Eduardo ‘Lalo’ Ángeles Carreño, a fourth-generation mezcal producer, puts his trust in the sanctity of mezcal. For Mexicans, mezcal is la bebida de los dioses — the drink of the gods — and Lalo wants one thing to be clear to those consuming it: no matter the cache it may carry, mezcal is not a trend.

On an arid October morning, Lalo greeted me at the entrance of his palenque in Santa Catarina Minas, a small town south of Oaxaca City. Smoke gently rose from the furnace beside his house, thickening the air with the aroma of scorched agave stalks, or piñas. The Ángeles family is renowned as the “mezcal superstars” of Oaxaca, having used the traditional distillation process since 1978. Lalo paused his work to show me the adobe where he produces small-batch mezcal. He taught me how to enjoy the spirit properly — sipped slowly, straight, and held in the mouth between sips so it becomes diluted — then savored and swallowed. It was smoky yet sweet. Strong, with a delicious burn.

The maguey plant, from which mezcal is distilled, is a member of Mexico’s extensive family of agaves. The flavor is born from the heart of the plant, the piña, which roasts in a stone pit over a wood fire for nearly a week. Once removed, the juices can be extracted, fermented, and distilled. Larger companies have condensed this process into a single day using machinery, as the complexities of the traditional process cannot accommodate the climbing demand for mezcal worldwide. Sugars fail to reach full concentration, resulting in a lower-quality product.

“Mezcal is an essential part of our country,” said Lalo. “It is the farmer’s drink, and although corn has always been number one in all of Central America, mezcal was always second.”

According to Toltec legend, the culture of mezcal and the maguey plant constitutes heritage, wisdom, and indigenous mythology. Patécatl and Mayahuel — the god and goddess of the maguey — represent the plant itself, deified. Patécatl discovered the ocpatli root, which expedites the fermentation process, and his name translates to “the one from the land of medicine.” Mayahuel embodies the fertility and nutrients of the maguey, regarded by Oaxacans as “the mother plant” for its vast range of medicinal properties and uses.

The exchange of mezcal between small-batch distillers and neighboring families with whom they maintain relationships is intimate, humble, and fairly exclusive. Oaxacans will rarely buy labeled mezcal. Instead, a local supplier or friend will pay a regular visit, selling by the liter. Many farmers in Oaxaca uphold the tradition of consuming mezcal three times a day — once in the morning to stimulate the senses and cleanse the gums, once in the afternoon for the same effect, and again at night to relax the body. Since the first evidence of mezcal’s distillation over 2,000 years ago, mothers have used it to numb babies’ gums when they are teething. Aguamiel is scraped from maguey leaves to treat backaches, sprains, and blows to the body. Piña ashes are used to treat stomach swelling, a common ailment among those who have dedicated their lives to physical labor. Ixtle (the Otomi word for maguey fiber) is used to make twine and cloth, while raw maguey fibers are used to build adobe walls. “Nothing goes to waste in Mexico,” said Lalo.

The Spaniards quickly recognized the plant’s medicinal properties following their conquest of the Aztec Empire in 1519. Francisco Hernández, doctor to Philip II of Spain, was drawn to its cure-all potential and used it to treat members of the crown. However, the Spaniards disapproved of the tradition of mezcal consumption. Drunkenness was punished by death as part of the crown’s strategy to decimate Aztec society. Prohibition led to the formation of underground alliances; those persecuted by the Spanish crown sought refuge in highly protected bars, where no representative of authority was allowed entry. Oppression was shared over drinks, as these establishments became some of the only places of salvation for the vanquished.

“Mezcal is the first thing offered at every wedding, every baptism, any party,” said Lalo. His company, Lalocura, continues to employ horses for labor and clay pots for distillation, following the traditional process. The unparalleled quality of his mezcal is the result of this age-old approach. The Spaniards replaced the use of clay with copper during the Inquisition, while today’s leading brands (like Monte Alban) have since replaced horses with machinery.

The traditional copa of mezcal can be found at a mezcalería in any major city, but more often than not, the spirit’s rich flavor is shaken into a cocktail. Its allure was embraced by the North American market in the late nineties as a “new and cache” mixology concept, creating the global fad of the mezcal cocktail — a concept entirely foreign to Oaxacans.

“Changing the understanding of mezcal isn’t the point, because there is no understanding of mezcal in the first place,” said Lalo. It was Mexico's third-largest alcoholic export in 2016 behind beer and tequila, generating more than $26 million, according to Mexico’s Department of Agriculture. While the spike has brought business to small towns in the Mezquital Valley, it has also placed an urgent call for industry reform. Mass production has forced the harvest of younger magueyes, despite the quality of mezcal depending on the full maturation of a plant, which can take between 7 and 25 years.

In order to bottle, sell, and import, a distillery’s equipment and process must be routinely evaluated to ensure it honors the Appellation of Origin, enforced by Mexico’s Department of Agriculture in 1995. These parameters — deeming a mezcal as “certifiably authentic” or otherwise — were established without input from farmers, who are required to pay a fee for certification.

“Those who bring in money are the ones creating the guidelines for how to ‘properly’ practice a tradition that belongs to us, not to them,” said Lalo. “Big companies need qualified workers with the right intentions, education, and some pride in what they’re doing.”

In 2017, close to 80% of the industry’s profit was pocketed by Pernod Ricard and Zignum (a Mexican company originally founded by a Coca-Cola bottler), both of which have bought out small family companies that value land reforestation and waste management. For those simply purchasing the torch, preserving endangered magueyes and using natural insecticides comes second to supplying the market.

“That, to us, as farmers and as Mexicans, is an insult,” said Lalo.

Oaxaca, one of Mexico’s most impoverished states, has borne the environmental consequences of this demand. In Santiago Matatlán, the motherland of mezcal production, most of the liquid waste from scorched magueyes is emptied into the Santiago River, polluting the water and killing fish and plant life.

Lalo studied agro-engineering and has observed how Oaxaca’s farmers have been impacted by the Green Revolution that preceded him. Chemical insecticides became an integral part of Mexico’s agriculture after their debut in the early forties, making a system reset unfathomable for old-school farmers. While Lalo lacks the resources to spark a large-scale revolution, he plans to return to his alma mater to start a dialogue about the urgency of rescuing the old process and reclaiming ownership of the spirit.

He’s not alone. Los Danzantes, another small distillery, is staffed by locals who are familiar with Oaxaca’s bioregion and the complexity of the plant, allowing them to develop forward-thinking solutions. In the Ocotlán Valley, the local university has assembled a team of students, biologists, and agro-engineers to clone endangered magueyes with the hope of saving them from extinction.

Quotes from Eduardo ‘Lalo’ Ángeles Carreño have been translated from Spanish to English.