time ten years ago some people died. Oh you might miss your flight? Fuck you. Actually, all of that's an exaggeration, they don't say sorry first.
Our flight out of Mexico City back home left an hour and a half late. Not a huge deal I guess, but when you get to a place a 2-3 hours early to wait in line so you can get into the other box inside where you have to wait in line to wait in line to get on the plane to sit there and wait and then you have to wait in a line so they can let you get off the box and back into the place you live it's just spiritually defeating. We had a flight from Mexico to Boston, but it really went to Newark and nothing on our ticket said anything about Newark, so we got to Newark and no one knew how to tell us where to go because we were on a flight that didn't exist (GHOST FLIGHT 2: THE FLIGHT THAT DIDN'T EXIST), then they wouldn't let us on cause ahh fuck it this is boring. Anyway we had to run like hell and beg four different people to just let us go and do the thing that our purchased ticket was meant for.
A gentle-man always travels in a hat, as Michelle said. (She took a lot of these photos. Follow her on intergrerm u guys at @mishkafrances). A gentle-man always chews mad gum like a twitchy horse because he has a crippling tobacco addition.
Probably enough whining about that for now. This was the first thing I saw when I landed in Texas. WTF? All the magazines in there have key pages ripped out I'm guessing? Tried buying condoms in here. No luck.
This is the one place I definitely wanted to check out in Houston. It's called Anvil Bar & Refuge and it's been making the rounds of the best cocktail bars in the country lists. It lived up to the reputation. Everything is slower in the south, they say, including boner cocktail bars, where they already take their sweet ass time worrying over the tinctures and shit in your drink up north, so you can imagine how long it took to get a drink here.
Wait was worth it though. Drink on the left was not fucking around; it's called The Brave for a reason. It's made with mezcal, sotol, which is a spirit distilled from the sotol plant which grows in northern Mexico and parts of Texas and is produced in a similar style as tequila or mezal, Averna, Curacao, and Angostura biters. One on the right was much smoother, tiki style drinking made with curacao, rum, bitters and mint.
I miss these meatballs sometimes.
Gin, lime, mint, cucumber, and habanero tincture.
Here's my old buddy from Boston, Chris. He works at a bar called The Refinery in Houston. We went there and had a Lone Star, which is probably like coming to Boston and having a Harpoon, but whatever.
This shelf in the shitter there seems like it would be convenient under different circumstances.
Come on son.
Then lots of other stuff happened, mostly getting lost driving around Houston, which is massive.
Made it to Mexico City. There are tons of scary looking federales everywhere. Not just at the airport either. Bunch of them in Oaxaca too. Is it just me or do guys with machine guns walking around make you feel less safe rather than the opposite?
These two snacks were next to each other in the shop, which I thought was rather appropriate.
LOL'd at the name of this bread truck when we landed in Oaxaca. I tried to explain to the woman driving us why it was funny. Uh, en ingles, 'bimbo' es..una mujer...que hace much sexo toda la tiempo?
Corona signs everywhere around here. Every other store has Corona painted out front it seems like. I never went into any of these places because I am an authentic local experience hunter man.
Like when I ate one these fucking things, chapulines, which is Spanish for grasshopper I guess. Not as bad as they seem. They put this shit on everything here so you kind of have to suck it up. As a connoisseur of diarrhea it was my duty to try as much different stuff as I could. I like to think that every time I run to the bathroom this week it's because these zombie bugs are coming back to life inside my stomach and trying to kick their way out.
This is the hotel we stayed at. It's in a converted convent built in 1576. It was probably the most gorgeous hotel I've ever been in.
Tons of pretty little alcoves to sit in and be emo, which is important for any stay.
Here we are back in the mountains of Matatlan, mezcal capital del mondial or something. Can't read the sign anymore.
This dude right here is my dude. He pulls a wheel around and around and smashes the agave and next thing you know you're drunk.
These are some ancient ruins of a pyramid at Monte Alban. This area dates back to around 500 BC an is one of the earliest cities in Mesoamerica.
They're numbering the stones here so they can put it back together in the right order or something. To tell you the truth I wasn't on this excursion and Michelle took these pictures because I had more important business to attend to that morning:
This was a nice touch at the hotel. It's not my name, of course, and Michelle isn't a man, but it did give me an excuse to have Ozzy in my head all week.
Can't begin to describe how much better the fruit here is than the shit we get in Massachusetts.
Here's a typical spirits list at a more tourist style place. One I liked particularly was the de la Vega reposado. Not overly smoky, and smooth like a tequila.
The best part were these gorgeous limes which aren't really limes they're oranges, which explains what the fuck was going on with that whole thing. You dip them in sal de gusano, aka worm powder mixed with chillies.
I guess this is supposed to remind me about Jesus every time I take a sip of my mezcal?
Thank you Jesus for all you've given us, but not for airplanes.
Probably needless to say, but the beer selection everywhere was great here as well. Oh yeah, and smoking in bars is always a treat. Not for anyone else but me, of course, but fuck everyone else right?
I dunno, some more old looking shit.
This was one of the best little mezcaleros we found, called Los Amantes. "It's good to know that no matter what city you go to you can always find a bartender who makes you feel like a dick for ordering the wrong way," Michelle said.
Church of Santo Domingo de Guzmán. Say what you will about Christians, but they did some good stonework in their day.
Saw some tradicional dances business. Pretty good,but needed more dubstep bass drops I thought. Most of the dances revolve around a simple concept: the guy wants to pork the girl but she doesn't want to unless he presents the right type of fruit. Something along those lines.
Instead of buying tacky shit you can just Instagram photos of it now and it's the same thing.
