Populist presidential hopeful stumps in enemy territory

Story by: David Agren

Jesus Cortes Hernandez, a campesino from Techaluta, Jalisco, once held high hopes for President Vicente Fox. The same goes for Alberto "Beto" Cardenas, the former mayor of nearby Ciudad Guzman, governor of Jalisco, secretary of the environment and current National Action Party (PAN) presidential aspirant.

"They haven't fulfilled their promises," Cortes said, while waiting along the side of the road in Ciudad Guzman for the man now carrying his hopes for a better Mexico to arrive: Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador.

The presidential frontrunner brought his pre-campaign tour to southern Jalisco on Thursday, attracting an estimated crowd of 4,000 supporters - and a few hecklers - for a rally in the heart of a PAN stronghold dominated in recent years by Cardenas.

In the last federal election, Lopez Obrador's left-wing Democratic Revolutionary Party (PRD) won less than ten percent of the vote in Ciudad Guzman, a figure supporters predict could jump to 30 percent in 2006.

Cardenas still garners immense support in his native Ciudad Guzman. His face graces countless campaign billboards and bumper stickers. Like Fox, the man who ended one-party rule in Mexico five years ago, Cardenas can boast of a similar accomplishment: he vanquished the Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI) from the Jalisco governor's office in 1995 after a decades-long and often inglorious reign.

"He's still popular," said Felipe Lopez, a former town resident, who was back for a visit from the United States.

"He did a lot, but some of his promises weren't kept."

Lopez Obrador, as expected, made all sorts of promises during his appearance before a standing-room-only crowd in the stuffy municipal auditorium. In a 30-minute speech that grew in its passion as time elapsed, the former Mexico City mayor, dressed in charcoal pants and a white guayabera shirt, promised many of the same things as his competitors: more seats in public schools, less poverty and less corruption. The latter comments drew jeers of, "Burro!" (donkey) from hecklers.

But he also promised a solid left-wing agenda of renegotiating NAFTA, building more Pemex refineries and severely reducing pensions for ex-presidents. And, true to form, he evoked memories of Carlos Salinas - the Mexican left's favorite bogeyman - saying the despised former president "is the real PRI chief" - a dig at former PRI party president Roberto Madrazo, Lopez Obrador's expected rival in 2006.

"Salinas, Fox ... Roberto Madrazo, there's no difference," he said.

"It's like Coca-Cola and Pepsi Cola, it's the same thing."

His message resonated with many in the audience, some of whom previously backed Fox and Cardenas.

"He's my gallo!" gushed Martha Alvarez Delgadillo, a teacher from Gomez Farias, Jalisco.

"He's our hope."

She later referred to the president as a, "Mandilon," (Mexican slang for a man whose wife wears the pants in the family).

Lopez Obrador left Ciudad Guzman like a rock star, with supporters mobbing his white, Chevrolet SUV. The PRD presidential hopeful moved on to Guadalajara, another PAN stronghold, for a rally later that evening.

From the Guadalajara Colony Reporter.

Local family brings cheer to Michoacan's 'pueblo of the bells'

Story by : David Agren

The Purepecha -- many of whom don't speak much Spanish -- lead a tough life in rural Michoacan.

Many of the Purepecha Indians from the countryside left their small plots of land at 5:30 a.m., walking in traditional costumes under overcast skies to the annual Virgen de la Asuncion celebrations in Tingüindin, Michoacan. In earlier years they came to dance and honor the virgin. But for the past 35 years, the efforts of a Guadalajara family with roots in the pueblo have made the event all the more special.

Since the early 70s, Luisa Noriega's family has sponsored a breakfast on the first Sunday in August, bringing, at least for one weekend, a ray of hope into the lives of the impoverished residents.

Family members served more than 850 breakfasts of birria (a spicy goat stew), beans, rice, tortillas and tamarind-flavored atole (a hot cornmeal drink) in the community hall. Later, they passed out 300 despensas (handouts) of beans, rice, tuna, paper products and cooking oil to Purepecha women, who patiently lined up, while an out-of town-salesman hawked a miracle cure for everything, using a loudspeaker atop his beat-up van. Their children each received a toy.

