On the Sunday of pre-Guelaguetza festivities we came upon a stand deep in the Central de Abastos where working men came for a shot of mezcal or a glass of pulque or tepache. It was -- I am happy to report for a land known more for its mezcal than any other libation -- refreshing, crisp, and intoxicating. Plain white it was, sin curado, as pure as can be. Two glasses, please.
I made the error of not purchasing a to-go bottle.
* Much more later.