Agave Mythology and Pulque Folk Tales

Mesomaerican legends, including Mayahuel and Ehécatl’s doomed love, drunk Tlacuache the possum and 400 rabbits suckled on pulque.

Mesoamerican myths are pretty crazy. Take the fertility goddess Mayahuel, who lactated pulque, which intoxicated the 400 rabbits she gave birth to.

Aside from being a source of sustenance, the agave, or maguey as it’s referred to in Mexico, was revered and respected as a sacred plant by the ancient peoples of Mesoamerica. 

The desert succulent is distinguished by a rosette of strong fleshy leaves that radiate from the center of the plant. Fibers from its tough spiny leaves were used to make rope or fabric for clothing, and the barbed tips made excellent sewing needles. Devotees and priests would pierce their earlobes, tongues or genitals with the thorns and collect the blood as an offering to the gods. An antiseptic poultice of maguey sap and salt was used in traditional medicine and applied to wounds. The plant is also the source of pulque, a beverage made from its fermented sap, and many years later, distilled as mezcal and tequila. 

Agave being used to treat a head wound

As a final act, the maguey poetically blooms in the final throes of its life cycle. A mutant asparagus-like stalk emerges from the center of the plant, reaching 25 to 40 feet high before it flowers and dies. 

Drink of the Gods

In Aztec times, the milky and sour mildly alcoholic beverage was highly prized and strictly limited to consumption by a select few, including priests, pregnant women, the elderly and tributes offered up for ritual sacrifice. The priests believed that the resulting intoxication put them in an altered state and allowed them to communicate directly with the gods. The consequences of illegally imbibing outside of this group were so serious that the convicted faced death by strangulation. 

So what are the myths and folklore stories about agave and pulque? As with myths around the world, there are multiple variations, and while researching stories about agave I found myself falling down a rabbit hole. I couldn’t quite decide what the definitive versions were, so here are my interpretations.

The gorgeous (personally we don’t see it) Mayahuel was rescued from her evil grandmother, then torn apart and fed to demons, before eventually becoming the first agave.

The Legend of Mayahuel, Whose Lovely Bones Became the First Agave

When the universe as we know it was formed, so too was a ferocious and bloodthirsty race of light-devouring demons known as tzitzimime. It was said that life ebbed from their fleshless female forms. They were easily recognizable by their shiny black hair, skeletal limbs ending in clawed hands, and blood red tongues resembling a sacrificial knife wagging from their gaping maws. Their wide-open starry eyes allowed them to see through the darkness. 

The tzitzimime were ferocious demons who sucked light and life from this world.

These monstrous beings ruled over the night sky and wore gruesome necklaces loaded with severed human hands and hearts — trophies from the steady diet of human sacrifices required to appease them. 

The tzitzimime cloaked the earth in darkness, and in return for ritual bloodshed, permitted the sun to rise and move across the sky. It’s a fair guess to say that a large number of lives were lost, as the Aztecs believed that if darkness won, the sun would be lost forever, the world would end, and the tzitzimime would descend from the skies and gobble up humankind. 

The tzitzimime demons were insatiable for sacrifices of human blood.

Hidden in the sky among the tzitzimime was a beautiful young maiden by the name of Mayahuel. Mayahuel was imprisoned by her grandmother, Tzitzímitl, the oldest and most malevolent demoness of the brood.

Tzitzímitl’s insatiable desire for human sacrifice angered Ehécatl, the god of wind and rain. 

One evening he rose up into the night sky to confront her, but instead discovered Mayahuel. Struck by her beauty, he immediately fell in love and convinced her to descend from the heavens to become his paramour. 

Ehécatl, god of wind and rain, tried his best to save poor Mayahuel from Tzitzimitl.

When Tzitzímitl discovered that Mayahuel was missing, she exploded into a violent rage and commanded her demon servants to find her granddaughter. The pair assumed the form of trees and stood side by side so that their leaves would caress one another whenever the wind blew.

Time passed, but their disguise was no match for the furious Tzitzímitl. The sky turned gray with clouds that heralded a major storm, followed by lightning and thunder. When the evil spirit finally found Mayahuel, she tore her from the ground and fed her to her legions of tzitzimime. 

The skeletal demoness Tzitzímitl with her necklace of severed human hearts and hands

Ehécatl was unharmed. He avenged Mayahuel’s death by killing Tzitzímitl and returned light to the world. Still overcome with grief, he gathered the bones of his beloved and buried them in a field. As his tears saturated the arid soil, Mayahuel’s remains transformed and emerged from the earth as the first agave. After getting a taste of the elixir that came from the plant, Ehécatl decided to share his creation with humankind. 

For some reason, the possum god Tlacuache was responsible for creating the course of rivers. They’re curvy because he got drunk on pulque.

The Tale of Tlacuache: Why a River Runs Its Course

Another Mesoamerican tale connects pulque with the creation of rivers. According to the story, Tlacuache, a possum god, was responsible for assigning the course of rivers. While going about his day foraging for food, he happened upon an agave. Using his human-like hands, he dug into one of its leathery leaves. A sweet honeyed sap oozed from the cuts, and Tlacuache stuck his snout into the maguey and lapped up the liquid with glee. 

After having his fill, he returned to his den and dreamt of returning to the plant the next day. Tlacuache had a remarkable talent for finding food and remembering exactly where it was found. What he didn’t know, though, is that the nectar had fermented overnight and now contained alcohol. The marsupial accidentally overindulged and became intoxicated. Finding himself disoriented, he stumbled and wandered this way and that, until he eventually found his way home. 

Over time, Tlacuache’s circuitous meandering was reflected in his work. Any river in Mexico that bends or doesn’t follow a straight line was due to Tlacuache drinking pulque and plotting the river’s course while he was tipsy. In fact, some say he was the very first drunk.

Suck on this: The fertility goddess Mayahuel didn’t have milk in her breasts — she had pulque.

Pulque Breast Milk and being drunk as 400 Rabbits

Last but not least is the fantastical story of the mythical 400 drunken rabbits whose behavior even Beatrix Potter would have found excessive. 

In Aztec mythology, Patecatl was the Lord of 13 Days and the credited discoverer of the squat psychedelic peyote cactus. One evening, he and Mayahuel, who in this story is a fertility goddess, had a no-strings-attached tryst, resulting in an unusual pregnancy. Months later, the proud mother bore a litter of 400 fluffy little bunnies. 

Naturally, being the goddess of the agave, Mayahuel’s multiple breasts lactated pulque, which she used to nourish her children. It’s safe to say that her divine offspring didn’t understand the concept of moderation and were frequently found in various states of inebriation. 

Mayahuel had a one-night stand with the Lord of 13 Days — and ended up having a litter of 400 rabbits!

The 400 rabbits each depict a different stage of inebriation.

The siblings were known as the Centzon Totochtin and represented the varying degrees of intoxication one can attain while under the influence of alcohol. One of the children, Ometochtli (Two Rabbit), a god who represented duality, was associated with that initial burst of courage that comes after a couple of drinks. Conversations feel more important, and everyone around you becomes more attractive. His brother Macuiltochtli (Five Rabbit) was one of the gods of excess — the equivalent of having too much of a good thing, and waking up the next day with a pounding headache. 

Ometochtli, or Two Rabbit, was the god of the courage you get after a couple of drinks — and the start of beer-goggling.

This fellow is going to regret being like Macuiltochtli, or Five Rabbit, and drinking to excess. He’s gonna be hungover tomorrow.

If you’re drunk as 400 rabbits, you’re beyond wasted.

For the Aztecs, the concept of infinity started at 400. A couple of drinks is OK; consuming your body weight in booze not so much. Moral of the story: If you drink more than you can handle, whether you’re a small animal or otherwise, you’ll be carried away by a colony of 400 rabbits. –Duke

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Learn How Mezcal Gets Made

Another drink made from the agave, mezcal is much more artisanal than tequila, with numerous factors influencing the taste of each batch — and that’s what makes it so interesting.

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How Is Mezcal Made?

What is mezcal? Here’s the process to create this artisanal alcohol that’s gaining in popularity — and giving tequila a run for its dinero.

A horse, agave and giant barrels are all used to make the popular beverage mezcal.

I can’t quite remember the first time I tried mezcal. It was most likely mixed into a cocktail at a restaurant somewhere in Chicago. I vividly recall it being intense. In fact, when I recounted this memory to Alvin Starkman of Mezcal Educational Tours, I believe my exact words were, “It was like sitting in front of a campfire blowing smoke in my face.” 

It wasn’t until our first trip to Mexico City in 2018 at Los Danzantes, a restaurant in Coyoacán, that I drank a joven espadín, an unaged mezcal, from a veladora, a clear fluted glass with a cross engraved on its bottom, that it all changed for me.

“As strange as it may seem, mold is a part of the process — and a factor in mezcal’s taste. ”

Wally had learned about Alvin in the useful travel guide Viva Oaxaca by Robert Adler and Jo Ann Wexler. He reached out to Alvin to arrange a day trip for us.

When Alvin picked us up at our hotel, he started our education by sharing his backstory. Oaxaca, which began as a favorite destination in 1991, drew him and his wife back, until they bought a parcel of land in the Sierra Madre mountains, built a house and relocated permanently from Canada in 2004. Like my father, Alvin enjoys scotch and found a similar appreciation in mezcal. 