This is one of the best restaurants we went to, Casa de Oaxaca. It's a pretty multi-level restaurant, with open-aired exposed parts giving way to inside areas overlooking the church pictures up above. It was raining pretty much the entire trip, so it was weird to be a restaurant where you walked from your table to the bar or bathroom or whatever and got wet. Some of the ones we tried were the El Jogorio, drinkable, but pretty astringent banana profile, and the Casa Oaxaca Sola de Vega, where a deeply hidden pineapple reveals itself under the slight burn.
Some duck gorditas. The chef here, Alejandro Ruiz, is a rising international star, and one of the most renowned chefs in traditional Oaxacan cuisine.
Pescadillos, like fried whatever I forget. Amazing though.
Tacos de pato con mole.
More shots of the hotel. So photogenic.
Another place we went for lunch. A lot of the nice restaurants here do the inside/outside blend, which is great because I like to have lunch with birds in my tits.
Tried all of these. The Wahaka joven was sharp with agave, not much smoke, fresh, bright, green and clear.
Walked around some of the out of the way streets a bit. All these streets are cramped with tightly packed homes and broken down shops and cafes, and, like, a stone alcove with someone sitting in front of a hundred year old computer looking angrily out at the world. That's a metaphor. A lot of metaphors. The tops of all the walls surrounding the buildings are lined with broken glass, so good luck stealing anything assholes.
I guess this neighborhood was like the South Boston of Oaxaca since this is how they save their parking spots.
Not sure why they put this tree in jail.
Bunch of others we tried, El Senorio and Zignum, which were smoother, and much less harsh and smoky than more traditional style mezcals, then again, I tend to prefer the stuff that's harsher to drink myself. Michelle liked these. The Senorio joven was super fruity and tropical.
Hard to tell when revolutionary icon stuff in Mexico is just-kidding hipster branding like it is here.
More chapulines.
Oaxacan hipsters.
Back at Los Amants. Can't remember the names of the stuff I tried here because I was wasted by this point. Some were super hot, one had a super floral profile, while one was deep caramel. Madre Cuixhe or something? Can't make out my notes at this point. Drinking journalism.
This dude was playing The Scorpions' "Winds of Change" when were chilling outside in the street drinking (that's always weird to me to do). Sick whistling solo. Seriously made everyone we were with super happy to hear this.
This place was beautiful on the inside, creeping with vegetation and ancient stone.
The two mezcals I tried here weren't so great though. The pechuga on the left had artificial coloring, which is a big no bueno. The Quinceanos was hot with banana and pepper, but not to my taste.
Another church I'm guessing. Hard to tell.
See what I mean about how beautiful the city is?
LOL @ Gel Douche. They import these lotions and shit from Jersey or what?
I know I know, enough pictures of the hotel, but man, this place... All I could think about was how great a map it would make for a first person shooter game.
I would kill so many aliens from these little alcoves.
Not all of Oaxaca is beautiful, mind you. This was a harrying seatbelt-less cab ride I took for about 45 minutes to get out of the city. Thought I was going to die multiple times. Oh, PS, if someone is going to Mexico and they tell you about it, try not to say "Are you going to get your head cut off?" because it's pretty culturally ignorant, and even worse, a total cliche.
I don't feel so good on this cab ride though. Am I going to get my fucking head cut off?
Corona!
There is no line down the middle of the highway here, so you just kind of have to stay over a little bit to the side. Still drive a million miles an hour though just in case.
Getting kind of tired of writing this post so I can imagine how you must feel about reading it.
Here's some roasted agave. Gorgeous stuff.
This is a steam-based copper still. Those buckets down there on the bottom right are where they collect the spirit once it's been distilled. We got to taste it right out of there. It was magic. Fire magic, sure, but magic all the same.
The other side of the still.
Mashed up agave pulp. So fragrant. Has a musty, slightly sweet taste.
This is the Zignum distillery, where they mass produce a number of different spirits. It was a big counter-point to seeing the traditional production style. Here they use giant machinery to shred the agaves, then wash them with water to extract the juices. It makes for a very different tasting product that's probably more appealing to people who don't savor the smoke and burn traditionally associated with mezcal, like Michelle, for example (aka a girl).
Had some cocktails and lunch there, which was great. Get me, I'm a food photographer now.
This is dinner later at some place or other.
Thought this might've been some sort of ancient beta-iPhone. Takes horrible pictures it turns out.
No people allowed out there. OH WORD?
OK I got to go. Here are a few more Instagram joints from being back in Boston before my computer catches on fire from being open so long.
U LOOK GOOD BB!
NOTHING MATTERS (VIA METALLICA)
YOUNG LOVE OR WHAT HAVE YOU
MISSED YOU BOSTON
THIS DUDE THOUGHT HE WAS BETTER THAN ME
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9 comments:
LOL pic #2, not flexing at all, naturally swole. What are you hanging on to?
NO WAY THAT'S NATURAL!
It's a hammer for smashing agaves and shit. What does it look like?
You didn't see one Spanish speaking post hardcore, screamo band while in Mexico? I am disappoint.
There was a bar with a bunch of emos and scenesters hanging out near the hotel, but didn't have time to explore it fully. No live punk anywhere as far as I could tell.
"It's good to know that no matter what city you go to you can always find a bartender who makes you feel like a dick for ordering the wrong way," Michelle said.
Reminds me of this clip from the Brady Bunch movie: http://www.hark.com/clips/srhphczkdh-bobby-people-like-to-be-corrected-when-theyre-doing-something-wrong
hmm... seems like a day in san diego (or tijuana) to me, lol
and what's with all the white-boy-hip-hop-wannabe-gangsta-sounding slang??? i don't get it. i'm black, btw, so i appreciated your pic of the 'negrito' next to the bigotes!
I think that's probably just called how basic people talk now? What's good though?
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