The Purepecha -- many of whom don't speak much Spanish -- lead a tough life in rural Michoacan. Most work for low wages picking avocados and live in one-room homes. Few of the children advance beyond elementary school, instead going to work with their parents in the campo (countryside). With few opportunities available, migration to the United States is common.

At first glance, Tingüindin looks like most of the pueblos lining the winding road south from Zamora. On a typical Sunday morning, women in traditional robes, carrying purchases from the many tianguis (informal markets), walk along the highway, past vendors selling in-season fruit -- mostly pears at this time of year -- from tiny stalls.

Tingüindin's notoriety comes from its impressive triple bell tower at the Santuario Virgen de la Asuncion. According to Noriega, the town's name comes from the Purepecha words tin, güin and din, pueblo of the bells. Additionally, like many Michoacan towns, it also has its claim to fame: traditional bread, which is both sweet and baked in triangular pans.

Noriega's grandmother grew up in nearby Cotija, before moving to Tingüindin during the Cristero rebellion. After moving to Guadalajara, she and her husband would vacation in the town, taking in the celebrations. Dismayed by the nearby poverty -- Luisa's mother said many in the indigenous population barely survived on a diet of only tortillas with salt and chile -- they wanted to give something back to the community.

The idea for a breakfast came while Luisa's grandfather Jose de Jesus Jimenez was eating a bowl of menudo (a rich soup made with tripe) at a puesto (stall). Many children begged for 20 centavos, enough for a cup of menudo broth.

Jimenez later arranged for the señora running the puesto to make menudo for the inaugural breakfast the following year.

Jimenez passed away in the late 1980s, but his children and grandchildren kept the tradition going. Over the years, it's become an integral part of the two-week celebration.

During the fiesta, Purepechas of all ages perform the traditional dance of the veijos on the rustic street in front of the cathedral and in the community hall, while the locals waited in line for their breakfast. The men wear pale wooden masks and white pants brandishing images of the virgin -- along with Christ and other significant figures. The women stitch intricate shawls, featuring floral patterns or sometimes, products of the region like fruit. A brass band accompanies the dancers.

The grateful recipients repaid the favor with gifts of membrillo (quince), an apple-like fruit full of seeds, and peaches they picked in the countryside.

By the mid afternoon, the Purepechas headed for home. They had a long walk ahead of them.

From the Guadalajara Colony Reporter.

Expatriate Canadian building chocolate empire

Story by : David Agren

Chocolatier Michael McKenna arranges six handmade truffles for an impromptu tasting session at his new Ajijic store like a sommelier would with fine wines. He recommends a cappuccino truffle - made with coffee cream ganache and dipped in dark chocolate - to start. He finishes with a creation dubbed Camille; a lemon cream ganache with perfume of rosemary, dipped in white chocolate with rosemary sprinkles.

The founder of Sensual Chocolatiers compares slowly indulging one of his truffles to sipping a fine wine.

"It's like wine where there's a beginning, a middle and an end," he explained. "As you taste it, more flavors emerge."

McKenna recently expanded his San Miguel de Allende-based chocolate business into the Lakeside area, opening an outlet in Ajijic after a year of searching for an ideal location -- meaning a spot lacking direct sunlight -- and overcoming shipping problems.

"The biggest problem was transporting chocolates in Mexico," he said.

To keep his chocolates from melting during the six-hour journey from the Bajio to Lakeside, he now packs the truffles in specially-designed Styrofoam coolers.
Sensual Chocolatiers' small Ajijic store sells dark, milk and white chocolate truffles and keepsake boxes, designed by McKenna and his partner Barbara Hartinger, a graphic designer.

Although each store offers approximately 20 different truffles at any given time, Sensual Chocolatiers' kitchen produces more than 200 varieties, which include traditional combinations like dark chocolate and orange and eclectic fusions like white chocolate and guava. Always looking to make something creative and incorporate Mexican delights in his truffles, McKenna's ingredient list includes mango, guayaba and coffee roasted in Ajijic by Jose Romero of the Oaxaca Coffee Company. And, of course, he uses cocoa from Oaxaca, a gritty, but flavorful product, which he mixes with fine imported chocolates. Some of his best creations though resulted from either accidents or pure experimentation.