Authenticity is of utmost importance for Alvin when he gives his tours. “The day is not pre-planned for the tourist trade, meaning I never know who will be at what stage of production where and when — the objective being to illustrate as much as possible as it is happening,” he says. 

Palenqueros (mezcal artisans) often grow their own agave, though many supplement it from other farms.

The word “mezcal” is the generic term for spirits made from the roasted heart of the agave (referred to locally as maguey) — the same plant used to make Mexico’s biggest export, tequila. It derives from the indiginous Náhuatl words metl (agave) and ixcalli (baked). However, unlike tequila, the agave must be roasted to be made into mezcal. It can be produced from a dozen different varieties of agave, each with its own character and subspecies, including but not limited to espadín, arroqueño, madrecuixe, tepeztate, tobasiche and tobala. 

A tour with Alvin Starkman of Mezcal Educational Tours will show you the various steps of the mezcal-making process in action at a variety of family-run palenques, or distilleries.

Harvesting Piñas: The Heart of the Matter

Oaxaca’s Central Valleys currently have the highest concentration of traditional producers, known as palenqueros, who distill the spirit in palenques alongside their other crops and farm animals. 

After eight to 30 years — the period of time it takes for an agave to reach maturity, farmers known as jimadors use machetes to cut away the sword-like pencas (leaves) and use a coa, a specialized tool to extract the piña, or heart of the maguey. The leafless piña looks like an overgrown pineapple. 

The heart of the agave plant, the piña, is a key ingredient in making mezcal and often looks like a giant pineapple or pinecone.

Baking the Piñas: Where There’s Smoke There’s Fire

Once the piñas have been harvested and taken to the palenque, a deep earthen pit is filled with firewood and lit. A layer of rocks is placed on top of the burning wood, and after about five or six hours, are as hot as they’re going to get. 

The piñas are piled into the pit oven by size, the largest at the bottom and the smallest on top. A layer of bagasse, the damp fibrous byproduct that remains after the piñas have been crushed and had their liquid extracted (but more on that later), gets added to insulate the piñas from the hot rocks.

Mezcal’s smoky flavor should come from slow-roasting piñas in a pit like this.

According to our guide, Alvin, “If you’re a good Catholic, you’re going to stick a cross on top of the mound to ensure your piñas produce a good yield and good flavor.”

The hearts are covered with agave leaves, straw mats, grain sacks and dirt piled high to form a kind of volcano. Water is then poured into the opening at the top of the mound to release the smoke trapped inside the oven, and the piñas are left to slowly roast underground for several days. This allows the heat to convert the carbohydrates into sugars.

A roasted piña, before it’s chopped up and mashed

Mashing the Piñas: Beaten to a Pulp

After they’re caramelized, the pit-roasted piñas are removed and left to cool.

As strange as it may seem, mold is a part of the process — and a factor in mezcal’s taste. “The longer it stays out, the moldier it’s going to get,” Alvin tells us. “Sometimes the mold is green, sometimes it’s yellow, sometimes it’s orange. So the mold is also going to impact the flavor.” They are left to rest between eight days to a month. 

A man chops up roasted piñas to get crushed. Alvin says farmers from Oaxaca practically grow up with a machete in their hands.

Roasted piñas sit around for up to a month to get a nice flavorful mold on them.

The palenquero hacks the roasted piñas into smaller pieces, which are transferred to a stone pit, where they are laboriously crushed by hand using a cartoonishly large wooden mallet, or by a tahona, a large stone wheel pulled around a circular pit by a donkey or horse. 

Alvin holds a large wooden tool used to crush roasted piñas.

Another option to crush piñas is to lead a horse attached to a massive stone tahona around and around a setup like this.

Palenques are family-run affairs — and they start the kids young. This adorable fella helped encourage the horse to walk the giant tahona around.

Once the piñas are sufficiently pulverized to a mash, the roasted pulp and nectar are transferred into a wood vat. The dry, fibrous leftovers (the bagasse previously mentioned) can be used to make adobe, fuel or mulch — or to insulate roasting piñas for another batch of mezcal.

Large wooden vats hold the mashed piñas and the extracted juices as they ferment.

Fermentation: Yeasty Beasties 

The sweet mash and its juices are shoveled into large open-air wooden tubs or vats. Water is slowly added, and as the mixture interacts with naturally occurring airborne wild yeasts and bacteria, fermentation starts. 

“Traditional mezcal makers use river water, mountain spring water or well water,” Alvin explains. “A well is fed by underground streams that come from different directions at different times of the year. So the water quality with traditionally made mezcal is always different and is integral to the final product’s quality.”

The vats are topped with bagasse, fibrous straw-like leftovers from agave cultivation, and left to ferment naturally over the course of three days to two weeks.

As the sugars break down the mash, the brew begins to bubble. The palenquero stirs it, and eventually the bubbling subsides, leaving a brown crust that looks like maple sugar candy on the surface of the vat. Depending on the season, the altitude and the temperature, this can take anywhere from three days to two weeks fully ferment. Once it has 3% to 5% alcohol content and looks, smells and tastes like apple cider vinegar, it’s ready to be distilled. 

Water pours into a pot sealed atop a larger container to distill the alcohol that will become mezcal.

Distillation: Good to the Last Drop 

Distillation is the process in which alcohol is concentrated via evaporation under heat and pressure. The goal of distillation is to separate the desirable elements (alcohol) from water as they recondense into liquid. 

Mexico’s pre-Hispanic society was already familiar with a variety of fermented beverages, including the maguey-based pulque. The arrival of Filipino sailors in the 16th century introduced the indigenous peoples to the clay still, while the Spanish colonizers brought with them the knowledge of copper alembic stills in the 17th century. 

Maestro Felix Ángeles Arellanes’ palenque in action

The first stop on our tour with Alvin was Santa Catarina Minas, south of Oaxaca de Juárez, at the palenque of Maestro Felix Ángeles Arellanes. It was a great glimpse into the process. There the fermented liquid and mash is added to a barro de olla, a cauldron-like clay pot that has been fitted into a masonry oven. A second pot, which is open at the top and bottom, is placed over the mash-filled olla and sealed with the maple candy-like goo and bagasse to prevent any steam from escaping. Above and behind all this is a pipe with a spigot. 

Embers glowed in the stone masonry ovens beneath, as tendrils of smoke plumed above the tops of the clay pot stills. This step needs to be closely monitored, as the temperature the spirit is distilled at directly impacts the quality and flavor of the mezcal.

A fire is lit below, the spigot is turned on, and a running stream of cold water fills a metal cooling pan fitted into the mouth of the top pot. In the bottom pot, the fermented mash slowly boils. The alcohol vapors rise, and when they come into contact with the cool bottom of the pan, they condense and form droplets. These fall into a carrizo cane, a hollow reed tube, and are collected in a container. This is the first distillation, often referred to as shishe or común. 

Wally and I sampled the distillate directly from the still in a jicara, a hollowed-out gourd bowl traditionally used to serve mezcal. Alvin explained that this was the punta, or the head. Suffice to say, it was potent, at 70% alcohol by volume. 

Another technique to distill mezcal is to use copper instead of olla pots.

Traditionally made mezcal is distilled twice, and occasionally three times, until the ABV is reduced to 40% to 50%. 

When they’re not in use, Maestro Felix Ángeles Arellanes typically tops the ollas with old metal discs from retired plows. He doesn’t want his chickens laying eggs inside. 

We would go on to sample 18 unique variations at Arellanes’ palenque. The spirits were stored in a variety of large plastic containers, garafones, with their names handwritten on masking tape. 

Be warned! You could be sampling over 12 types of mezcal at each stop!

Experiencing this process in person was an eye-opening experience and gave me incredible appreciation for the amount of work involved in producing mezcal. It’s made by hardworking human hands, and the maker wants every batch to be as good as he can make it. He might not understand all the reasons, but he understands that inevitably no two are the same. Sure, there are some smoky types, but there are also ones with herbaceous, savory or woody notes. 

For that, you see, is one of the beauties of mezcal — and why Alvin says it’s akin to scotch — there’s always a variability from batch to batch. –Duke

A Tour of the Quinta Real Oaxaca Hotel and Its Gorgeous Gardens

Learn this UNESCO site’s colorful past, from convent to cinema, from prison to palace — and even a Masonic lodge still in use — and explore its beautiful grounds. 

A tour of the grounds of the Quinta Real Oaxaca hotel yields unexpected delights, like this glimpse of a lush interior courtyard.

It’s undeniably one of the most popular hotels in Oaxaca, and even though we weren’t staying there, we read that we simply had to have a drink there and admire the gardens, which rivaled those at the Alhambra in Spain. (They’re perfectly delightful, but that’s a bit of a stretch.)

Duke and I popped into the Quinta Real on our last day in Oaxaca. We wanted to get a drink and enjoy it in one of their courtyards — but we couldn’t find an actual bar at the hotel; you have to sit at a table to get served. Not sure if we’d be able to get a drink and wander around, we opted to forgo the booze and just wander the grounds on our own. 

“In the late 1800s, a buyer purchased the northeast section of the property to use as a Masonic lodge — which still operates to this day!”

