Yamero
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Ya casi no hay pulquerias
Here's an article that appeared in the recent 'Muy Especial' edition of the Muy Interesante magazine. According to the article, the popular drink was
replaced by beer in the 1920s.
Yamero
[Edited on 9-28-2010 by Yamero]
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DENNIS
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| Quote: | Originally posted by Yamero
the popular drink was replaced by beer in the 1920s.
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Not completely. It's available here:
El Taco de Huitzilopochtli, Av. de Las Rosas 242, Valle Verde. Head north of downtown on Av. Reforma, turn right on Ambar, left on Pirules, right on
Las Rosas.
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bajajudy
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I have seen it in cans too.
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DENNIS
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| Quote: | Originally posted by bajajudy
I have seen it in cans too. |
Pulque in cans???? Yipes. It could taste like anything and who would know?
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toneart
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I used to get Absenthe in San Miguel de Allende in the early 1980s. It was a secret. A bartender in a (men only) cantina had it in a mayonnaise jar
behind the bar. I first went in with a local who knew about it. After that, I could go in by myself and get it because the bartender recognized me.
I think it was outlawed world wide in the 1920s because it would eat your brain.
It was really awful tasting. You couldn't hook down a shot without shuddering and squeezing out tears. He set up some Anisette and Coke to chase it
with. That relieved the distressed palate. 
The effect of a shot would be a quick, psychedelic flash. It would be a burst of color even though the barroom was dark. You would go, "Whoa!"  Then it would quickly pass. I never drank enough at one sitting to see the longer
term effect...probably a good thing I didn't.
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Yamero
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Here's my attempt at translating the article:
Why there are practically no pulquerias in Mexico?
For those unfamiliar with this beverage, pulque is obtained by fermenting aguamiel, or the nectar of maguey, which is then blended with various
fruits, cereals, and even vegetables. In the 19th century, it was the favorite beverage of Mexicans without exhibiting any significant distribution
differences among their social classes. A unique culture and tradition have developed at each shop (pulqueria) that sold it, which created special
combinations, expressions, and puns. In the first decades of the 20th century, its critics started a campaign to discredit pulque, which they
considered repulsive. The anti-alcohol campaign launched during Lazaro Card##as administration fought to eradicate this custom. The main reason for
its decline in the 1920s was the appearance of beer, to which therapeutic properties had been attributed. Promoted through intensive marketing
campaign, beer became the favored beverage of the masses, thus confining pulque to the lower classes of society. The pulquerias have since disappeared
from city centers, and today, pulque can only be consumed in the traditional pulque-producing areas such as the haciendas of Apan, Hidalgo.
Yamero
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Osprey
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Pulque? Porque?
There was no warning. One minute Harold’s little car was moving along Mex 54 south of Guadalajara dodging the occasional pothole, goat or chicken and
the power steering went out. Harold and Diane Hensley are seasoned travelers and not prone to panic. He just drove it like a truck for the next 21
kilometers, found a sign that said taller in the little village of Zapotiltic, pulled in to look for help. He was sent back the way he came about a
half a kilometer, made a right as directed and found the mechanico, Enrique, working on a fairly new red Dodge pickup.
So that’s how Harold and Diane wound up drinking at 3:30 in the afternoon at a little roadside bar called El Cielo, loosely, Heaven. Corona and Tecate
signs told the gringo couple El Cielo sold cold drinks – all the information they needed at that moment. They stepped inside so quickly they hardly
noticed how the rustic but well-kept buildings seemed to be growing up through the jungle floor like some Maya ruin.
The restaurant-bar was actually four distinct areas with little wasted space. In front, tables in a screened gallery, then, a spacious bar which gave
way to a kitchen, store room and living quarters; above all a two bedroom, one bath modern apartment peeked through the jungle canopy at a panorama
view of the village, the fields beyond and the incredibly ancient dormant volcanoes to the northwest.
They stopped just inside the doorway to get their bearings, adjust their eyes to the cool, darkness. There was a lone customer seated at the bar, an
old Mexican who turned on his stool to see who had arrived. Another older man who might have been his twin motioned from behind the bar for them to
take a stool.
He said “Ratito. Con permiso.”
Harold looked at Diane, smiled and said “He did not just say ‘a little rat’”. They both snickered remembering where and when they had learned the
word.
The old man came back through the gloom followed by a tall, fiftyish, blond-haired gringo.
