The way to Oaxaca is long and not only in terms of its topography. It is a long trip into the deppest corners of your inner self. 600km and aeons away from Mexico City, there where you are the hunter and the prey at the same time. The hunter that follows the traces of taste and the prey that trembling tries to escape the labyrinth of its senses of flavor. A deep duality.
One arrives there as an hunter to leave Oaxaca as a prey. Behind the journey, an odyssey.
Oaxaca is considered the center of Mezcal culture. First and foremost: Santiago Matatlan, which is considered the center of mezcal production.
You must turn right on the path that leads to Chiapas. The road is a kind of fresco by Diego Rivera: Whimsical colors, mythical figures. And the sky, nothing but the horizon, which appears like a bridge between you and eternity. First, on the left side, you’ll meet the family Mora, that distillates the Mezcal Cruz de Milagro (Cross of Miracles) since ever. You should be rather cautious when you get there or you’re expected to meet the same faith as Odysseus at Kalypso. Each drop deepens a wound in your memories. Painful, exhilarating … soothing somehow.
The smell of alcohol fills the air. Burning fires everywhere roasting the hearts of the agave. The dogs of the city live their dream. The alcohol in the air makes them lazy and lethargic and they sleep throughout the day. Cerberus abandoned Hades here.
We are looking for Los Javis’, a Mezcaleria, that has been distilling noble drops out of the hearts of the agave Espadin for 3 generations. We wanted to find it and taste it and interpret it with our Western mind. Yes, Mezcal is a prey lurking on their hunters. A siren on your palate. Nude dancing. Its mocks the shooting of your arrows. It escorts the wind and shows it its tongue.
Through your veins flows the crystal clear blood of the agave. Do you dare to taste it?
Is this the secret potion of Circe? Will I ever be allowed to leave this island?
You have to kiss it. Each great love or betrayal begins with a little kiss. It is like the kiss of your first love. The Kiss your mother. You relax your bow, your arrows fall to the ground. You close your eyes and you can go down the same path all over again. You are in Ithaca – now you know.
The agave’s blood calls its unconditional tribute. Memories. Everything is quiet. The Earth rotates more slowly. Where do you know this feeling from? Or is this no feeling at all? A mirage, perhaps? Our hearts beat in reverse to go back all the way around. But you never come back from this journey. It continues.
Yes, we will take it home and keep it forever. We will take it home as a gift from the island of the Cyclops. It is a long journey and each centimeter an onus.
Mexico’s latest Mezcal. For you. And withal for us. Go down on your knees and pray! Perhaps it talks to you too.