One of the highlights of an exploration of the grounds is the stone gazebo and fountain in the Los Lavaderos Courtyard, so named because it was once used for laundry by the nuns.

Repurposed a Seemingly Endless Number of Times

The hotel began as property of the Roman Catholic Church, much like the Ex Convento de San Pablo, about another historic building in town, now home to the Casa Antonieta boutique hotel, the Textile Museum of Oaxaca and the Centro Cultural de San Pablo. 

The Quinta Real is housed in the former Convent of Santa Catalina de Siena, which was built in 1577. The nuns lived a life of seclusion and quiet meditation there for centuries — until 1859, when they were booted out by Benito Juárez’s Reform laws, which nationalized the church and seized its property. 

“The monument would then begin a long history of deterioration, monstrous construction work and atrocious transformations,” reads a sign out front. 

You can see part of the original convent exterior in the gorgeous pool area.

Not a bad spot to catch some rays

The ex-convent was put to a crazy amount of uses by the state government. In addition to a stint as a prison from 1862 to 1958, the structure also housed, at varying times, the civil registry office, the weights and measures office, the state printing press, a police precinct, the craftsman’s society, criminal courts, a night school and the Abraham Castellano Primary School from 1956 to 1962. 

What was the convent’s atrium even became the municipal palace for almost a century, from 1873 to 1970. 

Cantera stone, used in the façade of the convent, which is now a hotel, has a distinctive greenish color.

The Quinta Real is succulent — in more ways than one.

The sprawling grounds have undergone numerous and varied uses over the years, including a police precinct, printing press, school — even a municipal palace!

The Quinta Real is housed in the former Convent of Santa Catalina de Siena, which was built in 1577.

The Quinta Real property takes up an entire city block and has lots of nooks to discover. It’s now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

In the late 1800s, a private buyer purchased the northeast section of the property to use it as a Masonic lodge — which still operates there to this day!

The onsite chapel has its own storied past: It was first converted to a municipal warehouse, but in the 1930s it became an art school, and then a movie theater from 1950 to 1960. Then, in 1972 the chapel was finally restored, along with the rest of the estate, when it was reconceptualized as a hotel. 

Paintings and statues can be found throughout the hotel.

Be sure to check out the faded fresco on the wall of the gift shop.

The old chapel was empty when we explored the hotel but would make a good event space. It was once used as a cinema.

The Quinta Real has been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It’s worth a visit, even if you’re not staying there, to wander and admire the grounds. Try to figure out a way to have a drink in the gardens — and don’t set your bag down (thankfully empty of everything but the chocolate bars we bought at Mamá Pacha) to take pictures and leave it like I did. –Wally

Orange trees give the restaurant, Los Naranjos, its name.

This dining area, Los Cántaros, has an interesting art installation. Those ceramic containers, cántaros, were unearthed during the renovation and were once used to as pitchers or to hold oil.

Quinta Real Oaxaca

5 de Mayo 300
Ruta Independencia
Centro
68000 Oaxaca de Juárez
Oaxaca
Mexico

 

Fascinating Food Plants of the Oaxaca Botanical Garden

Maize, squash, chili peppers, amaranth: Many food plants were domesticated in Mexico. Learn more on a tour at the Jardín Etnobotánico de Oaxaca.

The first part of our tour of the Oaxaca Botanical Garden covered the many food plants grown there.

“I will show you plants that are edible,” said Carol, our guide extraordinaire at the Oaxaca Botanical Garden. “I hope you try them someplace. But not here.” 

“Corn was very likely domesticated here in Oaxaca. It’s the most widely planted cereal grain today in the world — more than wheat or rice.”

The first part of our tour of the Oaxaca Botanical Garden covered food plants. Here Carol, immensely knowledgeable and quite funny, explains them in her own words:

What was the first domesticated food plant in the Americas? All signs point to squash.

The Beginning of Food Domestication: Squash

Corn, beans and squash — that famous trio that everybody knows, those plants domesticated here in the Americas that have been so important for so many thousands of years.

The earliest evidence that so far has been discovered for a domesticated food plant in the Americas is squash. The evidence comes from right here, from an archaeological site located here in the valleys of Oaxaca. It’s a site called Guilá Naquitz. Archaeologists found clear evidence of domestication of food squash dated about 8000 BC. 

When we think of squash as a food, we usually think of the fruit — but it seems likely that the initial interest in squash as a food plant was for its runners and for its flowers. And, subsequently, as the plants got bigger, the seeds were important and toasted — and then the fruits themselves. 

Yup, that bowl of mush is actually a popular drink in Mexico called tejate.

Cocoa Flower Tree, Mamey and That Strange Beverage, Tejate

While it doesn’t look like a food plant, one tree makes a small white flower that’s edible. 

The tree is called, popularly, flor de cacao, or cocoa flower tree. It is not a cacao tree. The flower, however, is an important ingredient in a traditional Oaxacan beverage called tejate. And if you have been walking along the street in Oaxaca or or been to our markets, you have seen tejate — it’s so common here. 

It’s a beverage the color of café au lait, and it’s usually kept in a big shallow pottery bowl and it’s got foam or froth on the top — it’s really hard to miss. It’s rather unique looking. 

Tejate is a drink made on a maize base. Corn-based beverages are typically pre-Hispanic. So to make the tejate, women prepare the corn in a particular way first. They add real cacao to that — but not a heavy chocolate.

It does have cacao, but it also has the seed of an American tropical fruit that many people don’t know: the mamey. They’re about the size of a large avocado. They’re dark brown on the outside and slightly fibrous. But when you cut them open, they’re gorgeous. They have a soft flesh the color of salmon or peach; they’re lovely looking and delicious. Makes great desserts — look for tarte de mamey or mousse, and they often make it into sorbet, nieve.

Wally and Duke have yet to try a mamey, which they learned about from Linda — but they’re on the hunt for one.

But for the drink, they toast the seed, plus the dried flowers. Grind all that together into a doughy or pasty mixture. If you want, you can add water right away and make the drink, but usually they just let that mixture dry and it crumbles into powder form, dehydrated. In powder form, for hundreds of hundreds of years here, people have had an instant beverage that’s storable, it’s portable. You just add water to drink.

So many peppers, so little time. There are 60 types grown in Mexico alone!

Chili Peppers and Their Healing Properties

Peppers are an American domesticated food plant. All the peppers, and I repeat, all the peppers, were originally domesticated here in the Americas. If you can imagine so many cuisines of Africa and Asia and Europe without peppers. But historically speaking, peppers are relatively recent introductions to those regions. 

Peppers botanically are classified in a genus called capsicum. There were five species of capsicum domesticated. Three species were domesticated in South America, one species indeterminate still, and one species definitely here in Mesoamerica. Of those five, it’s the Mesoamerican species that dominates the world. This is called capsicum annuum. It has hundreds of varieties and just about every pepper you know anywhere in the world, regardless of the size and shape, how picante or not — they are all capsicum peppers. 

Not surprisingly, Mexico cultivates a greater diversity of peppers than anyplace else. There are 60 named varieties of peppers that are grown here in Mexico. The state of Oaxaca grows more varieties of peppers than in any other part of Mexico. It is no doubt this diversity of peppers used here in Oaxaca that accounts in large part for the richness of Oaxacan cuisine.

Loaded with vitamin C and capsaicin, peppers should be a part of everyone’s diet. Wally and Duke add them to most meals they prepare — and double the amount suggested.

Peppers are very nutritious. I hope everybody’s eating lots of them — they are really good for you. They’re very rich in vitamin C. Going back to pre-Hispanic times, peppers have had medicinal use, and that continues today into the pharmaceutical industry. Modern pharmaceutical companies are using the substance of the pepper that makes it hot. It’s an alkaloid called capsaicin. Everybody knows capsaicin burns your lips and your eyes. I’m sure you’ve all had unfortunate meetings with peppers. But capsaicin also blocks pain signals to the brain. It has analgesic qualities, and it permits greater blood flow to the skin surface. So there’s lots of new products: patches to treat your back and you can get all kinds of new products to treat muscle injuries, muscle aches, to treat arthritis made from capsaicin. Many of those products are over the counter, so do look for them.

Amaranth are super nutritious and are becoming all the rage — though it’s been popular in Mexico since Aztec times.

Amaranth and Alegrías, or “Happiness Bars”

Turning to another food plant, with greenish leaves and red stalks. That is a food plant that I’m sure many of you have heard of but may not recognize: That’s amaranth. It’s becoming very popular again. Amaranth was actually domesticated independently in Asia and here in the Americas. The Asian amaranths are known as leaf amaranths, because the part of the plant that people eat are the leaves. So think spinach — whatever you can do with spinach, you can do with leaf amaranth. And in fact, amaranth and spinach are botanically related. 

The species that were domesticated here in the Americas are called seed amaranths. You can certainly eat the leaves when they’re young and tender, but those feathery flower stalks make thousands — who knows? I’ve never counted them — of tiny little black seeds that are edible. 

You can eat the seeds as you harvest them. Or you can toast amaranth seeds. And when you toast it, it turns into what looks like tiny little popcorns. This is what we call pop amaranth. You can eat it in this form. You can sprinkle it on top of your cereal, your salad, whatever. Or you can grind it into flour.

