This Rare-Bottle Mezcal Collector Offers Unique Tastings in Oakland

Behind a Victorian house near High Street in East Oakland — in a residential neighborhood where adults and kids playfully linger outside after dark, and rubber tire marks etch the concrete like scriptures from a history of sideshows — the Bay Area’s most off-the-radar mezcal session awaits.

It’s where Hugo Gonzalez, a self-described mezcal storyteller, invited me for a private crash course on the smoky Mexican spirit.

Our night began by picking up an order of tacos from nearby El Paisa, which should be on every short list of the Bay Area’s most fire taquerias. We took our loot back to a nondescript garage, where Gonzalez proceeded to deliver the most elevated and quirkily passionate mezcal tasting I’ve ever had.

With over 100 rare bottles of regionally diverse Mexican spirits in his personal stash to go along with a bookshelf of related texts, mezcal production maps, vintage mezcal paraphernalia and a “tasting wheel” — a large set of concentric circles with a dictionary’s worth of vocab to precisely pinpoint flavor profiles ranging from cinnamon to shrimp — Gonzalez is more than qualified to teach others about Mexico’s ancient relationship with the agave distillate.

His journey and approach are unorthodox. Having grown up in the Xochimilco neighborhood of Mexico City, Gonzalez was once a lawyer and a government employee before marrying a U.S. citizen and moving to Cambodia for environmental work. Eventually, his wife — a first-generation Hungarian American who was raised in the Bay Area — convinced him to move here in 2013.

Upon arriving, he worked in construction for five years. Despite being good with his hands, the physical demands and constant overtime shifts led him to seek another, more inspiring career path based on his heritage.

“In Mexico, we have something called ‘saboreada’ (tastings),” he says while pouring me a splash of micro-batch, Oaxacan mezcal. “I decided to start doing that here. I don’t want to go back to construction.”

Gonzalez didn’t bluff. For the past six years, he has plunged himself deep into the mezcal multiverse. The devoted connoisseur regularly visits Mexico’s palenques (old-world mezcal distilleries) and occasionally treks into the Mexican hillsides for days on end to accompany the maestros as they concoct tiny 40-liter batches from start to finish. He then returns to the Bay Area and disseminates what he’s learned.

Gonzalez, who once preferred to drink pulque, a fermented beverage that is nearly impossible to find outside of Mexico, slowly became a fan of mezcal while living in California, where he gained a newfound appreciation for the distilled spirit’s Mexican tradition.

Currently, Gonzalez works part-time as a mezcal consultant at Odin Mezcaleria, a Mexican restaurant in Oakland’s Jack London Square that serves the best variations of mezcal cocktails I’ve encountered in the Bay. He’s also a member of Maestros del Mezcal, a non-profit that supports the artisanal traditions of non-corporatized mezcal producers in Mexico, which he sometimes gives public talks about (including at a recent KQED Live event). He’s also is a brand ambassador for a handful of mezcals that have entered the U.S. market in recent years.

Like mezcal itself, Gonzalez is somewhat roguish — a Mexican immigrant who simply loves the beverage and genuinely wants to inform others about how, where and why it’s produced. He’s especially mindful of the maestros, too.

“It’s important to talk about small productions of small [scale] mezcaleros,” he tells me. “[It’s] one of the most important things. Transparency.”

During my visit, he makes a point to name every maestro when holding up each bottle. (Most small-batch productions show the region where the mezcal comes from, the genus of agave, any materials and processes used, and who made it by first and last name.) Throughout the night Gonzalez riffs like a freewheeling jazz musician, improvising with personal anecdotes and backstories about each mezcal and its maestro. It’s not just a flamboyant show of bravado; Gonzalez also drops bountiful knowledge.

