It was winter and I was driving south. I wanted to get to a beach, and where I live, you go south for warmer weather. The sun was high and I was thirsty for something other than water. I spotted a joint that would probably do the trick. The cantina stood next to a giant cactus that was probably a thousand years old. I figured the adobe bricks could’ve been that age, too. The locals didn’t seem to mind a gringo's presence as I bellied up at the bar. “Want to Get Hot, señor?” the purveyor asked me. “Sure,” I said, and he slid a golden Reposado my way. I took it back and was struck by the spicy heat of a tequila that started bold but faded just as fast. No lime or salt needed here, I thought. That drink has lived with me ever since.
Hand-made in the Highlands of Jalisco from a historic distillery that bottled its first tequila in 1911. This is my contribution to fine living.