"It's pretty much alchemy," he said laughingly.

"It's definitely an art -- a very complicated art."

It's also becoming a big business, with orders flowing in from fine hotels, San Miguel de Allende civic officials, the Guanajuato state government and even Los Pinos (the president's residence).

While uncertain of exactly how his truffles ended up in Los Pinos, McKenna suspects President Vicente Fox (a former governor of Guanajuato) tasted a chocolate at a wedding or that the mayor of San Miguel de Allende presented truffles as a gift. Los Pinos now gives Sensual Chocolatiers' truffles as gifts to visiting dignitaries.

"(The San Miguel de Allende municipal government) has been good to us," McKenna said.

"They've introduced us to a lot of contacts."

McKenna will open a new 500-square-meter kitchen in Jalpa, a pueblo near San Miguel de Allende later this month to meet the growing demand of supplying his four retail outlets and fulfilling wholesale orders. It will also offer badly needed jobs for local women, many of whom head households while their husbands work in the United States.

"One of our goals is to provide employment," McKenna explained.

An unconventional workplace, McKenna's employees participate in the kitchen's hiring decisions and even name many of the truffles they create. One employee christened a milk chocolate and espresso creation, "Sexy." Some truffles like "Rosa Mexicana" are named after the women who created the treats. In the case of the "Catalina" truffle, the namesake inadvertently created a caramel brittle "while daydreaming at the stove." The brittle was mixed with coconut to make a popular truffle.

"Everyone is free to say, 'I have an idea,' " McKenna said.

The management approach, in part, comes from the fact McKenna never set out to build a chocolate empire in Mexico. Originally from Hamilton, Ontario, he ran a successful industrial heating business prior to moving to Mexico. Although he never formally studied confectionery, McKenna has long made his own candies.

"I liked to cook and I had a sweet tooth," he said of his motivations.

McKenna started making truffles four years ago as a hobby, selling his first batches from a tray at the San Miguel de Allende public library. He later opened his first stores in the Bajio, a region with a dry, moderate climate ideal for making and selling chocolates.

If he finds a location without direct sunlight, McKenna will open his next retail store in Puerto Vallarta.

Each week, Sensual Chocolatiers produces 4,000 to 5,000 truffles. But even with that production, his inventory often runs low.

"There are times we don't have a single chocolate in our stores," he said.

While some chocolate makers freeze their products for future sales, Sensual Chocolatiers only sells freshly made truffles. Products stay in the display case for only 10 days. The quality becomes evident after slowly enjoying a truffle. More than 15 minutes after finishing the small indulgence, "You'll still taste it."

From the Guadalajara Colony Reporter

Parras de la Fuente, Coahuila: where vineyards bloom in the desert

 Story by : David Agren

As the second-class bus neared Parras de la Fuente, Coahuila, an oasis town midway between Saltillo and Torreon, lush vegetation began to appear. Children splashed around in local swimming holes. And the air felt much cooler; a welcome respite from the oppressive heat of nearby Monterrey.

The Pueblo Magico, or Magic Town – a designation bestowed on select Mexican villas by tourism authorities – just five hours drive from the Texas border, offers a seemingly endless assortment of surprises, which contrast with its harsh surroundings.

In the middle of the Coahuila desert, the oldest vineyards in the Americas bloom at Casa Madero. Across town, the Hacienda del Perote distills sotol, an earthy spirit, from the agaves native to the northern deserts of Coahuila, Durango and Chihuahua. And in small stores around Parras de la Fuente, confectioners make sweets from the abundance of locally-grown pecans.

But Parras de la Fuente, awash in history and attractions, serves up much more than just fine food and drink.

Revolutionary hero Francisco Madero was born in Parras de la Fuente. The church, Capilla del Santo Madero, built atop Little Sombrero Hill and accessible only by foot, provides stunning views of the local area.

