This story began generations ago.

The family-owned distillery of Salvador Santiago Hernandez sits on a quiet, unassuming street in Matatlan, Oaxaca: ground zero for mezcal. 

The distillery, or palenque, is rough hewn, like many, with red brick walls and a traditional alembic, or copper still.

A monolithic stone wheel, the tahona, stands next to giant pine vats where the cooked agave ferments with the help of wild yeast from the open air.

Nearby is the massive open pit, the tapada, lined with river stone and dug into the earth, where 10 tons of agave will soon be cooked for days with mesquite.

Maestro Mezcalero Gerardo “Kaín” Santiago Hernandez greets us dressed in denim and an open-collar shirt. He is a big man. Stoic and salt of the earth. He pours Tobala to the brim of several  jícaras, cups carved from  the dried, hulled fruit  of the Crescentia tree.

The mezcal is unlike any spirit we have ever tasted: clean and herbaceous and wonderful.

This is an experience. This is alchemical.

Kaín sees our expressions, and the seriousness in his face transforms into a warm and easy smile.

Prompted by a question, he begins to share his purpose. He tells us how the fermentation “talks” to him and how he listens and how the scent emanating from the mosto (cooked agave) must be just right to begin distillation. His obsession is palpable. We feel it.