T is for Tequila

In life, as in baseball, you can often be thrown a curve ball. If, like Babe Ruth, you have exceptional talent, reactions and flexibility, you can smash it out of the park.

To be a successful columnist, advance preparation is everything. (Actually, that's a big fat lie: but it can make life less stressful.) Take last Friday. Deadline day. 0900, two columns still to complete. That's more pressure than I need at my time of life.

This week, however, I am slightly ahead of the curve. It being the height of summer, allegedly, and today being a Food Alphabetical Day, S is going to be for strawberry. My research is nearly complete: historical facts are assembled: a few pieces of trivia are lined up to lob at you. Then the curve ball comes in. It's Wednesday morning, and I discover that we did S last time. For sorbet, you may recall. Aaargh!

But as the ball approaches, with a minimal click of the mouse and a swivel of the hips, I strike. For I have discovered that this very day, July 24, is World Tequila Day. The column is saved for the nation. A Tom's Food! home run, if you will.

As I'm sure you're aware, tequila is Mexican, a distilled liquor stemming from the blue agave plant. Before tequila there was pulque, essentially the fermented juice of the agave. More of a wine than a spirit. I was about to write that distillation is relatively recent. Then, with a rare fit of journalistic integrity, I decided to check my facts. The first evidence of distillation, astonishingly, was found in Mesopotamia, dating from, wait for it, 3500BC. Jings!

Not for the first time, I scratch my head thinking how any of these drinks first saw the light of day. The blue agave is an ugly looking brute. There are in fact lots of types of agave. Mezcal can be made from any of them. Today's hero is made from the blue one only. Why the name? Well, it was noted that the best stuff came from the vicinity of the town of Tequila. Life can be refreshingly simple at times.

In central America, however, little was simple after the arrival of the dastardly Spaniards in 1521. By the end of the 16th century, Mexico and the other Spanish colonies on the continent had a flourishing wine industry and were entirely self sufficient. Tequila was a bit of a sideline. Philip II of Spain, noting the decline in Spanish wine exports, banned the planting of any new vines.

Enter a hero/entrepreneur/chancer, one Don Pedro Sànchez de Tagle, Marquis of Altamira. Noting vast swathes of abandoned blue agave plants, he set up the first tequila factory, became known as the Father of Tequila, and made a huge wodge. Then there was the Cuervo family, and Don Cenobio Suaza and Don Franciso Javier. I think they were all related, but an important offshoot is the fact that Tequila now has protected status, like Scotch whisky or Champagne. It must, I believe, come from the state of Jalisco in Mexico. There are of course lots of brands, and variations and labels. I don't really understand these things. Lamenting recently with a legal friend that lawyers over specialise, I was told that he had recently employed a lady who was an expert in food labelling law. I rested my case.

One final fact. As Mexicans are quite short people, and the agave cultivators are called jimadores, those working in this field are affectionately known locally as Wee Jimmies.

If you're detecting a certain lack of enthusiasm today, it may be because I'm not fond of the nasty, oily, evil tasting stuff. I can see the point in drinking it with salt and lime, to mask the flavour. That, however, is a gringo way. In Mexico itself, tequila is traditionally drunk neat. In some regions you might have a side of sangrita (not sangria). Sangrita is a mix of orange juice, grenadine or tomato juice, and chilli. If you want to be patriotic, go for a bandiera (flag, remembering that the colours of Mexico are green, white and red). Line up three shot glasses with lime juice, tequila, and sangrita. Drink. Repeat. Oblivion awaits.

I'd really rather have had a nice bowl of strawberries.