But more than Madero or the climate, wine put Parras de la Fuente on the map. Although it lacks the status Mexico’s better known wine regions in Baja California and Queretaro, Parras de la Fuente’s vineyards date back to the 1500s. Legend has it Hernan Cortes ordered the first Mexican vineyards planted in 1524.

Fine wine in Parras de la Fuente begins with Casa Madero, the oldest winery on the continent. It bottled its first wines in 1597.

Set in the gorgeously-restored Hacienda San Larenzo, Casa Madero makes numerous wines for export, sending most of its production to Europe and Japan.

The Spanish first planted mission grapes in Parras but an 18th century plague wiped out much the industry. While some left the wine business, planting pecans instead, those who persevered switched to lenoir grapes, which were resistant to the plague. A small grape with large seeds, it produces sweet wines - for which the region became famous. But with changing consumer tastes, Casa Madero began planting other grapes, which produce better table wines.

“It’s impossible to drink a dry red wine [made from lenoir grapes],” said Daniel Hernandez, operations manager for Casa Madero.

Nowadays, Casa Madero makes popular varieties like cabernet sauvignon, Merlot and a Chardonnay, which lacks the excessive oak common in American-made vintages.

“Casa Madero makes wine for the European market so unlike California wine, it has more fruit flavors instead of oak,” Hernandez explained.

The winery also produces a Shiraz, a newly-popular variety in North America, imported from Australia. With its semi-arid climate, Shiraz grapes grow well in Parras de la Fuente.

Besides Casa Madero, the region’s largest producer, several others make wine and grape spirits.

Hacienda del Perote makes sweet wines from lenoir grapes like Jerez and Moscatel along with a port. It also produces a sweet vermouth.

It also began distilling sotol, a regional specialty in Northern Mexico.
“Sotol here is what tequila is in Jalisco or mezcal is in Oaxaca,” said Veronica Marrero, a Hacienda del Perote employee.

Like tequila and mezcal, sotol comes from agave-like plants. And like other spirits, distilling techniques determine the quality of the beverage.

Hacienda del Perote double distills its sotol, removing many of the hangover-inducing esters and alkaloids.

“We make a clean product,” said Ignacio Chacon, owner of the hacienda.

His blanco Sotol, sold under the brand name El Mejicano, has little aroma and mixes with other beverages like a neutral spirit. Just recently, he began exporting Sotol.

“It’s a product that’s becoming popular because of the quality,” he said.

Chacon recently renovated his 407-year-old hacienda, converting it into a 19-room hotel. It boasts comfortable rooms with high ceilings, a large swimming pool fed by the oasis and complimentary beverages – made onsite.

Back down a bumpy road towards Parras de la Fuente, the Capilla Santo Madero is a can’t-miss attraction, deserving a stop before finishing a visit to the area. Although requiring a steep, but not too difficult climb to reach it, the tiny church draws the faithful in search of a blessing – along with those wanting to take in the view. On one side wall inside the three-row deep sanctuary, people post photos of loved ones and notes, requesting divine intervention.

Although simply viewed as a pit stop for many making a run for the border, Parras de la Fuente deserves a thorough exploration. Between the wine, climate and festive friendly small-town atmosphere, it’s a hard spot to avoid and even more difficult place to leave.

Gringo tequila maker unsettles Jalisco's regulatory officials and connoisseurs

Story by : David Agren

J.B. Wagoner initially wanted to beautify his Southern California property with a low-maintenance plant, ideal for the region's dry climate and steep terrain. So he planted 25 acres of blue agave, the source of tequila, Mexico's famed firewater.

"It just seemed like the reasonable thing to do," he explains. "It was a plant that I didn't have to water; it would grow on my hills."

Planting blue agaves -- and later entering the "agave spirits business" -- also launched him on a collision course with tequila producers and their influential regulator.

Wagoner recently distilled his first batches of a tequila-like drink from his agave harvest, putting the 100-proof liquor in red, white and blue bottles with "Made in the U.S.A." labels. He'll produce approximately 120,000 liters in his first year of operations -- an amount he calls, "A drop in the bucket," when compared with the vast amounts bottled by tequila giants like Jose Cuervo and Sauza. He also named his beverage "Temequila," a word play on Temecula, the Riverside County suburb where he cultivates blue agave.

