We’re taught not to judge a book by its cover. At the same time, I’ll always remember the analogy that a college English professor of mine used when talking about introductory paragraphs. Maybe they’re not the essential part of what you’re writing, he said, but they have an important function.
“If you gift me a solid gold Rolex, but you give it to me in a greasy paper bag,” he said, “I’m going to assume there’s something wrong with it.”
Such explains the effort behind good spirits packaging and bottle design, of which I’d argue we’re in a golden age. That’s a double edged-sword, however. Now more than ever, a litany of gorgeous bottles are writing checks the liquid inside can’t cash. Sometimes, the bottle goes so far as to be the sole gimmick of the purchase, and the juice inside is utterly immaterial. By and large though, even sub-$30 brands like Aviation are providing the consumer with gorgeous art deco bottles you feel bad about throwing out. Most of the time, however, the bottle is a fair indicator that you’re moving up the quality ladder in all ways.
So here comes Tapatio. Frankly, it looks cheap. The fonts are dated and cheesy. The color looks far, far too light to be an añejo. As I twisted the plastic screw cap free, I didn’t think any of this portended a good experience.
Nevertheless, I had asked for some Tequila recommendations from Gabriel, a vendor at a well-stocked local place, and it was clear he knew good from bad. Gabriel said I should try the Tapatio añejo, so I put it in the cart, not wanting to hurt his feelings. On the drive home I wondered if I’d just spent $50 to avoid offending a near-stranger.
“Tapatio has an absolutely wonderful arrival of salted cashews, turning sweet and juicy before ending with savory herbs and mint. ”
Well, friends, Gabriel was right: Tapatio is easily the best Tequila I’ve had since Fortaleza. The bottle might look like chintzy dogshit, but this añejo is ready to roll with big, robust flavors that just don’t let up.
From the onset, you’re going to get a classic tequila aroma. I’ve described the smell of roasted agave as often having a smell of sage and brown butter. It’s almost a Pavlovian trigger for a good experience. Unique to Tapatio, however, is a little citrus and roasted nuts right up front.
It’s that latter smell that will invite you into what’s actually in store. Tapatio has an absolutely wonderful arrival of salted cashews, and from there it turns a little more sweet and juicy. At times, I was reminded of shortbread, and at other moments I could swear I was tasting a hint of cookie dough. The taste is a little more earthy than straight marzipan, but if you’ve ever tasted cashew butter you’re going to get pretty close to one of the dominant (and delightful) flavors here.
The finish is a pretty delightful surprise. Before everything gets a little too bogged down with the sweetness and nuttiness that hits the palate, things end quite a bit fresher. The cooked agave sees itself out with some savory herbs (to me, rosemary), but there’s also a zing of some mint and star anise. Color me surprised by the experience, from beginning to end.
Gabriel told me that from what he was aware of Tapatio, they’re a distillery that uses good, active casks for their aging process. Such explains the punch. I also have to sheepishly admit that Tapatio probably thinks more highly of its consumers in that it is not artificially coloring its tequila (clearly).
Drinking this, I realized I’ve been hornswaggled by the deception that’s taking place writ large amongst tequila producers. I should know better, but yes—I also am apparently expecting something aged less than a year to resemble the color of coca cola. That rich brown color has become the “default” look of añejo tequila, and so at some point I became unduly suspicious of things like Tapatio that are an entirely reasonable shade of yellow. That’s on me.
A note here. The word is out on the use of “spirit caramel” dye (E150A) in scotch and Irish whiskeys. The tequila distiller, however, faces the dilemma of having a consumer look at three of their bottles side-by-side—the blanco, the reposado, and the añejo. If they aren’t dyed so that they’re distinctively light, medium, and dark, will a consumer be trusted to pick the one they want at only a quick glance? Will the distiller be able to sell an añejo at an upcharge of $15 if it’s the same color as the reposado?
You can’t fight city hall, I would argue. Not dying a tequila runs the risk of having the consumer learning a completely different visual language than what they’re used to. For Tapatio to give me an honest-toned tequila is really proof of the distillery sticking its neck out.
All that said, if this stuff was dyed shamrock green, I’d still recommend it. I’ve noticed it can be a little hard to track down, but if you happen to find yourself in a bottle shop with an expansive selection, see if they have it.
