I remember my first mezcal because it was bad.
I was 19, It was late at night in my hometown Guadalajara, at a bar called El Rey del Mezcal. A big old house with French-style architecture in Colonia Americana, packed wall to wall with young people. Two bars, three DJs, security guards at the door. It felt less like a mezcalería and more like a college party spilling into every room of the house.
Their most popular order was simple: a beer and a mezcal, served in one of those tiny sample bottles, the kind that costs almost nothing. I ordered it without thinking too much about it.
The mezcal was terrible.
Back then, I treated mezcal with a kind of distant respect — the way people in Guadalajara often do. Growing up in the capital of tequila, you’re used to taking spirits as shots. Mezcal had a reputation: it gets you drunk fast, it hits harder, it’s dangerous. That first sip did nothing to challenge the myth.
Years later, I learned the obvious lesson: mezcal isn’t meant to be shot. It’s meant to be taken slowly, sip by sip, like a conversation instead of a punch.
The real shift happened at a place called Los Ponchos — now Bar Comala — when I tasted a mezcal that completely rewired my understanding of what mezcal could be.
It was Derrumbes San Luis Potosí, made from Salmiana agave.
At that point in my life, I still avoided mezcal whenever I could. The fear was still there, lingering quietly. But this bottle didn’t taste like what I thought mezcal was supposed to taste like. There was no heavy smoke. It wasn’t aggressive or overpowering.
Instead, it smelled like green serrano pepper and pineapple. On the palate, it had a sharp, almost refreshing acidity. The finish reminded me of cheese, vegetables, something savory and alive. None of that sounds especially “pleasant” on paper — and yet it was fascinating.
I was struck by the idea that a single bottle of mezcal could contain so many flavors, so many contradictions.
That bottle changed everything. Honestly, if I hadn’t tried it, it probably would have taken me much longer to fall in love with mezcal at all.
Eventually, the bar changed names and context, and for a while I was in charge of the cocktail and mezcal program there. Even now, long after stepping away from the bar, my attachment to agave — and to this bottle in particular — hasn’t faded.
Whenever a friend or a guest told me they didn’t like mezcal, or that they were intimidated by it, this was always the bottle I reached for. It’s different. It’s approachable. And somehow, it’s also the most affordable bottle in the entire Derrumbes lineup, which feels like a small miracle.
And if sipping it neat still feels like too much, there’s always a cocktail. Derrumbes SLP shines in mixed drinks, especially in a Mosquito — bright, vegetal, and quietly complex.
-Mauricio Lopez. TODOS Media
Here’s how I like to make it.
Into a cocktail shaker add:
3/4oz Lemon
3/4oz Ginger Syrup
3/4oz Campari
1oz Mezcal
Fill with ice, long shake and double strain into a chilled nick and nora glass. You can garnish with a ginger candy, but I just like to leave it without garnish.
Salucita!
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