"It seemed to be a logical name," he explains with a laugh.

His joke fell flat in Western Mexico's agave growing regions though, where the prospect of Gringo tequila unsettles many regulatory officials, producers and connoisseurs, who consider the iconic drink a national treasure. The Guadalajara-based Consejo Regulador del Tequila (CRT), which protects tequila's appellation of origin status, took issue with Wagoner using a similar sounding name.
"(The name) could deceive consumers, regarding the nature of the product," says Bertha Becerra, a spokeswoman for the CRT.

But non-Mexican agave beverages are creeping into the market, capitalizing on tequila's recent surge in popularity and its growing acceptance as a premium drink. Along with Skyrocket Distiller's product, now called J.B. Wagoner's Ultra Premium 100% Blue Agave Spirits, a South African firm began bottling "Spirit of Agave," which it markets as an alternative to higher-priced Mexican offerings.

Tequila is an immense source of pride in Mexico, especially in Jalisco, where residents from all social classes toast successes and drown sorrows with a shot of the locally-distilled drink. The Jalisco state government even adorns its license plates with an image of blue agave, which grows abundantly in its dry highlands.
The region's red soil and geographic setting give blue agave its unique qualities, according to the CRT, making the tequila they certify the real deal.

"In the first place, the location is everything," Becerra explains. "It's the soil conditions, it's the terrain, it's the climate, it's the altitude, it's the maturation period, it's the amount of rain, it's the whole cycle."

By law, all tequila must originate in either Jalisco or designated regions of Guanajuato, Michoacan, Nayarit or Tamaulipus states. Mexico first obtained an appellation of origin designation in 1974 for mezcal beverages from the region surrounding Tequila, a pueblo 50 kilometers west of Guadalajara. The rules are so strict, distillers in Mexican states surrounding the designated regions ceased operations after the appellation of origin laws were passed.

The designation is similar to those given to Cognac, a type of brandy from the French region of the same name, and to Champagne.

The CRT jealously guards its rights to the tequila name and even cracks down on distillers using brands it deems might damage the beverage's image or reputation. Several years back, it banished Tequila Cabron (loosely translated: Bastard Tequila). Earlier this year, disgruntled competitors and a local politician maligned Tequila Asombroso for supposedly using a phallic-shaped decanter. Now Mexican officials have Temequila and Spirit of Agave in their sights.

"They took advantage of tequila's worldwide image to promote their products," Becerra says.

Wagoner shrugs off the controversy, "I'm clearing stating, 'This is not a product of Mexico.'

"I've got a red, white and blue bottle. I don't want people to be confused by this at all."

Furthermore, he clarifies one thing almost immediately about his new line of work: "I'm not in the Tequila business ... I'm in the agave spirits business."

Despite Mexico's love of tequila, Americans drink more than half of all production. Tequila sales grew by more than five percent in 2004, making it the fastest growing product in the hard liquor category, according to the Distilled Spirits Council of the United States.

Taking advantage of tequila's popularity, Wagoner has found plenty of buyers for his agave beverage, quickly selling out his initial batches, which he markets as a premium product. A 750-ml bottle sells for 58 dollars. A quick scan of his customer list reveals many Latino names. He also employs many Mexican immigrants in his business.

"We probably have the highest-paid jimadores (agave harvesters) in the industry," he says.

With the tequila's popularity growing, water shortages in Southern California becoming more acute and markets for the avocado and citrus farmers in the region shrinking, Wagoner sees more agave spirits coming to liquor store shelves.

"I think the market is big enough to allow for [non-Mexican] competition"

Published in the Ottawa Citizen.

