The Story of Job
How an Enlightened Young Bohemian Baptized me with Mezcal
“There was a man in the land of Oaxaca, whose name was Job; and that man was young and laid-back. He knew of agaves and mezcal and other life-giving plants. But he was not without anguish, and his name was not Job.”
I didn’t move to Mexico for mezcal, but it found me very soon after my arrival in June of 2014. My friend James invited me to a huge event here in San Miguel de Allende held at Parque Juarez: Sabores San Miguel. There were well over 100 booths selling a variety of food and drink. I arrived early and noticed a young American dude with big hair, a bushy beard, a huge smile and bare feet bouncing around one booth with rows of tiny, plastic sample cups filled from a variety of bottles on hand. I asked what it was.
“Mezcal,” he rasped.
Besides one teenage experience with a buddy in 1985, I didn’t know mezcal. Job explained that tequila was one variety of mezcal, but that there were dozens of different agaves—all with different flavor profiles. I laid down my 30 pesos and tried one. WOW! I didn’t even drink liquor, being a craft-brewed beer guy. But this was attention-grabbing. I laid down another 30 pesos. WHOA! Again I was knocked out by the earthy, complex flavors balanced with just a bit of natural sweetness.
“So I guess I like mezcal now,” I thought. I gave Job a head nod and moved a few booths down to another mezcal purveyor. Let’s try THEIR stuff! It was a larger, commercial mezcal brand that’s made in a huge hacienda in our very state of Guanajuato. 30 pesos on the table, and now for the sip. (pause) BLUH! This was nothing like Job’s! Was it my imagination, or was it completely repulsive? Better have another try. (pause) OYYYY! Am I tasting it wrong?! I must give it one more chance; I must remind myself how truly terrible something can be. (pause) YUCK! And into a nearby garbage can it went.
Note to self: some mezcal is amazing, and some horrifyingly bad. I recommend the former.
Below is a video of Job singing the blues at that very Sabores San Miguel event where I first met him.
The Pool Party
“And the prophet sayeth unto me, “This is the man sent to make your paths straight and prepare you in the way of mezcal.” And Job’s shoes were rabbits, and his food was chapulines and oranges.”
Later the next week James asked if I wanted to go to a party one afternoon.
“A party? What kind of a party?” I ask.
“It’s a party. Someone invited me. Wanna go?” was his non-answer.
So I agreed, put on my nice Dockers and pressed shirt, and headed into Centro with James. When you walk these streets, you have no idea just what is behind some of the entrances. Yes, it was an old, crumbling doorway, but upon walking through we found a paradise scene. Well manicured, green grass, trees, beautiful pool, lovely home, everyone in swimsuits. Wait, what!?
“James, you didn’t tell me it was a fricking POOL party!”
At 48, I was also approximately twice the age of the average cannon baller present. But who should be there, but Job himself. Unlike the others who probably wondered what this old guy was doing there on their patio, Job plopped down next to me and asked how I was doing. He pulled out a couple of bottles of mezcal, fired up a joint of Oaxacan hash and tobacco, and we sipped and puffed awhile as I got to know him better.
His footwear was unlike anything I’d seen. Maybe the years have exaggerated my memory, but they just seemed like raw rabbit skins. No way he got these at Nordstrom Rack, I noted. He was heading back to Oaxaca the next day and still had some bottles; so he offered me a deal on a couple of them to lighten his load. One was a Coyote and the other was just marked “Ensamble.” A mezcal minimalist, there were no labels on his bottles. Just knotted twine wrapped around the bottle necks with small tags hanging from them that read, “Sin Marca.” (Without Brand.)
Yes, it was a blazing mezcal afternoon… So despite my discomfort over being the only 40 plus guy at a juvenile pool party, Job made it a great day, and I returned home with two 750 ml bottles of magnificent artesanal mezcal. Bottles that I would nurse for an entire year.
Sabores San Miguel 2015
“And while on the road, Job met a man in whom dwelled an unclean spirit: mass marketed tequila. And Job rebuked the spirit, saying, “Hold thy peace and come out of this man!” And the spirit left him. Then Job gave him a righteous Tobalá, and the man’s soul came to be filled. And the man found peace.”
Shortly after this I would meet Cecilia, a Mexicana originally from the north, and we’d weave our way through town, checking out the many restaurant and bar options. I’d usually order mezcal, but my mind would play tricks on me.
Is this mezcal good? Hmm. It’s pretty good, I guess. Sure, it’s all right. Wait… I remember Job’s stuff being a lot better. Wasn’t it? Or did my mind falsely magnify the flavor experience?
I realized that when I’d sip from the bottles I bought from Job there was no question how good it was. So clearly I was not getting the quality he’d introduced me to. I had no way of contacting this far-out character; so I really hoped there’d be another Sabores festival the following year—and that he’d show up again.
