My younger daughter looked at the tequila in front of her, shook her head and offered her assessment of the latest pour in the Father’s Day tasting my wife had arranged:
“It tastes like college … and regret,” she said.
Laughter and knowing nods followed from the rest of us.
After all, my school daze introduction to tequila came via shots of what should’ve been labeled paint thinner. I slammed it for effect and to avoid the taste.
For many, the relationship with tequila ended in their early 20s with promises made to some dormitory deity — often made of porcelain — to end a miserable night’s agony. And in the ensuing years, only an occasional margarita at a friend’s barbecue or a combo-plate chain rekindled the painful flame in their stomachs.
Many also think Cinco de Mayo commemorates Mexican independence instead of a victory over the French in the 1862 Battle of Puebla, but that’s a subject for a different lesson.
The fortunate among us, however, graduated from shots to sips and learned that agave plants in the hands of a master tequilero or mezcalero lead to Mexican treasures as unassailable as Fernando Valenzuela’s screwball.
Of course, I turned into a tequila snob in the process. I rarely sip anything younger than an extra añejo, have special glasses and think I know everything because I once read (most of) a book about artisan tequila production.
You can do it, too.
The ascent from amateur tequila-drinker status takes time and perseverance. Dedication and plentiful pours are required to find everything from what you’ll happily mix in a cocktail to the nectar that deserves the right glass, a summer sunset and maybe even a cigar for full appreciation.
You could also follow our tips to expedite the process.
Looks aren’t everything
No alcohol comes close to tequila in the competition for attractive bottles, and most bars and home collections feature gorgeous displays that show off color and craftsmanship. You’ll see some of the same choices enough to believe they must be amazing.
Too often, though, the pretty bottle contains a mediocre, mass-produced tequila, yet it packs a price that should be reserved for something special.
Sure, there are exceptions, and several of them have prominent placement on my shelf. But I’m consistently shocked at how much someone will spend on a pedestrian pour simply because it comes out of a good-looking bottle.
If you see something that catches your eye, read reviews and try to get a taste before you plunk down a car payment for swill you’ll regret and wish you could send back. But at least that bottle might make a nice vase.
By the way, apply the same caution to celebrity tequilas. Actually, apply even more.
Festivals of flavors
Let’s skip past my most recent visit to Baja. You know, the one that ended with being shaken down near the border, where immediate cash payment of a $200, uh, “fine” miraculously ended a bogus traffic stop and threats that my car would be impounded.
Instead, I choose to remember the trip before that.
Lobster at Puerto Nuevo. Wine and amazing food in Valle de Guadalupe. A gourmet taco crawl. And a visit to the Tijuana Tequila Expo.
For a little less than $10, we gained entry to a tequila festival on Avenida Revolución that came with unlimited samples of Mexico’s favorite creation not named Salma Hayek.
Like Hayek’s cinematic oeuvre, the expo included some regrettable choices, the agave versions of “Wild Wild West.” The least offensive of those went into the large cups we secured to mix with cans of Squirt to make passable palomas; the rest got dumped.
It also featured some award-worthy options that led to purchases to take home. The “Frida” level of offerings included special versions of tequilas I knew and liked but now needed alongside my favorites.
Understandably, a drive south of the border might be too far out of your comfort zone, so keep an eye out for local festivals. My friend and I once had an amazing experience at one in Irvine.
Yes, Irvine.
And one of the tequilas I tried that day, Grand Mayan Ultra Aged, has been a favorite since.
Drink what you like
Tequila snobs — like me — are every bit as bad as the oenophiles who dismiss the red blend you love with an expert swirl of their Burgundy. We think we know what you should drink and are kind of obnoxious about it.
What I’ve learned, though, is that most of us like something different. My late friend loved exquisite tequilas but couldn’t stand the mezcals I also enjoy. Some need the sweetness of a pour with notes of caramel but others crave a savory or spicy finish.
Don’t let elitists like me dictate what you should like. There might be some reason you dislike one of my favorites, Tears of Llorona Extra Añejo, that has nothing to do with a major character flaw on your part. Possibly.
Conversely, if you’re faced with a tequila you once shot at a party, do yourself a favor and pass on the misery.
Instead, find someone whose taste you trust, seek a recommendation and keep trying until you discover a tequila you truly enjoy … and doesn’t remind you of college.