Moving in the fresa circles

CBC Online published one of my pieces for its expat files. My essay takes an amusing look at Guadalajara's snobs - commonly known as fresas (strawberries in Spanish). I'm probably a little too naco (tacky) for these people

Cockfighting is a bloodthirsty but lucrative business in Mexico

Story by : David Agren

A conservatively dressed gallero (rooster owner), wearing clean Levi's, a white collared shirt and white tennis shoes carried one of his prized fighting birds into the round ring. He caressed the rooster as he waited, even kissing it gently on the head. An official then tied a curved razorblade to the rooster's foot with red string, identifying the bird by colour -- like a boxer. Once fastened, the referee squeezed a lemon over the glistening blade, ensuring any foreign substances were cleaned away. Finally, the gallero unleashed his rooster into a fight for its life.

The rooster in the green corner pounced first, however, mortally slashing its opponent's leg. Less than a minute later, the white-necked rooster from the red corner lay dying in the ring. With the rooster unable to stand, the referee declared the fight over the moment battered bird's head touched the dirt floor. A boy, probably no older than ten, scooped up the carcass, carrying it from the ring upside down. A caretaker later swept up the feathers and blood-soaked dirt.

The scene played out 14 times that night at the palenque de gallos (cockfighting ring), a stuffy building on the fairgrounds in Tlaquepaque. The cockfights usually go before some sort of entertainment. In Tlaquepaque, it preceded a nine-piece mariachi band dressed in garish avocado green costumes. Besides Mexico, which usually only sanctions the events during large fairs, Louisiana and New Mexico remain the only jurisdictions in North America where cockfighting is legal.

"This is a very cool pastime," said Jose Vila Lorente, a stockbroker from neighbouring Guadalajara, who brought business associates visiting from Mexico City to the palenque.

Tough might better describe the event and the atmosphere, attended mostly by beer-swilling men wearing cowboy hats, who wagered large sums of money. The high rollers all sat ringside -- drinking imported liquor and flashing high-denomination bank notes - placing bets with corredores (bookmakers). The minimum bet: 1,500 pesos. Less-affluent fans sat on narrow seats further up from the ring, making side bets among themselves. A Pepsi vendor flashed a 200-peso note, but found few takers in our direction.

"People with money come here," said Jesus Grimaldo, a security guard who attends the cockfights when visiting from California. "I only come to watch."

But even he couldn't resist betting on No. 4 during the inter-match roulette.

"Sometimes I win," he said, making an excuse for his repeated bad luck.

Vila, on the hand, came to bet big, pooling his wagers with a buddy. He kept picking red, but for reasons he couldn't fully explain. He offered some tips though on what type of rooster to bet on.

"When you look, the legs are the first place," he said, pointing at a rooster on a leash, being led around the ring by its handler. "Look at the legs, if they're tall, that's an advantage."

Another advantage is a muscular appearance (he didn't explain how he ascertains that).

"If there's a lot of fat, then no."

Galleros raise hundreds of roosters, training each one like a prizefighter. A good rooster can sell for hundreds of dollars -- only to be reduced to a heap of feathers in mere seconds by an equally vicious opponent.

"A rooster is like an athlete ... (like) a boxer," said Jose Arceo, a cab driver who occasionally attends the cockfights. According to Arceo, the roosters "exercise," working out under the gallero's watchful eye.

Galleros also develop a reputation. The event program in Tlaquepaque listed four galleros who entered their roosters in the high-stakes showdowns. At the larger fairs, they compete for 100,000-peso jackpots.

Although not a popular diversion for urban Mexicans, cockfighting still permeates the culture. Taking a cue from the roosters, many tough guys dub themselves "gallo." Basically, guys who have huevos (literally translated: eggs, but colloquial for testicles).

"It's really macho," Grimaldo explained. "(Those guys) fight easy. If someone doesn't respect them: (the gallos) fight them."

As the night wore on, the roulette wheel never stopped on No. 4.

"I lost 650 pesos," Grimaldo complained. "Sixty-five dollars is too much for me."

The last match lasted less than five seconds with one rooster slashing its opponent's throat. When the losing gallero casually dangled his dying bird upside down, blood rapidly gushed out.

After pocketing several large bets (his share of the winning wagers) Vila surprisingly acknowledged, "For me, (cockfighting) is cruel.

"But in Canada, [they] kill seals."

A version of this ran in the Ottawa Citizen.