ADVENTURES IN TEQUILA COUNTRY

I hesitated a moment as our guide handed me the still-steaming chunk of blue agave. “Try it,” he implored. I remembered seeing fields of this particularly mean-looking plant just a little earlier that day, and how a member of our group had actually cut himself on the sharp, jagged leaves. I also knew that it was this, the cooked, pulpy heart of the agave, that was on its way to being distilled into tequila... a spirit that until very recently had conjured up only collegiate memories of pounded shots and pounding headaches. But I was hungry - they eat dinner very late down in Mexico, I learned - so anything to tide me over was worth the risk. I took a bite, and immediately salivated over the juicy flavor - like sweet potato, with a pleasantly pungent hint of citrus. I needed no encouragement to finish my portion in short order. A bit later in the tour, I took a sip of the distilled product, pure and straight from the vat, from a snifter. And while undeniably strong at a staggering 120 proof, I could still taste that telltale agave sweetness. And in that one sip, I came to understand why premium tequila has become all the rage among American spirits enthusiasts.

I had arrived in Guadalajara the previous day, a guest of the wonderfully hospitable Gonzalez family, to take a detailed tour through the growing and distillation of the family’s product, Don Julio Tequila. I could tell almost immediately that I was to be treated quite well on this excursion: the lodgings were at the swanky Quinta Real, the top-rated hotel in the city, with a great open-air patio that was ideal for a late-evening cigar. Every dinner we had was at a top-flight restaurant, usually with musical accompaniment by an authentic Mariachi band. What took some getting used to was the cadre of dark-suited, dark-sunglass-wearing, Glock-toting guards who followed our every step. I felt like a visiting dignitary - or at the very least, a famous rap star. Needless to say, my entourage got me some very nervous looks from shopkeepers when I went trolling for souvenirs on our last day.

The meat of the trip was here, on the second day, when we’d traveled deep into the Jalisco Valley, the heart of tequila country, to visit the sprawling agave farms that supply the main ingredient of Mexico’s native beverage. Much like cognac isn’t really cognac unless it comes from a particular region in France, any tequila worthy of the name has its origins in this valley. An Aztec legend has it that the gods sent a bolt of lightning that struck the agave plant, cooking its heart and giving birth to tequila, “the nectar of the gods.” It’s still regarded that way in Mexico, where the number of brands is astounding - with Don Julio the number one-selling brand in the country, and slated to join some of its more well-known competitors in the status-conscious U.S. top-shelf drink market.

Don Julio’s brands, like all premium tequila, are distilled from 100% blue agave, whereas the mass-market brands (the bottles that made the rounds at the frat parties, and the stuff that most likely fuels your frozen margaritas at Chi-Chi’s) is often little more than 50%. In the afternoon, we witnessed tequila production’s first stage: the “jimador,” skilled in the art of agave harvesting, pulls the massive, spiny-leafed plant from the ground by its roots using a long-handled tool called a “coa.” Once it’s been dislodged, the worker meticulously saws off the protruding leaves with the precision and discipline of a sculptor, leaving behind something resembling a giant, 90-odd- pound pinecone. It is in this form that the plant is sent to the factory, to be cooked, ground into pulp, and double-distilled - and in the case of the añejo and reposado tequilas, aged in oak barrels from eight months to over a year.

Of course, the full-strength sample I tasted at the factory settles into a more manageable 76 proof by the time it’s ready for bottling, which was good for me, because tequila is the drink of choice here, served with just about any meal. Capping off our day in the valley was, without a doubt, the greatest dining experience of the trip: a massive midday brunch at the Gonzalez family ranch. Here I tried each of the three main brands and found them all to be distinct in flavor and very smooth. The Blanco was silvery-clear and clean, dry with hints of citrus. The Añejo was richer, amber in color with a smoky taste. The Reposado was golden-brown and silky, with subtle hints of honey and cinnamon. All were wonderful served straight over crushed ice, and also in a couple of traditional Mexican concoctions that, with any luck, will catch on here in the States: the sangrita (tequila with a side of tomato or orange juice, with garlic and chile pepper) and the paloma (tequila mixed with lemon-lime soda over ice) And no, there was no lime-sucking, salt-licking, or - God forbid - worm-eating, by anyone, at any time. I got the impression that even the suggestion of such behavior would get me whacked by one of our ever-present security men.

When our meal ended, I took a horseback ride around the ranch, surveying acres of young agave, marveling at the breathtaking mountain vistas that surrounded us, and feeling very much like John Wayne crossed with Ernest Hemingway. As I dismounted and led my borrowed steed to water, Don Julio Gonzalez himself was handing out signed bottles of his new product, yet to be released in the States. With my new appreciation of good tequila, this bottle now waits at home for a special occasion - like maybe the next time I’m deemed important enough to travel with armed security and have live music played for me at every meal. Could be a while...