URUAPAN, MI—Since 2003, charanda, a sugarcane distillate from Michoacán state, has enjoyed protection in the form of a denomination of origin from the Mexican government. The sugarcane spirit has roots in local distillation practices that derive from the introduction of sugarcane cultivation and processing by the Spanish in the 1500s. Over time, the region came to rely on sugarcane economically. Along the way, it became known for its aguardiente or chinguirito, both names for sugarcane based distillates.
The term charanda itself derives from an indigenous Purépecha term for “red soil,” a sort of reference to the literal terroir that the denomination of origin is trying to protect. The spirit, according to law, must be distilled from either the guarapo, melaza, or piloncillo (fermented sugarcane juice, molasses, or hard brown sugar) of sugarcane grown in the area immediately around Uruapan. Including the city, there are 16 municipalities protected in the denomination of origin. Even within the state, it’s a small area.
Locals in Uruapan, the hub of charanda production, say that indigenous Purépecha folks outside of the city still consume the spirit at important community events such as saint festivals and marriages, but they likely aren’t drinking something protected by the denomination of origin. Instead, they drink the homemade stuff.
To actually buy charanda, the kind that has a label and production in compliance with the 2003 ruling, you can pretty much only buy it from one family. The Pacheco family, who have distilled charanda generationally since 1907 and have helped to shepherd it into modernity, have a near monopoly on charanda under their distilling business, Casa Tarasco. When it comes down to it, it feels a bit like the denomination of origin is only protecting them.
The Pacheco’s have a legitimate claim to charanda and make some delicious spirits. I would argue that their family rightfully owns the idea of charanda in the first place. But the complete lack of competition in the charanda space raises some questions: does charanda deserve a denomination of origin as a local beverage with terroir? And is the denomination helping or hurting the preservation of the spirit?
In 1907, Don Cleofas Murgia began distilling sugarcane spirits in the town of Ziracuaretiro. He later moved his operation to the city of Uruapan. The business survived, serving local demand for decades and later, in the 1970s, regional demand for spirits. But, in 1996, one of the grandson’s of Murgia decided to reimagine the business. (from Pineda Ávila) The family organized a new legal entity. It seems the new business proposition was to position the spirit they distilled for exportation.
Shortly thereafter, the Asociación de Productores de Charanda de la Región de Uruapan was formed and submitted a formal request for Denomination of Origin status on both February 22, 2000 and March 27, 2002. The representative of the association was Arturo Pacheco Mondragón who would later serve as director general of the Consejo Regulador del Charanda.
Now the fact that a member of Pacheco family led the charge to protect charanda is not a problem. In fact, it is a necessity. Article 158 of the law of Propiedad Industrial dictates that the formal request comes from “The natural or legal persons who are directly engaged in the extraction, production, or elaboration of the product or products that they intend to protect with the designation of origin.” So the push for denomination of origin had to come from existing producers. But while there have been other producers, the voice of the Pacheco family has always been that pushing for and protecting the name charanda.
After a waiting period for comment and objection, the Mexican government granted the denomination of origin to the product. It joined the ranks of things like Tequila, Mezcal, Café Chiapas, Chile Habanero, and Arroz Morelos, all of which are entire sectors of local economies in their own regions of origin. Charanda was now exclusively made in the vicinity of Uruapan. The Pacheco family, prepared to shift their business to an international audience, could now put the new denomination of origin on the label.
Uruapan is an ancient Purépecha settlement based around the cascading Cupatitzio River, the waters of which are crystal clear and always cascading. These waters were also used in Don Cleofas Murgia’s original distillates.
The modern city is wreathed in miles and miles of avocado plantations. Some call Uruapan the avocado capital of the world. But, in recent years, Michoacán has fallen into a degree of lawlessness. The state’s size and rurality make it difficult to police. Production and traffic of drugs is common. Now, with the US appetite for avocados rivaling that of its cocaine or heroin habit, organized crime has gone green too.
