Roasting Agave & Eating Tacos: A Oaxacan Adventure With Mezcal Unión

It's the only message-y moment of our journey but nobody minds the sincerity, especially when Champ turns the proverbial mic over to Don Pedro, who talks about how he harvests the agave on the land around us to make his own mezcal, as well as Unión's, and how the partnership has helped him thrive. Then one of his farmers thanks everyone for coming, and talks, in Spanish, for several minutes. My Spanish-speaking skills are shaky at best, but from what I can make out, he's meandering around his tale of gushing gratitude; it's utterly charming.

Then, the gathered crowd is instructed in picking up chunks of agave and throwing them on the smoldering fire. (But first there's a warning about not touching a certain part of the agave, which can cause skin rashes.) One of the workers arranges the harvested plants, and after a raucous 15 minutes, most of the agave is in the pit; the workers arrange and stack it, then began to stuff the kindling-like cereal in crevices and around the agave before shoveling dirt over the entire production, creating a smoldering mound. It's a lot more thrilling watching all this than it is to take part in a wine harvest or to blink your way through your 23^rd craft brewery tour.

The next item on our itinerary is a hike, and before we begin the uphill journey, we're encouraged to refill our mezcal vessels. It seems like dubious advice but I oblige. The hike lasts all of 10 minutes, and while it is rather steep, it's gloriously short. Soon, we're led to a clearing on the other side of the hill overlooking a valley. The Union folks had clandestinely arranged for coolers filled with mezcal and beer to be delivered here, along with a dozen or so oversized mats. We take our seats—a few people lie down, and at least one member of our entourage seizes on the rugged beauty, fresh air and intense silence of the setting to doze off.

Soon Champ is orating again, albeit with a solemnity that befits the current mood. He pauses and tells us to appreciate how quiet it is, and we all sit motionless, still and even breathing in a whisper for what seems like 10 minutes. It's disconcerting for me, so used to the thrum of the city, and I'm guessing it is for most of the 20 or so people around me, as there's a group meditation going on.

We've been together nearly 24 hours as a group, but now, sitting on the hillside, we individually introduce ourselves to the group and talk about what we're doing there. The speeches last between 2 and 10 minutes, and vary from first-person accounts of how a bar manager first had Champ walk into their establishment and encourage them to take a chance on Mezcal Unión to inspiring tales of setting up makeshift cafeterias to serve victims after the earthquakes hit Oaxaca and Mexico City to an artist who detailed the founding of an art fair with the assistance of the mezcal brand's owner.

Even the guy taking a nap was called upon, and he somehow roused himself, spoke surprisingly eloquently about his introduction to Unión Mezcal, and promptly laid back down on the mat to resume his slumber.

It was all very moving, at times inspiring, and it made me think that if I were inadvertently being indoctrinated into a cult and that this would be my new home, it wouldn't be such a bad way to live. Unless of course they didn't let us drink the mezcal anymore.

Soon enough though, we were being led back down the dirt trail for more food, more mezcal, and a night of dancing, stargazing, dreaming. As dinner ended and darkness descended, Tonio, one of Mezcal Unión's founders, showed off his skills in the DJ booth. The tables got pushed aside and at least half of the group, along with a few of the farmers, hit the dance floor. A few songs in, the lights began to dim and the music cut out; maybe getting a reliable generator out in the Oaxacan desert is too much to ask, even for folks who are clearly geniuses when it comes to planning and entertaining.

Not to worry, however! A fix is found and soon the music grows louder as the stars in the sky become brighter and the dancing becomes more frenetic and, well, when you find yourself to be lucky enough to be faux-moonwalking to a Michael Jackson song on a Mexican palenque with a couple dozen newfound friends, you find yourself reflecting on what correct decisions in life led you to this place in time.

But wait! We're not done with the evening yet. Down at the bonfire, people are starting to gather. Soon, a marching band and two of the giant puppets known as mojigangas are approaching our group from the path we'd parked on about 12 hours earlier. The mojigangas are about 10 feet tall and made of papier-mache; they're depicting a man and a woman, and there's also a celebratory ball made of the same material being twirled around by a third puppeteer. Meanwhile, the group of young musicians, who I find out come from the nearest town, play festive songs on their trumpets and trombones, a fitting accompaniment for the long-armed puppets who turn and sway to the music.

At this point, the night is becoming a blur, literally and figuratively, but I've learned a lot about mezcal production, as well as seeing firsthand how a responsible, apparently profitable and socially ambitious business could be run by a few friends and a supporting cast.

This wouldn't even be my last day in Oaxaca, but it was surely the most soul-enriching experience for all of us on the trip. Some of us would stay another day, then another, then even another. Thanks to Aeromexico's seemingly lax attitude about honoring flight plans and schedules, it's not an entirely easy thing to get to Oaxaca, and more than a few people I've spoken to find it an even harder place to leave. I get that now, and while I can't guarantee that you'll have an experience that'll lead to an all-night dance party in the desert, I can point you in a few directions to make your Oaxaca journey a mezcal-fueled success. See below for more.