We caught a comfortable, slightly rickety bus from Guadalajara's Central Vieja, and were dropped off on the outskirts of the puebla de Tequila. It was about a 15 minute walk from there to the cathedral and town square (every village of even moderate size has a cathedral), and a block off the square is the Mundo Cuervo, where you can see the inner workings, and, of course, sample the products, of the venerable Jose Cuervo company.
Laura and I decided that we weren't quite in the mood for the slick, well-produced, and slightly touristy Mundo Cuervo experience, so we decided to find a smaller distillery tour. This was no problem - as we walked we were quickly approached by a guy with a laminated sheet of paper detailing a two distillery program, with free samples, all for the reasonable price of ten bucks. Since he was the first one who approached us, we told him we'd stroll around, and think about it, and maybe get back to him in a bit. We did stroll for a few more minutes before that same guy came clattering by in a bus that had been stripped down and funkily retrofitted to look like some sort of trolley, and pulled up next to us to say that the tour was leaving now. We thought, what the hell, and hopped on, handing over our hundred pesos.
We were the only gringos on the tour - the rest of the fifteen or so guests were from Guadalajara, Mexico City, and elswhere in Mexico. Entertainment on the bus was provided by Kevin, el Voz de Oro (as it said on his business card), an 8 year old kid in full-on mariachi garb, belting out mariachi favorites. While his technique was a bit... unrefined, he made up for this by being incredibly loud.
At the first distillery, we were paired up with an English-speaking guide, Julio, who had spent some time working in San Francisco, and who began each sentence with, "Okay, checkitout." The informative tour took us step-by-step through the process of making tequila:
"Okay, checkitout. This is where the bring the agave, and cook it. You can taste." Cooked agave tastes, and smells, like sweet potato soaked in honey.
"Okay, checkitout. This is where they press the agave."
And so on for the fermentation, in giant bubbling vats, and the distillation in huge metal tanks. Then Julio opened a hatch on the tank, dipped a big graduated cylinder in, and came out with about a fifth of Tequila Blanco.
"Okay, checkitout. This is Tequila Blanco. If you put it in barrels, one month, Tequila Reposado, one year to three years, Tequila Añejo. You can taste. Give me your hand."
He poured tequila into my hand, and watched with a pleased expression as I drank it. Same routine for Laura, who coughed a bit.
Then it was back to the lobby for samples of the Blanco, Reposado, and Añejo. After essentially four shots in quick succession, Laura and I were starting to feel a little tingle. Then Julio asked which was our favorite, and made us have another of those.
Eventually, the tour group got back on the bus, in a much more convivial spirit than when we had disembarked, and started to roll off towards the next distillery with Kevin el Voz de Oro serenading us.
Then next distillery turned out to be less of a tour, and more of an excuse to sit around at tables and drink lots of tequila. Round after round was brought by, and we were toasted (pardon the pun) repeatedly by a family from Mexico City sitting next to us. By the time the bus came back around, everybody was full of tequila and feeling good, and we rode back towards town talking with a woman across from us, who claimed to be related to nearly everybody on the bus, and who lived in the same Raleigh, North Carolina, suburb as Laura's brother. She was just down visiting family in Jalisco. It's a small world, and it seems smaller when you've been drinking tequila all afternoon.
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