The seed amaranths of the Americas are one of those incredibly nutritious food plants — among the most nutritious in the world. There is absolutely nothing bad about amaranth and every good quality to a food you imagine. It was probably the single most nutritious food plant in the diet. Pre-Hispanically, huge quantities were consumed. Huge quantities we know flowed into the Aztec capital Tenochtitlan as tax or tribute paid by conquered areas.

Shortly after conquest, it disappeared as a major food plant. It survived here as a candy. And you can still buy the candy here. Lots of people think they’re sesame bars, but they’re not. They’re toasted amaranth bars. Some are squares, some are round, some are long and rectangular, whatever, but it is amaranth. They have the happy name of happiness bars. They’re called alegrías, and alegría means happiness. My personal opinion is that amaranth’s major flaw is it doesn’t have a lot of flavor. But that’s good because you can add it to so many dishes. But that means that alegrías don’t have a lot of flavor other than the sweetness of the honey that holds them together. So look for the alegrías with chocolate added to them. Those are happier.

Alegrías look much too healthy to be named “happiness” bars.

Twenty years ago, maybe 25 now, NGOs came into Oaxaca to reintroduce amaranth as a cash crop, but also to reintroduce it into the diet, where it could certainly make a significant difference, especially for children — it’s very high in protein.

Restaurants are going back to traditional foods, so look at menus, they sometimes feature dishes with amaranth. And it’s been used in commercial food production — a lot of new products being made with amaranth to increase the nutritional quality.

There are over 60 types of corn grown in Mexico, and the crop is more widespread than wheat and rice.

The Evolution of Corn and the Amazing Spread of Maíz Criollo

We have a young crop there and a more mature crop of corn or maize. That kind of corn is called Creole corn, or maíz criollo, and that refers to the kinds of corn that farmers throughout Mexico and here in the state of Oaxaca grow principally for home use.

To plant a new field of my maíz criollo, households just save some seeds from a previous harvest and replant them.

I grew up in Canada, where corn was yellow. That was it. So all I knew was yellow corn. I sort of had a vague notion there were other colors because at Halloween or Thanksgiving, we bought those bunches of what we call Indian corn, multicolored dried corn. You didn’t eat it; you just hung it on your doors as an ornament. Then as an adult, I learned there was white corn, as well. Ooh! A big addition to my knowledge!

And then I came to Mexico and discovered an absolutely incredible richness that I certainly was not aware of: well over 60 varieties of maíz criollo grown traditionally here in Mexico — different colors, shapes, sizes, growing conditions, flavors, you name it. It’s just an incredible richness.

The state of Oaxaca grows more varieties of maíz criollo than any other part of Mexico. Thirty-seven varieties of maíz criollo are grown here in the state of Oaxaca.

How did we get corn? Where did it all start? Everyone now seems to agree the ancestor is the wild grass called teosinte. It is genetically very closely related to domesticated corn but morphologically very different. 

I think everybody knows how to plant corn. You stick a seed in the ground and up comes one stalk. And then you get an ear of corn per stalk, and if you’re really lucky, maybe you’ll get two ears of corn per stalk.

Teosinte is completely different. It’s a multi-stalk plant and it doesn’t grow ears of corn at all — it makes tiny little seed pods. At every node along the stalk, you get seed pods. There’s just a single row of very small little seeds inside, the size of baby teeth. 

There is an edible kernel buried at the center of the seed. But to get at the editable kernel, you have to remove the outer seed first. You have to expend a lot of time, a lot of labor, to get very little to eat in return. Why bother? 

Moreover, teosinte is a wild grass. When the pod is mature, it just breaks open. There’s no structure in there to hold the seeds. So they just separate and fall out on the ground. And the big question is, why the early peoples began to pay attention to teosinte as a potential food plant? And there’s no good answer to that.

Geneticists suggest that the beginning of domestication, if you will, goes back at least to 7000 BC, or 9,000 years ago. One hypothesis is that early people were not actually interested in the seeds at first, but rather than fermentable sugars in the green stalks. There were other sources here of fermentable sugars that are easier to attain, so who knows?

But the earliest clear physical evidence that we have found for domesticated corn dates to about 4000 BC, and that evidence comes from Guilá Naquitz again, where they found the early fruit squash. Archaeologists found clear evidence that corn has been domesticated by that date. What they found at Guilá Naquitz are little structures, little proto-cobs. So instead of this single row of seeds, there is a structure with several rows of kernels around it. And by this date, the terminals have lost the hard outer seed coating and become fully edible. 

Domesticated corn cannot reseed itself. In order for you to reseed it, you have to pick the ears of corn off the stalks, pull down the corn husk, pull the kernels off and replant it. Corn is the only nature of domesticated plants that is incapable of self-reproduction. And by 4000 BC, it had shifted from this self-seeding wild grass to a fruit plant totally dependent on human intervention for reproduction.

Teosinte doesn’t grow wild here in the valleys, but it grows up in the sierra, up in the mountains around the valleys, which is where corn was probably domesticated — a domestication that has been spread rapidly and extensively through the Americas. And because corn is such a malleable plant, it took on the many forms of corn that were found growing here when Europeans arrived, and then quickly introduced to the rest of the world after contact, and again adapted to wherever it was introduced. Corn, for sure domesticated here in Mexico, and very likely here in Oaxaca, is the most widely planted cereal grain today in the world. There’s more corn planted than wheat, than rice.

While the pre-Hispanic peoples of Mexico knew how delicious tomatoes were, the silly Europeans thought they were poisonous!

Tomatoes and Other Plants Domesticated in Mexico

Let me remind you of some other food plants that have changed diets worldwide. And the first that comes to mind are tomatoes. Domesticated here in Mesoamerica. Very important in the pre-Hispanic diet, and quickly introduced to Europe. And for a long time, Europeans refused to eat tomatoes. They considered them poisonous. They bred them as ornamentals; they used them as fodder for animals — but wouldn’t eat them. Imagine! 

Avocados — domesticated here. No guacamole without avocados from here. Vanilla and cacao were also domesticated here. By the end of the 1500s, just about every major food plant had gone east and west. They were very quickly introduced and adopted. 

Avocados, not surprisingly, were also domesticated in Mexico. Wally shudders to think of a life without guacamole.

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Now, that’s a lot to digest about food plants. But it’s astounding how many different domesticated food plants come from the Oaxaca region, with its great biodiversity. ¡Buen provecho!

If you’re staying in Oaxaca, be sure to add the botanical garden to your itinerary. Tours in English are Monday through Saturday at 11 a.m. They’re a steal at 100 pesos (about $5) and last about two hours. The garden entrance is at the corner of Reforma and Constitución. Get there about half an hour early to play it safe; groups are limited to 25 people and fill up quickly. –Wally

Jardín Etnobotánico de Oaxaca

Reforma Sur
Ruta Independencia
Centro
68000 Oaxaca de Juárez
Oaxaca
México

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Sampling the 7 Moles of Oaxaca

Holy mole! The restaurant Hierba Dulce focuses on plant-based fare and takes traditional Oaxacan cuisine to the next level. 

Most Americans are only familiar with mole negro and don’t even realize there are many varieties of the Mexican sauce.

Mole (pronounced moh-lay) is one of Mexico’s most complex and versatile sauces. And nowhere is that more in evidence than in the southcentral state of Oaxaca, famous for seven distinct types of moles. 

If you’ve ever tried mole in the U.S., chances are it’s mole negro (black mole). This velvety, umber-colored sauce is a savory-sweet combination of dark chocolate, spicy chiles, nuts and spices usually served over enchiladas. Don’t get me wrong — I love me some chocolate, but mole can be so much more than that. There are numerous variations containing dozens of different ingredients, including chiles, garlic, spices, nuts and pepitas (pumpkin seeds), pulverized to a paste in a molcajete (a volcanic stone mortar and pestle). Tomatoes, tomatillos and water or broth are sometimes added, and many are slow-cooked to allow flavors to meld.

“ Don’t get me wrong — I love me some chocolate, but mole can be so much more than that. ”

The lightwood tables and modern chairs (not to mention that wall of cacti) take the Oaxacan restaurant Hierba Dulce up a notch.

Hierba Dulce’s Local, Organic Ingredients 

On our trip to Oaxaca, we knew we wanted to try the seven different types of mole, and we had heard that there was no better place to do so than at Hierba Dulce. The women-run establishment opened in 2017 and was the first in Oaxaca de Juárez to feature an entirely plant-based menu. Using traditional cooking and fermentation methods as a foundation, the restaurant began as a conversation among the founders of its sister project, Pochote Press. Their goal was to create a welcoming, inclusive culinary concept where they could offer accessible, nutritious, unprocessed fare to the local community. 

As Hierba Dulce began to flourish, Pochote Press moved out of the space. The restaurant uses organic ingredients, working strictly with small local farmers, and its dishes are made without processed oils, refined sugars or animal byproducts like asiento (lard). This setup helps provide a lifeline for these producers, who value genetic diversity over mass production. 

The restaurant is run by chef Mayora Georgina Cruz, and is tucked away in the open-air walled courtyard of a colonial-era house not far from the city center of Oaxaca de Juárez. Its name is the Spanish version of tzopelic xihuitl in Náhuatl, an indigenous language of the region, translating to  “sweet herb.”

