When I came to The Party Source in 2001, the store—and the entire state of Kentucky—featured exactly one Mezcal. It was that brand. You know the one: the bottle with a worm in it. It was bottled for novelty and notoriety, not quality, and promoted for its alleged psychotropic effects (there are none).
We still sell the brand. Happily, I still have never sampled it—at least not that I remember, though there were those parties in the 1990s…
But even in 2001, I didn’t need to taste wormy Mezcal to know what Mezcal could be. I had already been introduced to great Mezcal several years earlier, by one of the true legends of the industry. And like many good spirits stories, ours begins at a great liquor store.
My sister moved to Chicago after college in the mid-’90s, which meant plenty of visits—and plenty of time sleeping on her sofa. As I still do whenever I travel, I sought out the best local liquor store. Back then in Chicago, that was Sam’s.
The “old Sam’s,” with its vintage charm and basement warehouse, is a fond memory. It later moved to a much larger location on Marcey Street and eventually became the flagship of the Binny’s empire—still a great store. Love those guys.
Presiding over the finest spirits in the building was the late, great Joe Congiusti, the fine spirits manager who inspired my own career. Joe would taste you through private-cask Cognacs, rare Scotches—things that recalibrate your palate. But on one fateful visit in September 1998, he waved a bottle at me and said:
“This comes last. It will ruin you for anything else.”
It did.
That bottle was Del Maguey Single Village Mezcal from Chichicapa, and it was a revelation. Smoky, yes—perfect for a Scotch-loving peat-head like me—but also intensely expressive: fruit, clarity, and a profound sense of place came roaring out of the glass.
I fell in love immediately. At the time, Del Maguey was essentially it, the only truly artisanal Mezcal on the American market. If you knew, you knew.
Fast forward to 2003. I was now at The Party Source, charged with the dream job of buying the world’s finest spirits. Naturally, I reached out directly to Ron Cooper, the founder of Del Maguey.
Ron never set out to be a liquor entrepreneur—he’s an internationally renowned artist. He discovered Mezcal in 1970 while traveling through Oaxaca on an art exploration trip. In the remote village of San Luis del Río (likely as the first gringo many residents had ever seen), Ron encountered the Mezcal of Sr. Paciano Cruz Nolasco.
Paciano’s distillery, on the banks of the Red Ant River in San Luis del Río, 2007.
In 1995, Ron founded Del Maguey, starting with four single-village Mezcals to the U.S.—the very bottles I tasted in Chicago three years later.
I placed an order. Suddenly, our Mezcal selection went from one bottle to seven. We were swimming in the stuff.
(These Mezcals were exclusive to The Party Source in Kentucky for quite some time—likely until Del Maguey was sold to Pernod Ricard in 2017.)
Ron and I became friends. I visited him in Oaxaca in 2007 for a journey deep into the heart of Mezcal—literally driving up the mountain road to San Luis del Río. Paciano Cruz Nolasco and Florencio Carlos Sarmiento of Santa Catarina Minas later returned the favor with a visit to the store.
Jay and Eric Brown with Florencio Carlos Sarmiento in his palenque, Santa Catarina Minas, 2007. The clay pot still is at left.
But the real Mezcal revolution was still ahead.
In the mid-2000s, Mezcal was still a tough sell in America. Tequila itself hadn’t fully broken through yet, and Mezcal was far stranger. Ron tried building the brand through great restaurants—Rick Bayless of Frontera Grill was an early supporter—but progress was slow.
Unlike most liquor impresarios, Ron didn’t have a massive marketing budget. He returned much of the profit to the distillers (they’re called palenqueros), paying them four to five times the going rate per liter of Mezcal. He helped with healthcare and financial support—truly doing right by the makers.
Still, many of the palenqueros’ children left Oaxaca for economic opportunity elsewhere. It wasn’t easy.
Then, in 2008, I stumbled onto something incredible: a conference about cocktails—for bartenders. Tales of the Cocktail, held annually in New Orleans.
I emailed Ron. “Have you heard of this cocktail conference in New Orleans? I think bartenders would love Del Maguey.”
He hadn’t. His reply: “How about you go, and report back?”
I did go. And I raved.
In 2009, Ron brought Del Maguey to Tales of the Cocktail…and the rest is history.
Mezcal detonated.
Bartenders were blown away by the flavors—and deeply moved by Ron’s transparency and ethics. It was the bartending community that put Mezcal on the map.
Today, The Party Source doesn’t carry merely one, wormy Mezcal—or even six great ones. We have an entire aisle dedicated to the category.
Show me another beverage category that has exploded the way Mezcal has since 2009.
But here’s the best part.
In many booms, the original artisans (the palenqueros are Zapotec Indian) get left behind. In Mezcal’s case—because Ron Cooper insisted on fairness, and because bartenders demanded authenticity—the wave of Mezcal brands that followed had to play by the same rules.
The children of the palenqueros came home. Traditions continued. Communities thrived.
Paciano Cruz Nolasco even served as mayor of San Luis del Río, improving the town’s infrastructure. An entire region was lifted up.
Party Source with Paciano Cruz Nolasco and family at his home, San Luis del Río, 2007. The clear drink bottles are full of Mezcal.
So I suggest you, dear drinker, celebrate this story and lift a glass of Mezcal yourself.
You can start with Del Maguey—but honestly, you can choose almost any bottle in our Mezcal aisle today, confident in its authenticity and craftsmanship. The range of flavor is extraordinary, especially with wild maguey varieties you’ll never find in Tequila.
Except… Maybe skip the one with the worm.
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