A few years back, an enterprising company visited San Baltazar to try to persuade the local mezcaleros to modernize.
A few years back, an enterprising company visited San Baltazar to try to persuade the local mezcaleros to modernize. They brought a machine for grinding, juicing, and separating the aguamiel, the honey-water, from the fibrous bagasse of the roasted maguey hearts.
For a few thousand pesetas, the shiny machine would cut the milling time by a factor of ten and ensure that not a single drop of the precious aguamiel was lost. No longer would the mezcaleros have to feed and tend the mules who pulled the stone tahonas. Their profits would increase.
It was an enticing proposition, and many were seduced into spending their savings on the shiny new technology.
Maestro Cirino declined the offer. His instincts told him that cutting corners cheapened the product, and all he cared about was getting maximum character and flavor from his mezcal. His friends said he was a cheapskate, a Luddite, stuck in the old ways and would be ruined.
Years later, when asked about it, a wry smile flickers on his face. Most of the machines in San Baltazar are stored away under tarpaulins, and the mules are employed once more. His neighbors say their mechanized mezcal tastes strange. It has lost something mysterious that only a man, mule, and slow grinding between ancient stones can extract.
Sometimes, science must surrender to instinct.