This was the first place we dined at during our stay in Oaxaca. We arrived around 6 and were seated shortly after. The centerpiece of the courtyard was a tiled fountain with an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe. This was adorned with strands of brightly colored woven palm leaf garland anchored by a straw flower arrangement that put me in a festive mood. 

The gorgeous fountain at Hierba Dulce, with the Virgin of Guadalupe, colorful garlands and bright straw flowers

Hierba Dulce is women-run and focuses on unprocessed, local ingredients. The dinnerware, with its distinctive blackened spots, are from the nearby village of Santa María Atzompa and were handmade by Maestra Josefina Zárate.

To start, we each ordered Oaxaqueños, a cocktail made with the restaurant’s tepache and cachaça, a distilled spirit made from fermented sugarcane juice. At first, neither one of us thought it was that strong — until we finished it. They packed a surprisingly strong punch, and neither of us needed to order a second. 

The Oaxaqueño, a cocktail made with tepache and cachaça, packed a surprising punch.

Wally and I opted for the mole tasting for two, which featured the seven most famous types of Oaxacan moles. 

Dinner kicked off with a salsa verde and a roja.

As an appetizer, we were served a complimentary pair of salsas: a green one made with miltomate (tomatillo), serranos, avocado and cilantro, and a red one with smoked pasilla, morita and chile de árbol with miltomate. These were accompanied by housemade tostadas, crisp corn tortillas made with heirloom maíz, on a comal (a round, flat griddle). 

Try a sampler of the seven moles of Oaxaca and rate them as you go. Our fave was rojo, while verde came in last.

The 7 Moles of Oaxaca

Mole comes from the Nahuatl word molli, or “sauce.” This traditional, multilayered sauce typically begins with a base of dried or fresh chiles, seasoned with wild endemic herbs, vegetables and other ingredients. Cooking times vary by type; some come together quickly and can take as little as a few hours, while others take days to prepare. 

No two moles are alike. Recipes vary from region to region, from village to village, from family to family. All are slightly different, depending on who’s making it. The ones served at Hierba Dulce are Cruz’s recipes, adapted and tweaked into versions made without oil or refined sugar. 

We found that tortillas weren’t the best vehicle to serve with these moles — the sauce oozed out and made for a messy meal.

1. Amarillo / Yellow

Yellow chilhuacle, costeño and smoky-sweet guajillo chiles, spices, hoja santa (literally “sacred leaf” — a heart-shaped leaf with a slight peppery taste) combine with white beans to make an ochre-colored, mildly spicy mole. 

2. Verde / Green

This was the only mole of the seven that didn’t contain dried chilis (perhaps that’s why it was our least favorite). Its bright green color comes from miltomates, serranos, cilantro and epazote (a pungent herb with a flavor between tarragon and anise). 

3. Almendrado / Almond

This mole is made with guajillo and ancho chiles, heirloom tomatoes, almonds, oregano and cinnamon. 

4. Chichilo 

Intense and smoky, with pasila, mulato, guajillo and black chilhuacle chiles, garlic and onion, the addition of dry-roasted avocado leaves lend a subtle licorice flavor. 

5. Estufado

Olives, almonds, miltomates, tomatoes, onion, capers, perejil (parsley) and cinnamon combine in this version.  

6. Rojo / Red

This thick, brick-red sauce was the spiciest of the seven moles and used ancho chiles, pasilla chiles, garlic, onion, tomatoes, peanuts and dark chocolate. It was our fave. 

7. Negro / Black

The most labor-intensive of the moles, this one contains chilhuacle negro, mulato, pasilla, ancho, guajillo and chipotle chiles, plantains, and dark, bitter chocolate. The charred seeds of the chilhuacle negro give this mole its signature depth of color and flavor. Wally thought it was so sweet compared to the others, it practically worked as a dessert course. 

Most moles are made with chiles, herbs, tomatoes — and some even have chocolate.

Getting Sauced 

Moles are often served over rice, chicken or pork. Ours came with corn tortillas that were made moments before on a nearby comal in the corner of the courtyard. Most of the sauces were soupy, resulting in a messy dining experience. Perhaps we should have tried the mole sampling that comes with mushrooms. And after trying a few different varieties, it was difficult to really appreciate the subtle differences between the seven — though maybe that was because of the buzz we felt from the Oaxaqueños. 

Either way, we admired how Cruz has reinterpreted traditional ingredients in a sophisticated way. –Duke

Wally and Duke pose by the back wall of the Hierbe Dulce courtyard, which is lined with cacti known as Mexican fence posts.

Hierba Dulce

Calle Porfirio Díaz 311
Ruta Independencia
Centro
68000 Oaxaca de Juárez
Oxaca
Mexico

 

Continue Your Culinary Tour of Mexico

5 Tips for Visiting Oaxaca From an Expat

What you need to know about public bathrooms, safety — and how to avoid getting thrown into a Mexican prison — before a trip to Oaxaca, Mexico. 

If you’re out among other people, Oaxaca is a safe town. The later it gets, and the drunker people get, the higher chance someone might take advantage of them.

We can understand why our friend Kevin moved to Oaxaca and doesn’t have any plans on ever living anywhere else. Everyone, it seems, is an artisan here, creating colorful alebrijes, textiles or pottery. It’s a culinary hotspot, serving up everything from mole to mezcal. And there’s a laidback charm to this city of just over 250,000 — and yet there always seems to be something going on. As Kevin says, every day is a parade in Oaxaca. 

In fact, Travel + Leisure magazine readers named Oaxaca as the best city in the world. That’s quite a distinction! (As Duke and I have discovered, Mexico is where it’s at: San Miguel de Allende scored the 2nd spot, while Mexico City came in at number 6.)

“ It is just a good idea to not be so USA about your phone while walking down the street, making love to Google Maps, staring at Facebook, etc. ”

That being said, like any city, Oaxaca dances to its own rhythm, and can be  dangerous at times. Before our trip to Oaxcaa, Kevin offered these tips: 

Given his smile, you wouldn’t know that Wally had a close call earlier in the day, when he was getting in desperate need of a bathroom. Thank God he had 5 pesos with him!

1. Carry several 5-peso coins with you at all times.

They will be your ticket to enter a public restroom. I have yet to see one that is free unless you are in a restaurant. This goes for pueblos (villages) as well.

Wally’s take: The 5-peso tip is always a good one to follow anywhere in Mexico. You don’t want to need an emergency stop, only to find they won’t let you into a restroom without forking over a lousy 5 pesos (the equivalent of a quarter). 

2. Be very careful of the intersections.

Most intersections are what is called “uno a uno” — one by one. That means there is no stoplight, and whoever gets there first goes through. If there is a line of cars entering, it is one by one.

Sure, you won’t be driving, but you will need to cross intersections on foot. Here, pedestrians don’t have the right of way. Stay out of the car’s way. 

Most streets are one way, so it is a little easier.  But realize that it is legal to park in the opposite direction of traffic. So be very mindful when you look to the right and see a car’s hood pointed toward you that that might not be the real direction of traffic. Look left and right every time.

Wally’s take: We had some difficulty navigating Oaxaca, even though it’s not that big of a city. Read our post about getting around Oaxaca for more tips. 

3. Keep your passport on you when traveling outside the city.

In Centro, it is not so necessary. But all it takes is for a cop to pull over a car, do an immigration check, and if someone doesn’t have their passport on them, they can and have detained people until they can prove their tourist status. With the pandemic, the wait time can be weeks or months — and you do not want to go to one of their prisons.

You could keep your driver’s license in your room. You do not need it. A passport is best to carry. 

Wally’s take: When we traveled outside the city, we didn’t bother bringing along our passports. But we were either with Kevin or on a guided tour, and felt like they could help deal with any issues if the police became involved for whatever reason.

Maybe you shouldn’t take a selfie like this in Oaxaca. But Duke and Wally can’t help but stop to take a picture of street art like this.

4. Be mindful of your phone and do not wear expensive jewelry. 

Tourists have been mugged for their phones in broad daylight in Centro. It is just a good idea to not be so USA about your phone while walking down the street, making love to Google Maps, staring at Facebook, etc.  Pretend you are in France or Spain, where pickpocketing is normal. 

Just like this street art says: No More Violence!

Here they will hold you up at gunpoint or with a knife and rob you. Is it common? No. Does it happen? Yes. Some people bring a second phone from home and pop in a SIM card here for very cheap.  That way if it gets stolen, you have your master phone in your room.

Wally’s take: As for having our phones out in Centro, just try to stop me and Duke from taking photos every block or two. 

If you’re out late at night, play it safe and call a cab.

5. Take a taxi at night.

Yes, it’s usually safe. But again: Be very aware of your surroundings. If you’re walking through Centro at 1 a.m. after drinking, it’s best to take a cab.

Wally’s take: We weren’t out late at night (we’re getting too old for that nonsense), but we did hear about people getting mugged coming from the bars late at night. 

That being said, you’ll most likely find Oaxaca to be a safe and friendly city. But it never hurts to play it safe. Discover why it was voted best city in the world. ¡Disfruten! Enjoy yourselves! –Wally

Follow these tips and you’ll have as great a time in Oaxaca as Duke did.