In other words, not many tourists pass through Uruapan. Statistically, it is more dangerous than your average Mexican city, but life goes on and its possible to stay out of trouble. But in the absence of tourist eyes, charanda has slowly flourished since 2003 with an outward facing media presence. Which is strange, because locals insist that nobody there drinks the stuff. In fact, they tell me that the term charanda used to refer to really low quality liquor. Nobody questions the quality of Casa Tarasco spirits, though.
Hunting around Uruapan for charanda, there is plenty to be found. There is the brand El Tarasco, which offers añejo and reposado charandas, Don Cleofas, which has flavored liqueurs based with the spirit, and Charanda Uruapan, which sells a couple bottles of clear charanda. All of these, of course, are owned by the Pacheco family through Casa Tarasco. Not that they’re hiding it.
Simply put, finding other brands of charanda is not easy. Casa el Arriero, whose products do not seem to be shelved anywhere in Uruapan, appears to also be in the charanda business. But even their website references Don Cleofas Murgia as the origin of the history of the spirit. Charanda, as far as I can tell, is more of a family brand and legacy than a regional specialty.
Chatting with some local artisanal vendors, they seem to know a local distiller or two who makes it, but they only do a couple batches a year. None is in stock when I pass through. Locals tend to agree (and they laugh a bit when I ask them about it) the Pacheco family is the only family in the charanda business.
They’re good at what they do. The spirits are excellent and nuanced. They’ve maintained the family business for 100 years. The denomination of origin was a logical business choice.
Casa Tarasco does a lot to promote charanda as a uniquely Uruapanse product. The government of Michoacán also supports the product, with various offices sponsoring the yearly Festival de Charanda. But, I still remain confused. Why does charanda get a denomination of origin and something like Pox from Chiapas does not?
As far as I can tell, there is no compelling academic evidence that the term charanda has more than a century of use as a term for distilled sugarcane. Sure, it means “red soil” in Purépecha, but that’s what most evidence from the 1900s suggests it meant–just red soil–in reference to rains and floods in local newspapers. Only in commercial contexts post-Don-Cleofas do we see charanda in reference to rum.
An August 10, 1938 publication of Periódico Oficial del Estado de Baja California Norte, lists “Charanda ‘Aguardiente Extra’” made by Fidel A. Contreras in a catalog of products. The following year, advertisements for an aguardiente called Charanda (that uses the same logo as Casa Tarasco’s Charanda Uruapan brand today) appear in several newspapers being sold by Miguel Barba. But both of these instances, which are the earliest I could find where charanda refers to rum, are in reference to a brand, not a cultural beverage. It seems likely that the brand owners could have picked up on a local practice of calling rum charanda in Purépecha, but it seems more likely that the brand itself brought the term into common use. Twenty years later, El Espiritu Publico, Periódico Oficial del Estado de Campeche, published July 13th, 1959, includes “charanda michoacana” in a list of Mexican foods from specific origins.
Perhaps the red soil and the unique climate around Uruapan can impart terroir in cane spirits distilled there, but charanda is a brand more than a local heritage. One family has kept the spirit alive for over 100 years. This is honorable, laudable, and estimable. The family is doing smart business by trying to get the government to protect their brand. Denominations of origin have a value on every bottle you can put them on. But denominations of origin are not intended to take the inheritance of a family and turn it into the heritage of a region. The Pacheco family has curated an excellent offering of spirits, and the Mexican government is in agreement. Personally, I think it’s a bit weird.
While more research needs to be done to confirm the roots of charanda, it seems that the denomination of origin was a business tactic to get one family’s product into the international market with the sheen of governmental protection and cultural importance. With almost no other producers on the market, it is extremely difficult to argue that the denomination of origin is protecting charanda producers. While the trade body (run by the family) often claims that 11 producers exist, it seems that the denomination is only protecting one producer, Casa Tarasco.
Denominations are good business for the government and the companies, so I get it. Ultimately, Mexico can give out denominations of origin to whatever they see fit. Charanda, though, is no tequila. Should any evidence prove me wrong, I am happy to renounce my point of view.
Pineda Ávila, Iris Marlene. (2005). “Análisis financiero de la fusión de dos empresas productoras de charanda y su repercusión en la exportación”. (Tesis de Licenciatura). Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, México. Recuperado de https://repositorio.unam.mx/contenidos/304616
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