There was. And he did.
I greeted him enthusiastically, telling him how carefully I rationed those two bottles and how I couldn’t find anything half as good as his stuff since then. He immediately recommended a beautiful Madrecuixe, and I went nuts over it. I’d been right: his mezcal really WAS that much better!
A couple of friends were visiting during that time: Alastair Wilcox, a South African who’d been living in Acapulco and my friend Ryan Anderson from Arizona. I took them to a local house during this time where Job was able to give us a tasting from an enormous variety of mezcales. Later I told him, “I’m not losing track of you this time,” and got his contact information.
My First Trip to Oaxaca
“And Job called unto me, saying, “Come henceforth to the promised land; the one that flows with mezcal and pulque. And bring your woman.””
Within a week or so after Job’s departure, I’d placed an order for 12 bottles of Madrecuixe. It had been made by the maestro who to this day is one of my absolute favorites: Hermogenes Vasquez Garcia. The earthiness was sublimely gorgeous, and the gentle sweetness balanced it perfectly. But I wanted more. “You really just need to come to Oaxaca,” Job stated flatly. And within another couple of weeks, Cecilia and I were there.
August in Oaxaca is pretty humid. But although I despise that, I was loving this adventure into Mezcal Land so much I hardly noticed. We rented an AirBnb we thought was an apartment, which turned out to be a room in a chatty older woman’s home. Oy. I’d brought my mobile studio to record voiceovers that came in, but these setups—especially in Latin America—are far from ideal. While typical US hotels are generally pretty “soft” environments, with wall-to-wall carpeting, textured wallpaper, huge billowy curtains and 10 pillows per room, here the environments are quite “hard,” and thus more echoey than a voice talent desires. But I managed.
First Job took us to the huge mercado (market) in Oaxaca City. He explained that, when he first came to the city some years earlier, he had no income and would pick up random vegetables that fell from the tables of some of these market purveyors.
“Watch this,” he said. “This is what I used to do every day.”
He noticed a small onion that had fallen to the ground; so he approached the older Mexicana, bent down, picked it up and said with a bowing posture, “Por favor, señora?” She nodded and he returned actually beaming.
“Great. Tonight I’ll fry this up with something.” And he slipped it into his backpack.
“Damn. Poor fucker,” I thought. Wonder how he found himself in this spot, knocking around Mexico, begging for dirty vegetables and selling mezcal? Yeah. We’ll get to that.
First Mezcal Palenque Visit
“And Job spoke to me saying, “Abandon your mundane endeavors and follow me.” In turn I asked, “But where shall we go?” and he replied, “To the Oaxacan countryside of San Baltazar Guelavila. And there you will see how artesanal mezcal is made.” And so I followed.”
On our way out to San Baltazar in a car he had commissioned for us, Job wanted to stop at a little place by the side of the road that made empanadas. I was familiar with empanadas, but by comparison with any I’d seen before, these were positively enormous! The ladies were having a bit of a time keeping the fire going at this time of morning, so they asked us all to take turns fanning it to keep their little grill going. This lasted longer than you might think, but eventually we had our empanadas and were back on the road.
Cosme Hernández is a fixture in the mezcal world. When we arrived in San Baltazar Guelavila, (not to be confused with San Baltazar Chichicapam,) we went directly to the palenque operated by his son Daniel and Cosme Jr. That’s where Job was operating as a kind of apprentice and actually living in a concrete structure there on the property. This is where I first saw an actual artesanal mezcal operation, and did I think it was cool!
The rock lined earthen horno (oven) was there, the tahona where roasted agaves were crushed, the wooden tinas (fermentation vessels) were full of slowly bubbling mash. Job handed me a bit of the roasted agave for a taste. Kinda molasses-like, I thought.
Then of course it was time to taste. And taste we did! Job had told me before we arrived, “Look, man. If you don’t wanna get super drunk, you’re gonna have to tell ‘em to stop. Otherwise they WILL keep pouring.” I’ve mentioned this experience a couple times before in another article. I was blown away by many, but couldn’t yet comprehend others. And later while home those elusive beauties would eventually captivate me too.
It was a beautiful day, and at age 49 I realized it had been awhile since I’d discovered something that was new and particularly special. It seemed I was being initiated into the coolest thing I’d ever found. There was so much to learn, and I wanted to learn! I just felt honored by it all.
Plus my face was beaming from all that amazing mezcal.
Next we made our way to another of the Hernández palenques. The horse was in action here, smashing the maguey. Below is a video of it.
Working with Job
Cecilia and I had a fantastic time in Oaxaca, and toward the end of my visit, I struck up a conversation with Job about my buying mezcal—through him—from the many mezcalero contacts he’d made. I knew a good number in San Miguel de Allende were partial to—or in love with—artesanal mezcal; so I thought I could get enough to keep myself happy, and I could share it and perhaps sometimes sell it to some of them too. Then I figured—even if I wasn’t pretending to establish an actual licensed brand—as long as I was going to put it in bottles anyway, I may as well come up with some labels to put on them. And those labels ought to have some kind of marca (brand name).
