Maiz Nation: Whiskey in Oaxaca.
How distillation can aid traditional agricultural systems.
The previous three posts have covered fermented beverages with a long history in Oaxaca: tepache, pulque, and mezcal. I can’t wrap up this discussion without talking about corn, the foundation of a diet here that stretches back thousands of years. Teocintle, the forerunner of modern corn, was domesticated by humans perhaps 9000 years ago, with archeological remains recently found in caves in Oaxaca, dated at 6250 years ago. There are at least 59 distinct varieties of corn in Mexico, with hundreds or thousands of “landraces”, depending on who is counting. This wealth can be visually appreciated, in the huge range of colors and their combinations. It is hard to quantify the genetic diversity of corn here, according to the categories imposed by western academia. What is too often missed when looking through the academic lens is the sacred/spiritual nature of the relationship between humans and plants, perhaps most vividly expressed in the worship of corn in places like Oaxaca. To disregard this dimension is to start down the path that leads to glyphosate and patented GMO seed.
Unlike the US, most corn grown in Oaxaca results from seed saving and swapping, which increases genetic diversity of what is rightfully considered a sacred plant which humans are deeply indebted to. GM corn genetics threaten this diversity, but campesinos and activists have generally taken a hard stance against it, and a 2020 presidential decree set to ban the use of GM corn in the Mexican diet, and its release into the environment, by 2024. Succumbing to pressure from the US and the normal cast of villains, imported GM corn is still being allowed in for use in industrial applications and as livestock feed. This corn is viable as seed, and is almost certainly being planted, despite a ban on this issued in 2013 and upheld by the Supreme Court of Mexico in 2020. The GM corn releases pollen, and its genetics pass to the landrace corn of other fields.
Can whiskey be a vehicle for helping preserve and expand this diversity, by providing an outlet for those who grow heirloom corn? Jonathan Barbieri, Yira Vallejo, and the team at Maiz Nation certainly think so. They have established relationships with various communities of seed keepers, to buy their surplus corn, paying the farmers a price above what the open market offers. They turn this corn and other Oaxacan grown grains into barrel-aged whiskies: one from corn with some malted barley, a rye, and a corn/wheat/rye blend among other offerings. Jonathan refers to his distillates as being “grain forward”. They are built around the quality of the primary ingredients, and how they are milled, cooked, fermented , and slow-distilled. The project is about the plants, and the people who grow them, the communities of farmers who are keepers of a genetic wealth that has benefitted all humanity. And can continue to do so into the future. First and foremost, this wealth should remain in the hands of the indigenous communities who have cultivated it.
I was welcomed by David Vallejo to visit the SolCraft distillery, an off-grid facility that runs on 100% solar power. Maiz Nation also collects rainwater, which is what goes into every bottle via distillation. They use gravity as much as possible to avoid energy-intensive pumping, the facility being built in multiple tiers. Corn is unloaded on the top level into large metal bins. After being filled, a burning votive candle inside a glass is placed on top of the corn and the bin sealed tight. The small flame consumes the oxygen in the bin and burns out, creating an anaerobic environment in which the corn could last for years. Below the bins sits a beautiful, Austrian made mill. The corn or other grains can be fed into the top, and ground into a fine meal. This is transferred to a vat where it is cooked into a porridge, along with malted barley. It then is laboriously cooled, with water and hand work.
This is all in preparation for the fermentation of sugars into alcohol, which takes place in a separate room, where tall stainless vats of wort are wheeled. Taking a nod from the surrounding Mecca of Mezcal, the fermentation is allowed to proceed further than what is typically seen in distillation, until some acid fermentation begins. The beer-like liquid is then placed in a still, custom made for Maiz Nation in the workshop of Maestro Santaella in Ocotlan, where many mezcal stills are produced. The stills are based on the design used in Scotch whiskey. Jonathan told me that the design he settled on is intentionally “less efficient”, leading to the resulting liquid having a longer time in contact with the copper.
The steam condenses as it flows down a copper neck and is cooled in a coil that spirals through a large amount of water inside a tank. Since this tank is also made of copper, the resulting heat is readily moved out into the surrounding air, due to copper’s unique properties. As I’ve mentioned in posts about copper cheese vats, no metal is as efficient at transferring heat. The whiskey is moved into charred oak barrels, where it will soften and mature over one or two years. This process is highly dependent on environmental factors, and the large temperature swings between day and night may help the whiskey take on the flavors of the wood more readily.
We moved up to the tasting room, where barrels of various vintages lay in repose. Written on the lids with black markers were notes such as the percentages of various grains, and alcohol content. We sipped the offerings, and I was most impressed with the rye, with its spice and clarity, the rye providing definition and contrast to the sweet corn. The unaged whiskey that in the US would be called moonshine was incredibly drinkable, a testament to the quality of the product prior to aging. I asked about local receptivity to these products, going up against such a strong hometown hero in mezcal. David told me interest in whiskey grows every year, helped by a progressive culinary and drink scene that is pushing boundaries, and refuses to be confined by tradition. These bottles are not attempting to conform to the definitions of American bourbon, corn whiskey, or the whiskeys other countries. This is Oaxacan whiskey, proud of its origins, growing out of and fueling the resistance of campesinos against corporate biopiracy.
What excites me about what Maiz Nation is doing is the synthesis of something recently introduced (whiskey) with something that has been here a very long time: Maiz. Maiz in its multitude of hyperlocal variations, and the fascinating ways in which it is grown. Milpa is a polyculture involving maiz, legumes, and squash, along with many other plants. It is these farming systems, and the people who continue to practice them in Oaxaca, that are behind the bottles of whiskey. Or rather, the whiskey grows out of that ancient way of growing food to feed all life.
All of this appeals to me, because it reflects what I think cheese can be. Cheese can be a vehicle to help promote the maintenance of old livestock breeds, and the farming systems of which they are an integral part. As much as I am fascinated with the old techniques and regionally specific cheeses, I don’t want to fetishize the pre-industrial tools, romanticize the lives of pastoral people, or be an outsider who is a staunch advocate of “protecting tradition”. What I am actually interested in, are the cheeses of the future. I am looking at approaches through which these older ways of being can move forward and remain relevant, be capable of providing a living for those who may want to keep the old ways alive. This will likely mean that new tools and approaches will be adopted. There’s only one way to go from here. Forward. Remembering what has been forgotten. Learning from the remnants. Forging creative solutions to allow us collectively to start putting the pieces back together again.
Great story trev!