Barro & Cowhide Mezcal!
The Righteous Reality of Mezcal in Santa María Ixcatlán
Thursday, February 27th, 2025
My stance isn’t popular among Mezcal Maniacs—but for me, clay gets in the way. In the way of the otherwise beautiful agave flavors, I mean.
Go ahead: fight me.
There’ve been plenty of exceptions over a decade of drinking, but I still prefer copper distillations. Fred and Bryan, however, vehemently disagree. So this year I made sure our Oaxacan plans included a full-on barro region: Santa María Ixcatlán.
Google Maps promised a two-hour-and-twenty-six-minute jaunt north of the city. Yeah right. Ciro picked us up at 7:30 a.m., and after a brief breakfast stop, it was almost noon before we reached our first palenque.
Dusty, dry, chalky… This region bore little resemblance to the lush Oaxacan zones we know. Our directions were iffy, so we had to rely on Ciro’s navigational horse sense—many times ending up in outlandish scenarios that defied map logic. Like here…
But Ciro finally delivered us to the palenque of David Rivera Herrera—the legacy of his father Federico and mother Virginia. One thing I’ll give Ixcatlán: if the climate is dry and barren, the people are kind-hearted and precious. This palenque was the most humble and rustic I’ve seen, but we were greeted by warm, sincere smiles and hospitality.
The local agave here is Papalomé—another name for Tobalá (specifically potatorum). And the still at the Rivera palenque? Super cool. There was a very small canoa in the floor where they use wooden mallets to crush the agave. (There’s a damn workout!)
And then there were the fabled fermenters made entirely of cowhide and stretched around a wooden framework. They say the natural bacteria and enzymes on the hide can subtly alter the fermentation dynamics. This extra diversity may help break down agave sugars in a slightly different way, contributing to a more complex flavor profile. The thing that got us? That hide was hard! Tapping on the underside with a knuckle produced a good loud thump!
David explained they recycle their water: it’s pumped through a hose into a hollowed-out log, maybe three inches in diameter, then trickles into two deep copper condenser plates perched atop two clay pots.
When the water level rises high enough in those plates, it spills through copper pipes into the heart of a fat agave penca. The penca’s tip directs the flow into another hollowed-out log, returning the water to its source for recycling. That cool water then condenses the heated vapors in the clay pot below into liquid gold. Voila: mezcal ancestral! (see below video)
Right in the middle of the second distillation of that Papalomé, David filled a generously sized jicara to the brim and offered it to me. “Whoa!” I thought, asking for a smaller dose. Later, I realized that mezcal was his only offering (apart from the puntas version), so I probably could have handled it.
After spending a delightful time with the Rivera clan—asking questions and inspecting their quaint palenque—it was time to talk turkey. Fred wanted plenty, and Bryan and I wanted some too. I casually placed the order:
“Maestro, nos gustaría veinte litros, por favor.”
Then David’s eyes widened. He froze, a look of palpable fear crossing his face. Five seconds passed before I got it: he didn’t flippin’ have twenty liters to sell! So I made a quick U-turn.
“¿No tienes veinte litros, joven? No hay problema.”
He shook his head, pointing to an almost full 20-liter garrafón. He told us if we waited till 4pm it would be full. But with two more palenques on the schedule and a long drive back to Centro, that wasn’t an option. We settled for about 18 liters and struck a deal.
So about this mezcal…
Did I taste the clay? I did. Did I feel that familiar agave afterglow upon sipping? That too. But did I taste what I’ve come to love as Tobalá? I did not. And that’s the rub: if you’re going to subscribe to the entire concept of clay distillations, I think you have to accept they’re less about the tongue and more about the whole damn mouth—a ruggedly mineral, prehistoric potion.
I confess it’s happened before. Months ago I brought a bottle of Angel Cruz Robles’ Arroqueño from a few years back to our weekly Mezcal Meetup in San Miguel de Allende. Engrossed in conversation near the end of the night, I realized I’d had a few of them. And it crept up beautifully on me. It seems like the gathering granite builds in your mouth until pretty soon something almost fruity pops out.
And I wanted more.
Yet these occasions never fully crack the seal for me. Next time I try a barro mezcal I pucker again. A few weeks back, Fred and Bryan and I debated which mezcales from our trip were best. Fred took a couple days and texted:
“That Papalomé we got from David Rivera is hands down my favorite ❤️ for 2025.”
No mames! En serio? Within the hour I’d poured myself a centimeter and sipped. Damn it…there was something in that mezcal I’d previously overlooked—the power of suggestion, perhaps? But every sip since has carried that unmistakable salty, saddle leather essence.
Maybe I should’ve bought more. And maybe you should ignore my horse hockey about barro distillations! It’s just me, and I’ve come to accept that we’re all allowed one divergence from the consensus.
I’ve spent so much time not only spotlighting the Riveras but also waxing weird about clay that I’ll finish my account of our Santa María Ixcatlán adventure in the next article. Both subsequent experiences were very special.
I’ve welcomed a surge of new subscribers lately—especially cool considering when I started, I didn’t even know people could subscribe! If you’re one of the new readers, welcome. I appreciate every message you send. And if you ever find yourself in San Miguel de Allende, hit me up—we’ll raise a glass together.
Salud!
Very nice, very well explained about the subtleties of this mezcal differences. I tend towards this style, but definately not 100%. It is good to move around the different techniques. To me it parallels how Mexican food brings out the chile flavor. I want mezcal to bring out the maguey flavor, and to me this is how you explain copper distillation. Copper presents the straight up maguey flavor, so how do you want your chile to taste?
I love your Substack name: Mezcal Maniac. And you are! Following your bliss! Very cool.