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The Textile Museum of Oaxaca Weaves Its Magic

El Museo Textil de Oaxaca is a free attraction — and well worth a quick visit. 

The Textile Museum of Oaxaca showcases contemporary art exhibits, such as Ephemerus by Cecilia Salcedo, which was in the upstairs gallery when we visited.

I know plenty of people go gaga for textiles. And while I can certainly admire the craftsmanship of a woven cloth (and have a great fondness for quilts), textile-centric excursions wouldn’t be on our short list. 

If the Museo Textil de Oaxaca wasn’t literally in the same building as our hotel (the delightful Casa Antonieta), I don’t know that Duke and I would have popped in. 

 And that would have been a mistake. 

“The museum is housed in a mansion with a green stone façade build by a Spanish merchant.

How did he earn his fortune? He exported cochineal, the red dye made from bugs that was more precious than gold — which provides a nice connection to the Museo Textil. ”

Even if textiles aren’t your bag, baby, you should stop by for a brief visit — even just to admire the design of the interior courtyard. A philanthropic venture of the Fundación Alfredo Harp Helú, a private foundation, the museum is open to the public and free to enter. So you really have no excuse not to devote time here. 

The museum is small, with a few galleries on the first floor and one upstairs.

A Material World

When we visited, we began on the ground floor, which is set up very much like an art museum — the textiles on the wall could very well be paintings. There are only a few small rooms, and a somewhat haunting nature soundtrack played as we wandered the galleries. 

One of the ground-floor galleries

The striking courtyard of the Museo Textil de Oaxaca

Upstairs, there was only one large room open to the public, and the exhibit when we were there felt a bit interactive. 

Ephemerus by Cecilia Salcedo was born of craving nature during pandemic lockdowns. I can remember Duke and I taking walks along Inner Lake Shore Drive in Chicago just to get out of the house when COVID-19 silenced Chicago. The lack of cars and other ambient noise meant we could hear birdsong like never before, and we noticed the buds appearing on the trees we passed every day. In a strange way, it was beautiful, as if the world had forced us to literally pause, listen and observe.

Salcedo used branches to hang her cloth prints of leaves — a project born of craving nature during the pandemic lockdown.

The trees seen through the balcony doors pair nicely with the nature re-creations in the exhibit.

The artist used a technique called ecoprinting, making stamps of leaves on bolts of fabric that are draped from the ceiling like banners. They pair nicely with the actual branches hung above and below, strewn about in piles of dirt and leaves — as well as the leaves in the trees that can be seen through the open balcony doors. I found the space to be very evocative, like entering a magical forest (if you have a good imagination, as I do). 

“All fleeting stages, even this pandemic, afford us the opportunity to renew our perspective of the world that surrounds us and, above all else, the role that we play in it,” writes Hector M. Meneses Lozano, the museum director, about the exhibit.

Salcedo used a technique called ecoprinting to leave the impressions of leaves on cloth.

The museum views itself, in part, as a place to showcase contemporary art, and that mission was obvious in this second-floor gallery. 

The textile museum is part of a massive building known as the Ex Convento de San Pablo, sharing the space with a boutique hotel and a cultural center.

History of the Ex Convento de San Pablo 

The Oaxaca Textile Museum is housed in the same massive edifice as not only Casa Antonieta but the striking Centro Cultural de San Pablo as well. 

The site originally housed the Convento de Santo Domingo Soriano. Established in the year 1529, it was the second Dominican foundation in the Americas. Later, the monastery was dedicated to Saint Paul, which explains why it’s now referred to as the Ex Convento de San Pablo. 

It seems little if any of the original structure still exists, though. At the beginning of the 17th century, a series of earthquakes caused massive damage, forcing the church to rent and sell off parts of the monastery. 

The first structure built on the site of the monastery was a small one-story adobe home — though it was torn down by Spanish merchant Ángel de Antelo y Bermúdez. Don Ángel built a two-story Oaxacan Baroque mansion, with a green stone façade, and the property became known as Casa Antelo. 

How did Don Ángel earn his fortune? He exported cochineal, the red dye made from bugs that was more precious than gold — which provides a nice connection to the textile museum. 

Wally and Duke were obsessed with the pattern of the courtyard wall — a sort of stone textile itself.

The structure was enlarged, and eventually gut-rehabbed to house the cultural center, hotel and textile museum, which opened in 2008. 

There’s a small shop on the first floor, which has some nice items but smelled a bit mildewy when we visited. –Wally

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The deets 

Admission: Free

Hours: Open every day from 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. 

Tours: Free one-hour tours are offered at 5 p.m. (though these were discontinued during COVID)

Museo Textil de Oaxaca

Miguel Hidalgo 917
Centro Histórico
68000 Oaxaca de Juárez
Oaxaca
México

 

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Woodcarvers of Oaxaca Carve Out Their Niche

Manuel Jiménez is credited with starting the alebrije tradition in Oaxaca, but we’re smitten with the playful creations of Martín Melchor Ángeles.

Don Manuel Jiménez is credited with bringing the alebrije tradition to Oaxaca, and shifting the medium from papier-mâché to wood.

On our fifth day in Oaxaca, Wally and I were picked up outside Casa Antonieta, the hotel we were staying at, by folk art expert extraordinaire Linda Hanna. Having done our research, we knew that Oaxaca was famous for its brightly painted collectible wooden figures and that Linda was the perfect guide to explore the region. We were on the road by 9:30 a.m. and en route to San Antonio Arrazola, a small pueblo where the tradition began. 

These wood carvings are the newest of the local crafts yet draw on generations of skill. Even the capital’s fútbol (soccer) team, Los Alebrijes, is named after the locally produced wood carvings, which are an important source of income for their indigenous makers. According to Linda, prior to the 1940s, the region produced utilitarian items such as wooden spoons and molinillos, a utensil used to froth drinking chocolate. 

Alebrijes are believed to have been modern offshoots of nahuals, human-headed animal amulets worn by the Zapotec.

The origin story that Linda has heard often and which she believes to be the most credible involves a Zapotec tradition: Every baby was given a small nahual or nagual (pronounced “na-wal”) amulet to wear around their neck from the day they were born. These tokens took the form of animals from the 20-month Mesoamerican zodiac and were protective talismans symbolic of an individual’s alter ego that accompanied them throughout life.  

Don Manuel is no longer living, but his family carries on the woodcarving legacy.

Don Manuel Jiménez: The Alebrije Story Begins

“Manuel Jiménez was a peasant farmer who would be out there in the fields,” Linda told us. “And I think these people are, you know, born with a machete nearby. So carving is almost inherent in their DNA, and he was probably out there whittling away. He didn’t want to be limited by the size of the creatures, so he started making them bigger. At some point he had a bunch of them and would come into town, sit on some street corner, trying to sell them, probably not too effectively — until an American saw his work and was very impressed.”

Alebrijes take many forms but are mostly animals nowadays. Jiménez liked to do human faces, inspired by an ancient Zapotec tradition.

If you’re into alebrijes even half as much as Wally and Duke, consider having Linda Hanna take you on a tour of woodcarving artisan workshop homes.

We call Jiménez and his cohorts woodcarvers — but a lot of their craft involves painting. Alebrijes are known for their surprising mix of colors and patterns.

Jiménez, with the assistance of the foreigner, took these objects and presented them to the offices of the Tourist Council in Mexico City. The closest thing they could compare them to were the fantastical creatures Pedro Linares had been making out of papier-mâché, so they decided to also call these surreal, vibrantly colored wooden adaptations “alebrijes,” too. 

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What’s an Alebrije? Learn more about our favorite Mexican artisan tradition.

Click here

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About 45 minutes later, we were welcomed to Arrazola by a giant acid green praying mantis sculpture and a sign commemorating the town as la Cuña de los Alebrijes, the Cradle of Alebrijes. A short time after, we arrived at our destination, the museum workshop of the Jiménez family. Known locally as Don Manuel, the patriarch died in 2005 and is often credited as the father of Oaxacan alebrijes.

A fun sculpture of a giant praying mantis in Arrazola, the Cuña, or Cradle, of Alebrijes

As we parked and got out of Linda’s car, we noticed a man outside the studio enclosure with a converted bicycle grinding a metallic object against a spinning rust-colored disc. When we asked Linda what he was doing, she replied that he was a knife sharpener and it looked like he was working on a pair of scissors.

The charming courtyard at the Jiménez home, workshop and store

In the courtyard, a group of small, weathered and anatomically correct diablitos (little devils) playing guitars hung along a roughly textured stucco wall. 

Inside the workshop are framed photographs, newspaper articles and nahuales. One with a man’s face and mustache was sitting upright like a dog, another, ears back, crouched, appearing ready to pounce. A brightly colored figurine of Dante, the dog from the Pixar movie Coco stood atop a well-worn table.

The taller (pronounced “tie-yair”), or workshop, is operated by Don Manuel’s sons, Angélico and Isaías, and contains a small museum with glass display cases of their father’s work. They still sign Manuel’s name to their work — supposedly to honor his legacy. 

The patriarch specialized in nativity scenes, animals and nahuales. There’s even a children’s book, Dream Carver, that tells the story of a young woodcarver who breaks with a generations-old artistic tradition, inspired by the life of Don Manuel. 

