Grab your snifter, dear reader, and prepare to ponder one of the great philosophical questions of the modern cocktail renaissance: Is mezcal the bourbon of tequila? On the surface, the answer seems straightforward. But as with any good spirit, there’s complexity lurking just beneath the surface.
Let’s start with the facts: tequila is a specific type of mezcal, just as bourbon is a specific type of whiskey. If we stop there, the analogy fits like a hand-blown artisanal glass. Mezcal is the parent category, encompassing all agave-based spirits, while tequila is the favorite child, made solely from Blue Weber agave and only in certain regions of Mexico. Mezcal, on the other hand, is the wild sibling, embracing over 30 varieties of agave and a much broader geographical range.
In the way bourbon leans on its corn-heavy mash bill to deliver sweetness, tequila derives its approachable, clean profile from steamed agave hearts. Mezcal, by contrast, roasts its agave piñas in underground pits, resulting in a smoky, complex flavor that practically whispers, “I’m too artisanal for mass appeal.” Bourbon and mezcal both wear their heritage on their sleeves, rooted in tradition but endlessly adaptable.
Both spirits are steeped in regional pride. Bourbon, officially recognized as a product of the United States, owes its soul to Kentucky limestone water, charred oak barrels, and a whiskey tax rebellion or two. Mezcal, meanwhile, carries the heart of Oaxaca and beyond, embodying centuries of craftsmanship, community, and smoky campfire memories.Where bourbon gets its kick from colonial grit and American ingenuity, mezcal pulls from pre-Columbian rituals and ancient techniques. To drink mezcal is to connect with the earth itself, roasted and distilled into liquid smoke.
Bourbon whispers “butterscotch” and “vanilla” with its warm caramel notes, while mezcal smolders with “fire-roasted agave” and “earthy citrus.” In cocktails, these spirits define the experience. A bourbon Old Fashioned feels like a fireside hug; a Mezcal Old Fashioned? That’s a walk through a smoky Oaxacan forest at twilight.
Tequila's bright, peppery zing dances in a Margarita, but swap in mezcal, and suddenly the drink is moody, mysterious—like a film noir remake of a sunny summer day.
If bourbon and mezcal were people at a party, bourbon would be your charismatic Southern host, charming everyone with tales of barrel-aging. Mezcal? Mezcal is the enigmatic guest who shows up in a wide-brim hat, sipping neat from a clay copita, and leaves you questioning everything you thought you knew about agave.
Where tequila is a mariachi band playing "Cielito Lindo," mezcal is an indie folk artist strumming haunting ballads on a dusty guitar. You don’t just drink mezcal—you experience it, preferably while contemplating your place in the universe.
So, is mezcal the bourbon of tequila? Yes, in the sense that it is more nuanced, less ubiquitous, and undeniably tied to tradition. But the analogy, like mezcal itself, is smoky and imperfect. Mezcal is not just tequila’s rustic cousin; it’s its own unapologetic identity, a spirit that invites drinkers to slow down, taste the earth, and maybe, just maybe, get a little existential.
