A Visit to the Los Abuelos (Fortaleza) Distillery
“How do we get in?”
My wife looks concerned, she never trusts mapping software and she’s worried we’ve arrived at the wrong location.
The massive iron gates tell us that we’ve arrived, but they are closed, and it seems clear that they are not welcoming anyone at this moment.
“Are you sure this is it?”
A man comes out and confirms our reservation like a bouncer at a speakeasy.
“Come back in 15 minutes and we’ll be ready, there is parking inside.” He says in a thick Jalisco accent and looking both ways before ushering us away.
We park on the street then wander over to Tequileño’s tasting room around the corner to pass the time. They try to sell us a “rare” bottle of reposado for $800. We laugh, “no thanks.” My wife is indignant. “We have nearly every bottle already.” We sigh in mutual frustration.
We circle the block again and the gates part for us, we park, we sign in, we’re given wristbands and the famed “Fortaleza” brand water bottles. We wait. Several others join us, every single person in cowboy hats and the women in heels and overly tight spandex.
We watch as some Americans exit the store with several cases of Fortaleza. We overhear they are from Las Vegas. The Hard Rock. Just outside the doors they begin excitedly calculating how much they will charge per pour. I do the math, they will net a couple of thousand dollars. I look away.
Our guide, Citlali begins the tour. She’s wearing Levi jeans with custom Fortaleza logo embroidered in red just below her right pocket and a Fortaleza baseball shirt with college-style lettering. She’s asking where we are all from. Chicago, LA, New York, Houston, Dallas, we answer, “Pachuca, Hidalgo.” She raises her eyebrows in surprise.
“Mexicanos! How nice! We never get Mexicans on the tour. Bienvenidos.” We exchange looks.
“Has everyone tried Fortaleza?” she says in Spanish. Murmurs. Not everyone understands her although clearly this is a Spanish language tour. Several hands go up, most do not. We exchange looks again.
We walk through the facility. It’s large, like a hacienda, but larger than most I’ve been to. It’s picturesque, there are lots of Instagramable places, an artificial lake, a mini bridge, pergolas, picnic seating, the walk is charming. There are many bottle references here, tahonas, stills, horses, it’s lovely.
We are offered delicious tastes of cooked agave sliced and cubed by the water dispenser where we’re encourage to fill up our Fortaleza branded water bottles. Citlali fills her larger re-usable Fortaleza bottle. We munch on them as we hear stories I’ve heard and read dozens of times from others. I’m fascinated by the machine that gets fed piñas then explodes them out the other end into the lowered area with the tahona. Everyone listens attentively,
I’m looking at a macabre old horse sculpture hanging from the ceiling that looks dead.
We move to another area, another long walk, we are told how the tops are made, I’m busy watching Forklifts move pallets destined for Japan, France, and many other countries.
“Only about 4% of Fortaleza stays here in México” says Citlali. That feels like a gut punch. She sees my reaction and gives me a polite, “what are we gonna do?” smile with a slight shrug of her shoulders.
We continue the tour. The barrel resting room. All the women take selfies. A man is telling his wife how they need to buy some Fortaleza extra añejo in the shop. We make it to the cut piñas. Many people are amazed that this is where tequila comes from. Somehow, it had escaped them during the tour. I try to imagine what they thought they were seeing all this time. Everyone takes pictures in front of the hornos.
We wait outside of the cave entrance. The group ahead of us comes out and talks to us in English. They are drunk. An American woman picks up all the candles and rearranges them for her “I am the main character” photo. Citlali returns them to where they should go after she leaves. We wait and Citali fills the time with more history, she tells us the cave even has bats. More people exit. We finally go in.
My wife, bless her, gets us three seats at the bar that sits six. We have the best seats in the house. Citlali gives her end of tour PowerPoint presentation with photos. We are served glass after glass of every expression. It’s delightful. Citlali pours with heavy hands, we love her for it. She moves to the rest of the room and some people pass. Pass? We discover that some don’t like tequila or prefer beer. We happily offer to take their portions.
Citlali comes to the part of her presentation about Tequila Matchmaker and Grover. She says he did the wrong thing and went at the big companies. Citlali lists some other quality brands and asks if anyone has tried them, Arette, Tequleño, Cascahuin, Caballito Cerrero… only one person has heard of any of them aside from us. She asks for more brands the group has tried, “Cuervo!” shouts a drunk woman in the back. Laughter. Citlali shows the first signs of weariness. We offer a few brands, “Don Fulano, G4, Ocho, el Ateo…” she smiles appreciatively like an elementary teacher who is grateful someone is paying attention.
Everyone in the group is kind, friendly, and generally respectful, but at this point, many are drunk and interrupt her. They’re there to have a good time, and it appears tequila is working it’s magic. Nothing against them. That’s why they came. But I am disappointed.
You, dear readers, you are who I’d rather be there drinking with. You fanatics, you psychos, you who make lists and have spreadsheets of bottles you dream about. You who spend hours every day thinking about tequila. I imagine your usernames, tasting each glass together, commenting on the aromas, the lotes, your stories, your passion for tequila. I raise my 8 glasses of heavily poured tequila to you all.
We exit. My wife is wobbly. We take photos and make our way out. We stop at the store, it’s cute, we thank Citlali, she is so sweet to us. There are bottles of 2024 Winter Blend. My wife says I have far too many bottles already and I don’t need “Winterfell.” I disagree but we leave without the bottle. As we drive off of the lot, my stepson says, “So different from Caballito Cerrero.”
“Right?” I say. “And Fortaleza is a small player, imagine Cuervo.” We look at the window and navigate the cobblestone streets of Tequila. We loved the tour, but we talk about how sad it is that more Mexicans do not go, that so few appreciated the specialness of the brand, how so little Fortaleza stays in Mexico. We make our way into town of Tequila get some food and walk off the alcohol.