A display case of some of Don Manuel’s works and the children’s book based on his life

There’s a shop/museum connected to the workshop.

“When these started selling, Jiménez tried to keep it a secret — which is impossible in a little village,” Linda said. “They know everything about you, good and bad.”

It wasn’t long before campesinos (farmers) in the nearby pueblos of San Martín Tilcajete and La Unión Tejalapan caught on and decided to carve and sell their products to tourists and collectors from North America and beyond. A new artisan tradition was born. 

When you see this mural, you’ll know you’re about to enter Don Manuel’s complex.

El Tallador de Sueños Museo-Taller
Álvaro Obregón #1
San Antonio Arrazola
Santa Cruz Xoxocotlán, 71233
Oaxaca
México

While we were in Arrazola, we stopped into Taller de Alebrijes Autóctonos, a massive store filled with colorful carvings.

Shopping Break 

In addition to Don Manuel’s workshop and museum, Arrazola has a concentration of shops on Calle Emiliano Zapata. Wally and I stopped by Taller de Alebrijes Autóctonos, a massive establishment with a vast selection of alebrijes. Linda had mentioned that a few artists use syringes to apply dots of acrylic paint to the surface of their creations. Sure enough, I noticed a woman working on a piece who was using a syringe to embellish a small wood carving.

Taller de Alebrijes Autóctonos
Emiliano Zapata #2-B
San Antonio Arrazola
Santa Cruz Xoxocotlán, 71233
Oaxaca
México

Martín Melchor Ángeles, our favorite alebrije artisan

The Story Continues: Martín Melchor’s Magical Menagerie 

The moment I first saw the work of Martín Melchor Ángeles on the Instagram feed of Mexico City-based freelance journalist Michael Snyder, I knew I’d found someone special. 

Our next stop was the taller of Martín Melchor Ángeles. A dusty, rose-colored wall sported a hand-painted sign with one of Martín’s signature dalmatians wearing a red shirt and blue pants riding a bicycle. 

Martín’s distinct whimsical handcarved animals include a menagerie of creatures: giraffes operating mototaxis, dogs on bikes, alligators in libraries, cows on stilts and more. His wife, Hermelinda, makes handsewn costumes for the figures on stilts. 

These are the alebrijes on stilts that Duke and Wally bought at Melchor’s workshop.

The stilt walkers were included as part of a collaborative exhibit, Transcommuniality, by multidisciplinary artist Laura Anderson Barbata, which made an appearance at the Museo Textil de Oaxaca in 2018. The traveling exhibit includes interpretations of stilt walkers’ costumes found around the globe, from the moko jumbies of Trinidad and Tobago to the Zancudos de Zaachila in Oaxaca.

In fact, while walking through Oaxaca Centro a couple days earlier, Wally and I happened upon a parade with these performers. We marveled at how they danced around, tied onto wooden stilts. They’re known as Zancudos, which comes from zanco, meaning “stilt” but also evokes “mosquito” — a reference to the insects’ long legs. The male performers, some dressed in masculine garb, some wearing dresses, are impressive to watch.

Part of the fun of a folk art tour is seeing the handicrafts at various stages of production.

At Martín’s shop, it was difficult to decide between the pieces. But ultimately, we decided upon a bull dressed as a tiliche in colorful scraps of cloth. This character makes an annual appearance at Guelaguetza, a celebration of indigenous culture held in Oaxaca de Juárez, along with an alligator in fanciful Tehuana dress wearing a lemon yellow huipil tunic paired with a long bougainvillea pink skirt.

If for some reason you don’t want to make a trip to Martín’s studio (and want to pay a lot more for his work), we found a couple of his pieces in town along Avenida de la Independencia at Andares. But not only is it cool to meet these artisans and see their workshops, you’ll find the prices much cheaper than those at the stores.

The sign at Martín’s home and workshop shows his playful style, often with animals on bikes or in mototaxis.

Martín Melchor Ángeles
Andrés Portillo #2
San Martín Tilcajete
Oaxaca
México

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Wally and I wished that we had allotted extra time in Oaxaca to coordinate a second day trip with Linda. Her involvement with and passion for the region’s indigenous artisans deepened our understanding and appreciation of the process. Having her as both driver and guide took the stress of transportation out of the equation. Plus, her familiarity with and ability to contact the creators prior to us visiting their workshops ensured that they had pieces for us to see and purchase.

If you’re interested in Mexican folk art, Linda can introduce you to local artesanos and take you to see their workshops. Send her an email at folkartfantasy@gmail.com. —Duke

A Tour of the Oaxaca Botanical Garden

El Jardín Etnobotánico de Oaxaca began as a monastery, then was taken over by the military. Now it’s a fascinating and gorgeous reflection of the diversity of plant life found in Oaxaca.

The Oaxaca Botanical Garden offers one tour in English a day — so be sure to get there early to make sure you get a spot!

I’m obsessed with Carol. She was our guide at the Jardín Etnobotánico de Oaxaca. She makes even the most mundane things seem fascinating. Mind you, she’s strict — you’ve gotta follow the rules or risk a scolding — but she also has a great sense of humor.

Our tour guide, Carol, was a wealth of knowledge — and humor.

I’ve transcribed Carol’s tour. Reading her words should give you a good feel for her extensive knowledge (and sense of humor). Hopefully it’ll transport you to the garden — the next best thing to taking an actual tour:

Looking around, I’m guessing most or all of you are visitors. I certainly know that the country’s cultural richness is usually a major reason for people to visit. But you may be less aware of Mexico’s botanical richness. Mexico, in fact, has some of the richest flora in the whole world. 

Mexico is also renowned for the great number of plant types to grow uniquely here. Botanists call these endemic — plants that grow only in a limited area. And Oaxaca state has more species of plants, and more endemic species of plants, than in any other part of the country. In fact, all the different kinds of vegetation that grow throughout Mexico can be found right here.

The Oaxaca Botanical Garden has only been open since 1994 and covers an area of about six acres.

But very clearly interconnected with this rich flora, Oaxaca state is also known for ethnic diversity. The state has more indigenous groups than any other part of Mexico. Given the size, the state of Oaxaca is more linguistically diverse than any other part of the Americas, and one of the most linguistically diverse in the world. 

Each of the peoples here had their own names, uses, beliefs and traditions about the plants. 

The back of Santo Domingo de Guzmán church, which once owned the land upon which the botanical garden now sits.

Dominican Monastery to Military Grounds: the Complicated History of the Jardín Etnobotánico de Oaxaca

The garden was founded in 1994. Because of the dual emphasis on the relationship of the people and plants, the formal name is the Ethnibotanical Garden. 

The garden covers an area of  just over two hectares, or approximately six acres. 

This was originally part of the Dominican monastery, and the Dominican friars began building Santo Domingo in the 1570s. They moved into the monastery in 1608 and remained there till the 1860s. 

The Dominicans used the space firstly as a construction zone, which is where they prepared all the materials to build and later maintain Santo Domingo. We know they used it subsequently for washing and bathing. There’s evidence they pastured some animals out here. We know they did pottery and metalwork in this space. We have no evidence of any food crops in the space which today serves as the garden. 

The botanical garden was once where monks bathed, and later, where cavalry soldiers performed drills.

The Dominicans were expelled in the early 1860s — at a time when, nationwide, all church properties were expropriated and nationalized. The federal government took over the whole complex and handed the entire thing to the military, and Santo Domingo served as a cavalry base until 1993.

The military used this space to exercise forces, to hold military practices, to park military vehicles. They had sports fields out here and so on. They destroyed the Dominicans structures out in the field area that were tall — anything that stuck up got lopped off.

But a number of low structures built by the Dominicans, covered over and buried during that military period, have survived till today.

The military use, however, destroyed all the vegetation from the Dominican period. We don’t have one single plant here that has survived from then.

No longer a part of Santo Domingo church, the botanical garden showcases plants from the state of Oaxaca.

The Opening of the Oaxaca Botanical Garden

The military left, as I said in 1993, and the garden was formally organized in 1994. They started to reconstruct the buildings, so from ’94 to ’98, nothing much happened vis-à-vis the garden. 

It was finally in 1998 that they began to prepare the soil, to plan out the garden and to begin planting, and the garden opened to the public in late 1999.

So it’s a very young garden, with lots of plants here that couldn’t possibly have grown here in this time period. Anything very tall, big, old has been transplanted.

A cistern under the wedding venue holds over 1 million liters of rainwater, which is used to irrigate the massive garden.

When the garden was founded, the goal was not just to make an attractive botanical garden — though they certainly wanted to do that — but to make it a Oaxacan garden.

And they have done that in several ways. One, of course, is with the collection of plants. All the plants come only from Oaxaca state. So many of these plants may grow elsewhere as well, but they are collected only from the Oaxacan community. 

Another way was in the design of the garden. The garden was designed not by landscape architects but local artists, who took as their theme a pre-Hispanic design element that’s very typical of Oaxaca. And you’ll see it most clearly at the archeological site of Mitla. Those zigzags — some are mosaic, some are actually carved in stone, but they’re zigzag designs that are referred to as grecas.

Note the zigzagging pathway — it’s a recurring motif at the botanical garden.

And that’s the thing that you see throughout the garden. Notice the beds aren’t square or rectangle. Nothing is curved. As you go through the garden, with the water channels and pathways, everything zigzags.

