The 1970's, my college years, were a time of intellectual ferment for me. At the time I was
under the delusion that I needed to study philosophy, history and literature to earn the right to
call myself educated. I learned differently during the 1980's, when I attended the International
School of Bartending in New York City. One of our teachers was a real scholar when it came
to spirits and wines. He encouraged me to earn certificates in champagne and cognac
appreciation, to read widely about the cultural history of Scottish whiskeys and Italian
aperitifs. I didn't expect his beer lecture, one of the last in the course, to be his finest. “Beer
is, or at least should be, a living thing,” he stressed, his eyes misting (even though he hadn't
yet been doing any drinking). “When you find a fine beer, hold on to it, and hold out for it.”
He explained the difference between fine English beers (we tend to call them ales) and good
German and Czech lagers. He waxed eloquently on the astonishing quality and variety of
Belgian beers. “And then,” he told us, with reverence, “there is Negra Modelo.”
The words Negra Modelo fermented in my brain during the several years it took for
me to find an opportunity to drink that which I already loved cerebrally. I was not
disappointed. Negra Modelo is a thick, dark ale; its base of caramelized grains gives it a rich
fruitiness that make it perfect as an accompaniment to peppery foods. I learned, further, that
Negra Modelo owes its original inspiration not to anything home-grown Mexican, but to
Austria.
“Austria?” you exclaim. “What does Mexican beer have to do with the land that gave us
Strauss waltzes, celebrity chef Wolfgang Puck, or, for that matter, political
Wunderkind Arnold Schwarzenegger?” The historical connection is almost as complex
as the beer itself. About the time of the American Civil War, Mexico was forced to default
on huge debts it owed to France. Using the default as an excuse to build an empire, French
Emperor Louis Napoleon sent troops to Mexico and set up his cousin Archduke Maximilian
of Austria as ruler of the country. Maximilian was eventually defeated, and executed, by
forces under Benito Juarez, but the Austrian connection and significant Austrian immigration
to Mexico continued.
A blip in the long Franco-Mexican struggle was the Battle of Puebla where on the Fifth of
May, 1862, Mexican forces under General Ignacio Zaragoza Seguin defeated a larger French
force and temporarily checked the French advance. Until recently Cinco De Mayo was
celebrated primarily in the Mexican state of Puebla (the real Mexican National Independence
Day is September 16, commemorating the country's break with Spain in 1821). Of late,
however, Cinco De Mayo has become the occasion for American promoters to sell a
great quantity of—you guessed it—beer. I stress the word quantity.
Back in nineteenth century Vienna, a new style of beer called Marzen, after the
German world for the month of March, was creating real waves. These were strong beers,
aged in alpine caves for months longer than traditional lagers; the use of ale yeasts resulted in
higher concentrations of esters and hence richer flavors. The beer style rode piggyback with
Austrian immigrants to Mexico where it thrived among a host of watery competitors. The
original Negra Modelo people were one of the last to make the jump; they were refugees
from that somewhat-less-than-jolly Austrian, Adolf Hitler, in the late 1930s. While not quite
as strong as the original Austrian Marzen beers, since it also has some German
influence, Negra Modelo owes a tangible debt to the original Austrian style (now called
oscura, in Spanish). Ironically, true Marzen beer no longer exists in
Austria.
I don't remember where I enjoyed that first Negra Modelo, but my last taste is still with me;
it was only a few days ago at the Santa Fe Salsa Company, the New Mexican restaurant at
the Traditions Marketplace at exit 257 on I-25, halfway between Albuquerque and Santa Fe.
In addition to its excellent salsa bar (mango salsa, anyone?) Santa Fe Salsa Company offers
ten varieties of what they call “imported” beer (though only one country supplies these
imports, and, hint, it's a member of NAFTA).
The ubiquitous Corona, which a few years ago supplanted Heineken as the number one
imported beer in the United States, is of course on the list. I referred to it earlier, when I
stressed the word quantity. Most beers in Mexico are brewed for hot weather
consumption; they are light (in terms of color, hops, malt sweetness, and flavor), quench thirst
well, and go down easy. American breweries have perfected the manufacture of these
taste-alike, soda-pop style lagers, but Corona, backed by huge advertising and promotional
campaigns, which include the exploitation of Cinco De Mayo, has managed to connect
to a beach and vacation mystique. American beer purists almost never add limes to their beer,
but if Corona is the only choice, you might reach for the citrus to mask Corona's
formaldehyde flavor. Though Corona is as light as a lager can truly get, in the marketing
tradition of lime extension—excuse me, I meant line extension—Corona Light has also
begun to capture market share. Corona Light may require two limes instead of one to
compensate for its mass-produced astringency. Corona's clear bottles may beautifully highlight
the “beach for spring break” artwork, but they also allow light into the beer, which does
nothing to improve its keeping power. Corona is a commodity.
It is fortunate, if a bit ironic, that Negra Modelo and Corona are produced and distributed by
the same breweries and US distributors, a case of David hitting the market in conjunction
with Goliath. Carta Blanca, Tecate, Pacifico and Sol are other examples of typical light lagers
from Mexico; not bad, but hardly different from taste-alike light lagers the world over, say
China's Tsingtao or Italy's Peroni. Tecate, which is available in cans and pragmatic
quart-sized bottles, has been brewed since 1944 along the US border and has always reflected
American tastes. On a hot summer day, any of these light Mexican beers can prove their
worth, but they all fall to the wayside when compared to any of the quality (though less
widely available) Mexican brands.
An interesting beer on Santa Fe Salsa Company's list is Tequiza, distributed in the US by
beer giant Anheuser-Busch. Don't rush to your Spanish-English dictionary; Tequiza is a
coined word: the marriage of tequila and cerveza. Mix a light lager beer with
lime and blue agave nectar (from the plant they use to make tequila) and you end up with a
kind of beer margarita. I admire the boldness of the concept behind Tequiza, but a taste left
me yearning for a real margarita: the sour kind without all the slush. Maybe some good
margarita salt would enhance this beer's finish.
Two excellent Mexican beers on the Salsa Company list are Dos Equis and Bohemia. Both
beers have German roots; each has been on the market more than a century (the Dos Equis
namesake twin X's mark the beer's entry into the 20th Century in 1900). Dos Equis has
functioned for many years as a “quality” Mexican import in the American market. It has the
body of a good mainstream German lager and stands up well to spicy food. The
harder-to-find Bohemia has more of a malt taste than Dos Equis, betraying a mixture of
German and Austrian influences, making it a little closer to Negra Modelo in concept. I might
prefer Bohemia to Negra Modelo if I were drinking the beer without food.
Faced with excellent food, especially any cuisine that counts the letters M-E-X in its
description, I would eschew tasting all of these Mexican beers in favor of enjoying multiple
bottles, each subtly different from the last, of Negra Modelo. I suggest one for the salsa and
chips, another for the main course, a third for a reflective moment after the meal, or with one
of Santa Fe Salsa Company's smooth caramel flans. You'll find other great dark beers in the
world—porter or stout or excellent dark lagers like Beck's—but Negra Modelo stands on its
own two feet as a unique addition to the world of hearty beers. It is coppery rather than
black, with a modest head, a good stimulation from the carbonation, a slightly chocolate
aftertaste and yet a satisfying smoothness. While I realize that Cinco de Mayo
celebrations in the United States may smack of crass commercialism (though I am glad the
Mexicans defeated the French that day), you may count on me to attend—as long as I have the
opportunity to wade through the mass of taste-alike beers and curl up with my Negra Modelo.