There is a very wide array of mezcal brand names, but one approach is to make it sound just a bit illicit. Names like Ilegal, Indocumentado, La Maliciosa, Siniestro (sinister), etc. I wanted something a bit friendlier, but that carried with it the idea that this was just among friends; a bit under the table.
We were hanging out at a great little mezcal bar called La Mezcalerita, and joking around with the bartender while brainstorming. I asked them both what the Spanish word for “wink” was. “Guiño,” said the barkeep. Then he turned to me with a smile and widened eyes, and suggested the brand be called, “Guiño Guiño,” as in “Wink Wink.” I immediately loved it.
Over the next three years I guess I made 40-50 orders with Job. In the beginning I was a bit more cautious, having him send smaller amounts; then if I loved it, I’d ask him to get more. But at some point I began trusting him more based upon his expressions. If he said it was good, I was certain I’d either really like it—or be enthralled by it.
Along about 2016, I realized that I was living in this magnificent, cool-ass little old world Mexican town, but was spending most of the time cooped up in my studio recording voiceovers. Unlike me, a lot of my friends were retired, and they popped into Centro all they wanted. So I decided I’d start knocking off early on Fridays, slipping into Centro and trying to meet friends somewhere I could smoke a cigar and drink some mezcal with them. At first it was just my friend James and I, but eventually…it grew! No kidding.
To this day we have anywhere from 25-35 people meet up (normally) at Mezcal-Art just on the edge of Centro. Owners Alex and his brother Rafa have just been wonderful to us, and always roll out the red carpet. It’s dawned on many of us—especially during the difficult days of 2020 and 2021—that this group has been a really special source of sanity for us. For me? Many of these friends seem like some of the best I’ve ever had in my life.
Job Goes Away
“And Job called out, “O that you would conceal me and set a time limit for me until man’s anger has passed and certainly remember me!””
It’s time now to address the “anguish” mentioned at the beginning of this article. At some point in our friendship, Job had mentioned that “Job” wasn’t his real name. I don’t press people for information they don’t readily want to provide, and in this case I told him I really didn’t want to know why. But as it turns out he was wanted on a marijuana charge in Idaho. In May of 2018 I received a private message from his Oaxacan girlfriend that she needed to speak with me. You guessed it: the US authorities had picked him up in Oaxaca.
It could be that—had his arrest occurred some years earlier—he would have received a more substantial sentence. But because cannabis was then legal either for medicinal or recreational use in many, many states, perhaps there wasn’t much will to go too deep with this. He received three years.
He called me several times from prison to tell me how things went down and informed me that his real name was Max. He did his time, got out earlier this year and is now living in the Pacific Northwest. I always enjoyed this dude, but over the telephone now he’s so much more relaxed and appreciative; it’s good to hear him like this!
Mezcal Perspective
So this has basically been my mezcal origin story. I wanted to write about it because, as you can probably tell by now, discovering, learning about and sharing mezcal has had a profound impact on my life. How could that be? I’ve enjoyed and even loved many other things in the past. How could finding out about a type of LIQUOR have such a deep, life-altering effect on a person?
At this writing I’m 55 years old. If this had happened 20 years ago I would have just shrugged and said, “Cool.” But the longer I live the more I’ve come to believe that either…
A) the universe has a remarkable and mysterious way of moving you toward things that are gratifying and fulfilling if you’re open to it, OR…
B) it’s at least the best philosophy to hold that it might be doing so!
So it was stumbling upon this mind-blowing spirit, coming to find the great width and depth of taste experiences, becoming educated about how it is made and the culture that contributes to it, finding others who have similarly seen this light… It made my transition here to Mexico so much more than just a move.
And Job…whoops! I mean Max was just the right guy to get me started on this journey. Thanks so much, buddy!
As is always the case, you’re invited to say hi if you ever make your way to San Miguel de Allende, here in the Mexican state of Guanajuato. Maybe you can even join us for our Friday mezcal meet-up. Or if you’d like, I can arrange a tasting for you at our home. If you’re already a mezcal maniac like me, it’ll be great to connect and hit you with some of my finds. And if you’re new to this experience, I’d love to share some mezcal that may well blow your mind—just like “Job” blew mine!
I am so very pleased to have read your story. As it turns out I know this 'Job' very well as I am is mother, Donna Brobeck. He has spoke often over the years about you and your friendship towards him. He is an amazing young man that I love dearly and as it turns out, you do too. We have enjoyed many evenings drinking his wonderful mezcal. Thank you ever so much for sharing your story.