All of the money raised from the lavish weddings at the Oaxaca Botanical Garden go to the state.

The Question of Funding

When the garden was founded, it was a public-private partnership, two public, two private partners. It was wonderful. It lasted until the end of 2005. And at the beginning of 2006, that public-private partnership — called a fideicomiso here — dissolved. And we were, for five seconds, hopeful that we would become entirely an NGO [non-governmental organization].

But, in fact, the state took it over. So since 2006, we have been a state agency. We have no juridical independence; we don’t exist as a legal entity apart from the state. So, unfortunately, folks, you can’t donate money to us. Because everything goes through the state.

So that’s where we are. It’s totally top-down, and all the money from those weddings here goes to the state. The donations? That now goes to the state as well.

Solar power and geothermal cooling make this greenhouse an actual green building.

A Truly Green Greenhouse

As we start up into the garden, we will be passing a number of those Dominicans structures that I mentioned. Those relate us to our past. Down in the corner is the future. We always wanted a real greenhouse and we finally got one in 2007. 

It consists of two rooms: a colder room and a warmer, more humid room to show plants that will not grow well in this climate. 

Greenhouses, by their very name, should be green. But most of them are not — only the plants are green. But this one is truly green. It is totally self-sustaining. All the power to run it comes from solar panels on the roof of the buildings where you enter the garden.

 All the electrical lighting is solar-powered. The heating and the cooling? Also solar power. The cooling is geothermal cooling. And the water is all rainwater to irrigate. In fact, the entire garden is irrigated with rainwater. Santo Domingo has several acres of rooftop. And the rainwater is fed from the rooftops by waterspouts onto the terraces and runs into this giant underground cistern, where they’re putting up that structure for another fancy wedding this weekend. 

Under the floor is the cistern. It was built in 1998 to store over 1 million liters of rainwater. It is the largest rainwater cistern in the entire state of Oaxaca. And then that water can be pumped to wherever it’s needed. There are outlets periodically where you attach a hose. All the irrigation is manual, but it’s all rainwater-fed. 

You can’t go in the greenhouse, alas, but you can admire its design.

The greenhouse was designed by a Mexican architect [Francisco Gonzalez-Pulido] who received an architectural award in 2018 for best sustainable building. The greenhouse is not open to the public — you’ll have to stand outside and look. But it really represents our future, and I hope everyone’s. 

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End your tour with the money shot, as Duke and Wally did. (And consider accepting one of the hats they offer to protect you from the sun.)

Before You Go

Even if you don’t consider yourself overly interested in plants, we recommend touring the Oaxaca Botanical Garden. You can’t wander through on your own, but they give tours in English once a day, at 11 a.m. Monday through Saturday. They only let 25 people join each tour, so play it safe and get there at least 45 minutes beforehand to get on the list. The entrance is at the corner of Reforma and Constitución. Tours cost 100 pesos (a bargain at about $5), and kids 12 and under get in free. Wear sunscreen — some of the time will be spent in the sun. The walk lasts about two hours — but, if you’re lucky enough to get a fantastic guide like Carol, the time will fly by. –Wally

The Oaxaca Botanical Garden should be towards the top of your to-do list when visiting this area.

Jardín Etnobotánico de Oaxaca

Reforma Sur Norte
Ruta Independencia
Centro
68000 Oaxaca de Juárez
Oaxaca
Mexico

 

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What the Heck Is Pulque?

Pulque de maguey is harvested from agave and was the drink of the Aztec gods. Just be sure to go to the source — the phlegmy beverage you get in city pulquerías can be downright foul. 

Pulque is a popular drink in Mexico made from naturally fermented agave sap.

Duke and I had heard of pulque charmingly described by our friends Juls and Hugo as a beverage having the consistency of something in-between saliva and jizz. And, sadly, that was not an exaggeration.

Despite this less-than-glowing recommendation, I still felt like I had to try this mysterious concoction on our first visit to Mexico City. 

“Pulque is charmingly described as having the consistency of something in-between saliva and jizz.

Sadly, that’s not an exaggeration.”

What we didn’t understand at the time is that pulque is so highly fermented that it doesn’t travel well — unless other elements are added to it. So the pulque you get outside of the villages where maguey agave is harvested are what’s called curado, or cured.

“If you tried pulque in Mexico City, it was probably thick, kind of gooey stuff,” said Alvin Starkman, our mezcal tour guide. “If so, it was adulterated — but not necessarily bad.” (We beg to differ.)

Cheers! When you’re in Mexico (like these fellows back in 1910), give pulque a try — especially if you’re in an area where agave grows.

Various items are added — milk, cream, sugar, cornstarch, fruit, even oatmeal — to slow fermentation. Because if you take a container of pulque without releasing air constantly, it’ll literally explode. Alvin bought some pulque to take home, and he had to keep unscrewing the lid of the gallon container, which would overflow from the pressure.

A shop selling pulque curado — which has fruit juice and other ingredients added to it so it doesn’t literally explode.

But curado isn’t genuine pulque. We were lucky enough to try some on our tour of palenques (mezcal distilleries) with Alvin.

Turns out true pulque isn’t phlegmy like its CDMX counterpart. The closest drink I can think of that it resembles is kombucha — slightly sweet, acidic and fizzy. In fact, like kombucha, it’s loaded with probiotics and is a teensy bit alcoholic, able to give you about the same buzz as a light beer.

The sap of the agave is called aguamiel (literally “honey water”), and that really only lasts one day. We were able to try some that had been gathered that very morning.

If you can try some aguamiel, do so! You have to drink it the same day it’s harvested since the drink ferments so fast.

Pulque’s consumption dates to pre-Hispanic times, when it was considered a sacred drink reserved for the gods, priests and emperors. During the colonial era, the Spanish tried to ban the beverage, considering it immoral. In fact, it’s said that it was so popular, on any given day 13% of the population of Mexico would be drunk on pulque. Unable to prohibit its consumption, the Spanish did the next best thing: They taxed the hell out of it.

Pre-Hispanic figurine of a pulque maker, dating from 100 BCE to 300 CE

A tlachiquero using an old-fashioned method for gathering aguamiel.

How Is Pulque Made? 

There are five or so species of agave in Mexico, Alvin says, that mature after roughly 15 to 20 years of growth. Just before the stalk shoots up from the center of the massive plant, someone called a tlachiquero goes into the field and carves a hole in the middle, right where the stalk would sprout. The liquid called aguamiel starts to seep into the hole. 

“The nutrients go from the leaves into that hole in the middle of the plant in the form of a sweet liquid,” Alvin explains. 

The minute aguamiel is taken from the “well,” it interacts with the bacteria in the environment and starts to ferment. Fermented aguamiel is called pulque.

“It’s that simple,” Alvin says. Unlike the complex process to make mezcal, “there’s no baking, there’s no crushing, there’s no distilling. It’s a natural process.”

Maguey plants, the type of agave used to harvest aguamiel, which ferments into pulque

Aguamiel is usually harvested twice a day. Before dawn, the tlachiquero will collect the liquid from each plant and then use a tool called a respador to scrape off a layer in the well. “That will open up the pores and help to induce more seepage,” Alvin tells us. “Because they’re going to come back in 10 or 12 hours and do the same thing,” just before dusk.

Then the tlachiquero will put an agave leaf, piece of wood or stone on top of the hole to prevent insects (or larger critters, like possums) from getting at this sweet nectar of the gods.

The process continues for two to five months. “At qpeak production, after approximately a month,” you’re able to get 3 or 4 liters of honey water twice a day from a plant,” Alvin says.

How much aguamiel does one plant yield? 

“It’s sort of like a bell curve,” Alvin explains. “At the very beginning, you’ll get a couple of ounces, and then the production increases for about a month or month and a half. At peak production, you’re getting 3 or 4 liters, and then it slowly goes down. And after a few months, there’s virtually no honey water coming into the hole and you stop.”

Mayahuel, the Aztec goddess of alcohol and fertility, was said to actually have 400 breasts — each oozing aguamiel.

Tasting the Drink of the Gods

We visited a family who sells pulque for a living. The shop, in the pueblo of Santiago Matatlán, is now run by Reina Cortés Cortés.

When her grandfather was alive, Alvin would go out into the field with him to harvest the aguamiel, and that’s how he learned about pulque production.

Stop by this small shop in Santiago Matatlán if you’re in the Oaxaca area to sample some pulque — and aguamiel, if you’re lucky!

Reina Cortés Cortés at her family’s casa de pulque, standing by a barrel where the beverage is aged.

As pulque ferments, it gets more vinegary, so Cortés adds fruit juice to it.

We tried aguamiel harvested that very morning, and it was bright, light and delicious. Then we tried pulque that had fermented very recently, and again, it was tasty, if a bit more tart and fizzy. 

The longer you let pulque ferment, the more it adopts a vinegary taste. To counteract this, Reina had added some strawberry juice, giving it a pastel pink coloring. And while I have to say my favorite was the fresh aguamiel, the pulque we had danced along our taste buds most delightfully. No wonder it was once the favored tipple of the Aztec gods and emperors.

And I hardly need to mention how it blows away the hawked-loogie variety of pulque you get served outside of the pueblos. –Wally