“Welcome to Heaven. What can I get you?”
“Wow, this is lucky. You speak English! We’re on our way driving to Acapulco from Guadalajara, we had some car trouble just north of here. We left the
car with Enrique, your local mechanic. Is he any good?” Harold asked.
“He’s the best right up to automatic trannies. What went wrong?”
“Power steering.”
“He’s your guy. If it’s the hose he might have to get one from Ciudad Guzman.”
Diane brushed her attractive but disheveled auburn hair from her eyes, wiped the sweat from her brow, smiled broadly and let out a sigh. “I need a
margarita.” She said.
Harold held up two fingers.
“Blended or rocks? Salt?”
Harold spoke for both of them “Blended, salt.”
As he mixed, the bartender said “I’m gonna leave out the Damiana, unless you tell me different….you need to keep your wits about you when you break
down when traveling.”
“Are you saying Damiana adds a dangerous kick? I heard that from a guy in Mazatlan. Is it true?”
“I think it is. I don’t drink it. Why tempt the fates?” He placed the huge frosted glasses in front of them.
“I’m Zane, Zane Tucker. This is my place, my Mexican family’s place really. Where are you folks from?”
“Tahoe, we own businesses there. We’re vacationing, to Acapulco along the coast road, then inland back to Mexico City, then on home. Twenty six days.”
The bartender said “I was born in Utah but I spent most of my time in San Francisco, the Bay area.”
Harold took a big sip, barely avoiding painful brain freeze from the spicy elixir. “How did you wind up here?”
“Came down here, like you, but with two buddies from San Rafael, met my wife, Meranga, fell in love, the rest is history. When her folks got old, got
sick, we took over. I’d like to think the place is even better now, better stocked. Not many tropical drinks we don’t have.”
Diane said “How about pulque?”
“I think they still make it over in Tlapan but I don’t sell it. Very complicated process.”
“The process to make it? Isn’t it part of the process for Tequila?” Diana inquires.
“No, I meant getting it, selling it. Tequila and mescal are made only from Blue Agave, pulque comes from another maguey plant. It’s simple to make.
The Otomies, Indians from the east coast of Mexico, invented it, made it, as they do now; dig out a deep hole, a pit in the middle of the plant, it’s
part of the lily family, let it fill up with honey water, let that ferment a day or two, suck it up out of there and drink it. If I followed tradition
I couldn’t sell it to you. You look to be in your late thirties – Aztecs had to be priests or men over 52, no women allowed around the plants, in the
pulquerias.
The old man down the bar waved an arm, mumbled something.
“Tio Pablo says it’s dangerous stuff, can really mess up your digestive system. Also he says the Aztecs sometimes stoned to death anyone seen drunk in
public on pulque.
Hard to get drunk on fresh pulque – has only three or four percent alcohol. The proof doubles in a day or two but it turns from sweet to bitter by
then. If I ordered some today from Tlapan, when it got here it could literally put me out of business. The long bumpy ride would stir it up, make it
ferment faster – if the truck didn’t have refrigeration and some of it putrefied, got dumped out back, the smell could ruin me. There is no mal olor
like old pulque – one liter thrown from a window or doorway can scatter a whole barrio.”
Uncle Pablo added another wave, another mumble and this time, a smile and a chuckle.
“He said ‘pulque curado’. Now they add fruit juice, sell it pasteurized, in a can. He thinks that’s silly.”
The couple ordered another margarita and while they were enquiring about possible nearby lodging, the mechanic, Enrique, strolled in with a big smile,
a flourish, jingling up the car keys. He found a hose on an older Honda wreck at the junk yard, made it fit. He told them the cost would be 450 pesos
and he needed a ride back to his place. He shared a Modelo beer with them, got his ride, a nice propina. They thanked their host appropriately and got
back on the road both swearing off pulque forever while never having even taken a sip.
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bacquito
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| Quote: | Originally posted by DENNIS
| Quote: | Originally posted by Yamero
the popular drink was replaced by beer in the 1920s.
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Not completely. It's available here:
El Taco de Huitzilopochtli, Av. de Las Rosas 242, Valle Verde. Head north of downtown on Av. Reforma, turn right on Ambar, left on Pirules, right on
Las Rosas. |
Thanks Dennis, I'll give it a try.
bacquito
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DENNIS
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| Quote: | Originally posted by lencho
You know if they actually make it there? You tried it?