One of the main points he drives home is simple: Each mezcal is extremely nuanced in process, craft and result, differing from maestro to maestro, pueblo to pueblo. Mezcal is extremely varied and comes from multiple sources (Mexico has over 300 agave species that vary across the changing climates of the country’s 32 states). Though largely associated with Oaxaca — which admittedly accounts for over 90% of mezcal production in the world and has grown in demand at an alarming rate — mezcal is cultivated in ten disparate regions of Mexico. Oaxaca’s biodiversity certainly allows for an ideal proliferation of the agave-based drink, but as my time with Gonzalez progressed, he went deeper into his metaphorical bag to reveal some of the rarest mezcals I’ve ever tasted, spanning from areas in Guerrero, Chihuahua, Zacatecas and Tamaulipas. He effectively took me on a tour of Mexico with each quarter-shot of mezcal while connecting the dots on his agave map.

One shot of mezcal might yield a zing of gun metal. Another could evoke strawberries. The next? Maybe copper. One mezcal I tasted even had notes of salt and seafood.

In explaining each pour, Gonzalez is more of a professor than he is a bartender, more poet than salesman. As a former construction worker who knows what it means to use his hands as a means to make ends meet, he has a kindred gratitude for the type of corporeal rigor that mezcal-making demands of its maestros. This isn’t a big-corporate industry, after all; mezcal is still largely homegrown and handmade, demanding a kind of slow-burning discipline of bygone techniques that reflect the slow burn that follows each sip.

Coyote-, armadillo- and turkey-distilled mezcals (made with a redistillation process wherein the animal’s carcass is hung over the still)? He’s got that. Unlabeled stashes straight from the pit-fired earth? Yep, it’s a casual part of his rotation. But more than the sipping and smoke blowing, it’s about the context — the magical surrealism that is inherent in Mexico that Gonzalez so effortlessly summons on this side of the border. In the broadest sense, to learn about and better understand mezcal — its permutations, its origins, its peculiarities — is to learn about and better understand Mexico. (“Not all of it is smoky,” Gonzalez says of mezcal, but his aphorism can be applied to the negative perceptions surrounding Mexico as well.)

To be clear, I’ve had my fair share of mezcal dalliances; I once found myself drinking mezcal with the governor of Michoacan at a family dinner on a bull ranch. I’ve also sipped it with my uncles and cousins in Veracruz, and enjoyed it at family parties in the States. But an evening with East Oakland’s underground mezcal king is unlike any bar stool I’ve sat on or any drinking tour I’ve attended. For some, mezcal is seen as a spiritual aid, and it is with this kind of deep reverence that Gonzalez handles the holy beverage.

Mezcal in the Bay Area is usually associated with high-end cocktails, which tend to dilute the spirit. It’s rarely consumed in the same way bar-goers might ask for a shot of tequila or a glass of whiskey on the rocks. Though mezcal has entered the mainstream’s vocabulary in recent years, it remains far behind tequila and Corona in terms of its market size and popularity. Part of the reason is that mezcal simply requires a Herculean effort — along with a deep, intimate knowledge — to produce. It lacks the kind of celebrity investment, distribution and brand power of other, more popular Mexican alcoholic beverages. Mezcal is more esoteric, and the Mexican government has sometimes even struggled with enforcing the “quasi-illegal shenanigans” surrounding it. A Mexican law enacted in 1994 “stole” the word mezcal from artisanal makers and “laid claim” to it. An Eater article, appropriately titled “The Great Mezcal Heist,” goes into depth on it all.

For Gonzalez, those misunderstandings are part of what attracts him to the beverage. Like the rest of us, he’s learning as he goes, and he aims to bring clarity and focus to those layers. Sitting inside a clandestine garage with a belly full of suadero and a few pours of rare mezcal, I’m happy to be along for the liquid ride.

“People ask me, ‘Are you a sommelier for mezcal, a mezcalier?’ No, I am not,” he says. “I am not an expert. Actually, every time I start to read more about it or try to study it too hard, I get more confused. So the only thing I can do is go to Mexico to explore, to make connections with the people and master distillers, to get the most direct knowledge I can. Then I share the best that I can with you. I am just a storyteller.”

Hugo Gonzalez is available for private tastings and educational mezcal sessions. Contact him on Instagram (@agavesanto) for more details.