COLIMA, CO—There exists a playful fight between two neighboring states in Mexico over the origin of a drink called tejuino. The mix of masa, or corn dough, and piloncillo, or hard brown sugar, is a daily staple in both Jalisco and Colima. Served on the streets with salt, ice, and lime juice, tejuino is considered a necessary refreshment during the unbearably hot hours from 11AM to 2PM. Its quenching properties become a point of pride. Both Guadalajara and Colima city claim it for their own. But the origins of the drink are more complicated. No modern Mexican state can take credit for tejuino, which has changed over time, but has existed for thousands of years in some form.
Before the Republic was born, before the borders of the Estados Unidos Mexicanos were established, before sugar cane arrived to the New World, indigenous peoples in the expanse of Mesoamerica were making a drink which would eventually carry the name tesgüino. The original drink was made from the ever-important corn.
The name tejuino itself derives from the Nahuatl word tecuin which means the beating or pounding of the heart. The extant versions of the drink that exist in modern indigenous communities in Mexico would have had different regional names, but have since converged on the same idea. Tesgüino or tejuino, it seems, is a beverage made from fermented corn.
That is not to say that all indigenous tejuinos are the same. The Rarámuri in Chihuahua germinate corn and grind it after it is soft soft in order to prepare the intoxicating and ritual beverage tesgüino. For the Wixárika in northern Jalisco, though, tejuino is made by grinding hard corn, mixing it with water, squeezing out the juice, and then fermenting that. The two indigenous groups still make their drink today.
For both of these groups, their version of fermented corn carries heavy cultural and religious significance. The Rarámuri believe tesgüino is a necessary accompaniment during meetings, rituals, religious ceremonies, medicine, and even payment. The mythology of Wixárika, on the other hand, recounts how the Blue Deer, Kauyumarie, guided them to their sacred ancestral land, Wirikuta, and gave them tejuino. For this, they continue to make tejuino and offer each batch to their legendary guide.
In Manzanillo, Colima, I happened to speak to a professional anthropologist at a restaurant. She told me that tesgüino and tejuino were distinct drinks. Tesgüino, she explained, was a ritual fermented beverage of northern Mexico. Tejuino, she continued, was sold on the streets of Colima for refreshment.
While her point neglects the Wixárika use of the word tejuino, she is largely correct. The quenching afternoon combination of corn masa and sugar cane piloncillo is distinct from its predecessors. At one point, the drink would have been left to ferment, but most vendors today admit that they sell unfermented tejuino. In place of fermentation, which sours the drink with lactic and acetic acid, lime juice has become a staple. Usually, when a vendor prepares a cup of tejuino, she scoops the prepared brown liquid into a cup with ice, then adds lime.
Vendors, though, seem to be aware of the changes that have occurred to the beverage. An old woman selling the drink in a church courtyard in Colima told me that she wasn’t sure where you could buy fermented tejuino anymore. She told me that even if she knew, she wouldn’t tell me. It’s better with lime anyways, she insisted.
On a dirt road outside of Ciudad Guzmán, though, a street side vendor told me a different story. He argued, “Most people throw in compounds and it doesn’t taste the same. If you enter into the city, and you try the tejuino sold there, it won’t taste the same as this one.” He said pointing to his stainless steel vat of the drink, “Even if they use the same ingredients, it’s not aged the same. Every food has its point of maturity. Here, the tejuino always tastes the same.”
Yet, he still added lime to the cup he served me. He ladeled the brown liquid from his jug and box poured it with sugar, lime juice, and ice cubes. It came out fairly thin with a subtle graininess. The drink is acidic but has a solid, hardy base. It is somewhere in the unorthodox gray area between lemonade and pumpernickel. The aftertaste is like a sour mocha. While he may “age” his tejuino, lime has become a non-negotiable element. It doesn’t hurt that Colima has some of the juiciest, seedless limes in all of Mexico.
Tejuino, like most atole’s or corn dough drinks, is nurtritious to some degree, but it is also refreshing. Indeed, just as you begin to feel the terrible intensity of the sun near noon, little carts come out into the streets of cities in both states. Some are wheel-barrel style push carts, others are bicycle-like, and a few are set up as market posts . All are equipped with awnings or umbrellas to protect their cool drinks from the sun. All tejuinos are served with ice. The most quenching versions, though, are literally slushies where the ice is married into the tejuino.
The slushy quality of certain tejuinos is well known. The Guzmán street vendor’s son explains, “What happened was that in Guadalajara, it was the first place to add lime slush. I tell people that the slush is sweet and so is tejuino. So that is why we add lime and salt to our tejuino to give it more flavor.” Apparently some restaurants still ladel out lime slush and tejuino as a treat. There are also examples of beer mixed with tejuino in a sort of michelada coined by some streetvendor as the tejuichela.
Ultimately, tejuino is a sort of moving target. Neither Jalisco, nor Colima invented the drink. It has slowly moved from fermented corn, to sweetened corn water, to a sort of limeade with corn dough. The modern version of it sold in major plazas and parks as a refreshment is the result of commercial efficiency that cut out fermentation. It was not necessarily an intentional innovation. The origin of the drink, though, stretches back deep into the gastronomy of northwestern Mexico, where indigenous peoples have fermented corn into an important, sacred drink.
Today, indigenous versions of tesgüino and tejuino are entirely distinct from the commercial ones of mestizo Mexicans. But even the modern version has some diversity, with different levels of fermentation, different ways of adding ice, and, of course, different styles of vending carts.
Elizondo, Dora Argentina Cabezas. “El tejuino, el bate y la tuba bebidas refrescantes: símbolos que perduran de generación en generación en el estado de Colima.” Razón y Palabra 20.94 (2016): 89-104.
Moreno-Mata, Jesús. “Análisis discursivo del relato popular Haciendo tejuino, tradicional en la lengua y en la cultura wixárika.” Revista Lengua y Cultura 4.8 (2023): 43-52.
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Figure out what kind of still you think you can build with your god-given abilities and resources. If you can weld, you can make pretty much anything. If you can solder, you can piece together a still as well. If you can’t do either of these things, call a friend who can. Consider, as well, what kind of alcohol you want to produce. Vodka? Make a reflux still. Gin? Maybe stick to a pot still.
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