Maybe it’s the romance of tequila, or the strapping men working the land in front of me, but my heart begins racing. Of course, it might also be the 100-proof shot of the good stuff we’ve just sampled straight from the still. But one thing’s for sure: I’m officially in love with “100% blue agave,” tequila, Mexico’s answer to single-malt scotch.

Jalisco's Jimadors

My spring travels took me to the sunny agave fields of Jalisco, where burly men called jimadors still harvest the massive plants by hand and artisan distillers make the real thing by roasting the starchy agave hearts to release their exquisite syrup. From the cathedrals and markets of Guadalajara, Mexico’s second-largest city, to the foothills of the Sierra Madre, a trip though this central Mexican state offers a slice of real Mexican life.

Get the Good Stuff: 100% Blue Agave

Whether you rent a car to make the three-hour drive from Puerto Vallarta, join a full-day bus tour or head to Guadalajara and jump on the Tequila Express, the chance to see true tequila created by hand at the source is far more fun than pounding shots of cheap, throat-burning slop on the beach. Like scotch, there are two kinds of tequila—the inexpensive, “blended” kind called mixto, made using other sugars for fermentation with only 51 per cent agave sugars, or the kind that’s labelled “100% blue agave,” made the way tequila should be.

All of this tequila—an estimated 1,100 brands—is produced in about 150 Mexican distilleries. Although many are imported in bulk and bottled in the U.S., 100-per cent agave must be bottled in Mexico at the source. There are more than 200 different species of agave, but only blue agave, or tequilana Weber, goes into true tequila.

And no matter how beautiful or expensive the bottle, if it doesn’t say “100% blue agave,” it’s mixto and you can’t be sure how much pure tequila you’re getting.

A large spiny relative of aloe vera, the blue agave is an impressive plant that grows an average 1.5 metres (five feet) tall. It’s harvested entirely by hand when the plant is mature at six to 10 years old, with some as heavy as 90 kilograms (200 pounds).

From Plant to Distillery

We arrive in the agave fields by 9 a.m., but already the workers have chopped their way through dozens of plants in fields of red volcanic soil. They cleave off the leaves from the pina, and then sharpen the flat blade with a file. The work is difficult and dangerous, so sometimes the men wear a thick leather guard to protect their shins from the sharp blades and denim shirts to guard against the agave’s thorns.

By late morning, the sun is hot and the workday is done, but the jimadors will be back tomorrow—agave is harvested year-round.

Next, it’s on to Casa Herradura in the nearby town of Amatitan, where they have been making tequila for more than 140 years.

The historic cellars date back to 1870, and are impressive with their vaulted stone ceilings and copper pots, a museum version of the distillery’s larger facility. We watch as workers pile hundreds of plants into huge clay ovens, and then unload them by hand after they’ve cooked for 24 hours.

We pull pieces of the sweet and sticky fibrous flesh through our teeth to release the golden pulp that tastes like honey and herbs. This sweet agave juice is fermented here with wild yeasts and distilled in a long row of small stainless-steel pots. The pure tequila is then aged in wooden tanks or small oak barrels from two months to three years.

If you’ve sworn off tequila thanks to a wicked hangover (or two), you might want to try a premium brand of “100% blue agave.” After taking a tour of Jalisco’s agave scene, you’ll see, smell and taste the difference.

Why the Worm?

Eating a worm may be a drunken rite of passage, but it has nothing to do with tequila. Rather mezcal, a cousin of tequila made mostly in Oaxaca from other species of agave, is responsible for bringing fame to the worm in the bottom of the bottle.

In Oaxaca, the small white worm that buries into the heart of agave plants is considered a delicacy (even sometimes added to salsas). Many believe the worms impart flavour in the mezcal or even have magical, aphrodisiac properties.

Photos by Cinda Chavich