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No. I haven't tried it and have little interest in doing so. Pulque comes in different flavors and it's my understanding the taste is pretty bad at
best. I think DavidK has been there. Maybe he knows.
I don't know where they get it, but the restaurant specializes in regional culinary styles, contemporaries to antiquities. I've only been there once,
but I should get over to that corner of town one of these days and I'll try it again....maybe with a glass of Pulque.
Another interesting aspect of the area is that it's a Segunda region. Street after street of Segundas.
"One man's trash is another man's treasure."
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Yamero
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I've tried it a long time ago.
This was back in 1973. In la capirucha (capital de la republica mexicana), I told a business acquaintance that I had never tried pulque. The next day,
he brought me a 20-liter container full of pulque freshly made at his hacienda. I've managed to drink a liter of it, and gave away the rest to the
hotel staff. It was straight, unflavored and unadulterated pulque. The taste was slightly similar to a day-old poi (the gooey, ground taro root that
is the daily staple of polynesians). Like poi, I'd imagine the taste and smell of pulque could vary, depending on when it was made. Now, the high was
interesting. It didn't seem like I got drunk and drowsy, but high and alert on some kind of a drug. I'd try again, but not a liter. A pint maybe.
Yamero
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DENNIS
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Poi....YUK. Like eating wood filler.
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toneart
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Poi is a good likeness. I was going to liken it to curdled buttermilk that has been sitting around too long.
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Mulegena
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The Train Ride
A 30-hour non-stop train from Nuevo Loredo to Mexico City on a hard bench second-class seat for $7.50 was quite an adventure some years ago. I met
lots of interesting people on that train, and hey, the price was right!
One fellow traveler was a lovely man who got on some time early in the morning. As he sat down in the seat in front of me I remember seeing fields of
agave just as the sun was coming up. Polite greetings (little heart flip-flops--me). He had lived in Denver and wanted to speak English with me. Of
course I obliged; he was very attractive as well as being kind and respectful, not pushy at all; I was younger then but always prudent of my
surroundings and associates (yeah uh huh, then what were you doing on a second-class train barreling down to the biggest city on earth? Well I wasn't
alone. I was with an old Arapahoe Indian Medicine Man-- but that's another story).
He was sipping something out of a mason jar-- Lovely Man not the Medicine Man-- looked like milky lemonade. I asked what it was. He offered me some,
said it was pulque, made right there in the town where he'd gotten on board (i actually think he said his mother made it!). I said no thanks. We
chatted. He sipped. He never was rude.
The birds awakened as the train pulled by, thousands of them flying loopy, crazy-amazing flock formations over the agave fields silhouetted against
the inky-pink sky. We relaxed into a polite conversation, he English, me Spanish. This young woman traveler felt at ease with this slightly older
Lovely Man who sat sipping pulque at dawn on a second-class Mexican train.
He seemed reserved, self-contained, assured, and oh, so nice. I asked him how the drink was made. Agave he said, fermented rootstock, if I remember
correctly. Did it make you drunk? No, he assured me, not drunk but... different. Wouldn't I care to try some? He promised it wouldn't hurt me and he
certainly wasn't a raving madman... so, I tried it! It did taste like lemonade. It was good, very good. Rather like a slightly thicker, cloudy New Mix
or Skye Citrus-- and it was in a mason jar on a train barreling through the desert to Mexico City in the morning with a lovely Mexican man, ah one of
life's sweet moments to remember!
At some not-too-distant time my nice traveling companion politely rose and bid his adieus. This was his destination. I really was sorry to see him
leave. To tell the truth I was a bit smitten with my new friend. Truly, for me one of those deeper connections that even now pull at the heartstrings
just a little.
I continued on to Mexico City. It was an uneventful trip after Lovely Man got off. The birds continued their acrobatics, ladies with baskets of food
got on at one stop and off at the next, the military got on and commandeered half the traincar for themselves and I saw one man dive head first out
the window of that wonderful 30-hour non-stop second-class hard-a@@ seat train barreling down to the largest city in the world, my very old Arapahoe
Indian Medicine Man quietly at my side...
I think.
"Raise your words, not your voice. It's rain that grows flowers, not thunder." ~Rumi
"It's the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it." ~ Aristotle
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DENNIS
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This vid and all of the one's suggested on the side will tell you a lot about Pulque:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=39MucRZyOBo
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durrelllrobert
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and MX acting school (link in upper right)
Bob Durrell
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