Kazia Jankowski - big world | small kitchen

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Understanding Mexican Tequila & Culture

From the 19th floor of the Marriott in the Polanco district of Mexico City, you can see the line in the horizon where brown smog fades and the sky becomes blue. Below this atmospheric divider, leafy, tree-lined avenues stretch toward the city’s outskirts where shiny, new buildings jut up. Along the roads, streams of cars inch along, pushing through neighborhoods where designer apartment buildings look down on boxy, concrete homes.

I know this because many mornings this month, I woke up in the Polanco Marriott and made my way to the 19th floor for breakfast. My colleague, Brad, and I were in Mexico City for work. We’d been hired to research Mexican dairy habits. Over eight days, we visited 10 restaurants, nine markets, and six homes. We tried guava yogurt, drinkable catucs-pineapple yogurt, lactose-free milk, and yogurt smoothies (or as Mexicans call them licuados). As we researched, we passed between the polish and the grime that was visible from the Marriott windows.

On the Saturday of our trip, though, we broke from the formalities of work and the hotel. Brad put on his shorts and I slid on my gym shoes, and we headed out to visit the neighborhood of San Angel in the southern section of the city. That day painters, artists, and jewelry makers filled the neighborhood’s central plaza to sell their wares.

By mid-afternoon Brad and I had questioned all the stores and markets around the plaza about their dairy products—and we had bargained our way into several tapestries. But hunger told us we weren’t done so we headed up the hill to the San Angel Inn restaurant.

Since the seventeenth century, the San Angel Inn has created a cool and elegant sanctuary amid the dry, hustle of Mexico City. When Brad and I stepped past the bougainvillea-lined entrance, we were greeted with a sun-filled, flower-lined courtyard. Mexican families, dressed in button-up shirts and sundresses, sipped dainty margaritas. Rounded brandy glasses of tequila sat between couples, and next to the spicy Mexican liquor were tall, skinny shots of sangrita, the traditional tomato-juice chaser for tequila.

Eventually we found our way to the host and asked for a table for lunch. Behind the gentleman were about 10 empty tables, but he took one look at us, and said that the only available space was on a ledge in the garden.

I’m not sure if it was Brad’s shorts, my gym shoes, or a lack of a reservation that relegated us the worst seat in the house, but as we made our way to the ledge, I felt decidedly grimy in this polished environment. So Brad and I turned on our U.S. friendliness. When our server came to take our drink orders, we smiled big and asked him, “Señor, would be possible to have a seat on the patio?”

“Si, señorita.”

Then once on the patio, we smiled again and asked, “Would it be possible to have a seat in the restaurant?”

“Si, si, señorita.”

At the table, we asked our server, Alfredo, what we should order. We complemented him on guessing our needs before we said them. We thanked him every time he set a plate in front of us. At the tables around us, the well-dressed Mexicans rarely turned their heads when a server cleared away a plate or wheeled by the dessert cart.

In my last interaction with Alfredo, I asked him about sangrita. He described the tradition of cutting resposado tequila with a fresh blend of tomato and orange juices, as well as jalapeno. He explained that chasing tequila with lime cuts all the liquor’s flavor, while sangrita lets the taste linger. Then, he offered up the recipe for the San Angel Inn sangrita. I scribbled the time-honored combination on the back of a Marriott note card.

Back at home, when I can ditch the tennis shoes for a stylish sundress, I will blend up sangrita. When I do, I’ll think of the warm interactions I’d had with Alfredo, and I’ll appreciate Americans’ unpretentiousness attitude—even it comes with shorts and gym shoes. It can soften the hard edges of social class.

Sangrita
Makes 6 to 8 shots
Inspired by the San Angel Inn Restaurant

Sangrita, seasoned tomato juice, is the traditional chaser for tequila. In restaurants in Mexico if you order a tequila, it will often come with the shot of sangrita and lime wedges. Sangrita just slightly cuts the heat of tequila. Lime takes away all the burn. Sangrita, therefore, is a better companion for lingering. Pour yourself a silver tequila, or a resposado as they would do in Mexico, mix up a batch of this easy sangrita, and kick back for happy hour.

1 cup tomato juice
½ cup freshly squeezed orange juice
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lime juice
2 ½ teaspoons minced onion
2 ½ teaspoons minced jalapeno
3 tablespoons packed cilantro leaves
1/8 teaspoon salt

Add all ingredients to blender. Mix until well combined, about 30 seconds. Serve one shot of sangrita with one pour of tequila.

For printable recipe, click here.

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