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 Entertainment | Restaurants & Dining | June 2007 
Mexico's Cantina Culture
 Catherine Burgess - The Spectator
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The classic stereotype of Mexico is a chubby, moustachioed man snoozing against a cactus, a wide-brimmed sombrero tilted to shade his eyes from the relentless sun as he sleeps off the effects of tequila from the night before. Cacti might not be a regular sight on the streets of Mexico City but the omnipresence of Mexico's famous beverage is as much a truism as the national-fondness for facial hair. Tequila is said to cure virtually every minor ailment or at least help you forget about what might be amiss. The drink is at the centre of all social events as its traditional drinking place – the Cantina – was once at the centre of every Mexican man's social life.
Mexico is changing, however, starting as always in the capital, Mexico City. The cantina finds itself relegated to the periphery of social activities in the same way that the archetypal English pub is disappearing from our town centres. A decade ago there were 450 traditional cantinas in downtown Mexico City. Now there are only 100 of these drinking establishments that offer free meals in return for drinks purchased. The system naturally encourages patrons to drink more, assisted by men who wander around giving mild electric shocks to those who want the capacity to ‘aguantar otro trago’: to handle one more for the road.
Fighting to protect this peculiar part of Mexican national culture is Don Ruben Aguirre Morales, the owner of Latin America's oldest, old-school drinking hole. El Nivel ('The Level') was founded in 1855 on the site of the Royal and Pontificial University of Mexico, which was also the first institution of its kind in the country. Its history runs deeper than the higher-education establishment created under order by Spanish Emperor Charles IV. Below the 16th century building is a pre-Hispanic structure, a pyramid forming part of the old Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan. Its prime position, just off Mexico City's main square – the Plaza de la Constitución or 'Zócalo' - and overlooked by the baroque Metropolitan Cathedral and the National Palace makes it part of the nation's beating heart, Don Ruben proudly told me.
Its proximity to the corridors of power has made El Nivel the haunt of presidents and a hive of political debate and inevitable drunkenness. The cantina's close connections to Mexican political culture have provided perpetual immunity from decline. The first licensed establishment in the country is also subject to a presidential order to always remain open dating back to 1873 and it has remained an unofficial requirement for Mexico's president-elect to get drunk there prior to taking office. Incumbent President Felipe Calderón is rumoured to have revived the tradition that was broken by his strait-laced predecessor, Vicente Fox who was more of a Coca Cola man.
But part of the attraction for famous frequenters of Mexico's oldest hostelry is its unassuming atmosphere. Relics of the past and present adorn the walls ranging from paintings, donated by the San Carlos National Art Academy, to lewd photographs and political cartoons. As its landlord, Don Ruben, put it, 'there are no levels in El Nivel' despite its name, which derives from its location on the site of the original benchmark to measure the depth of Mexico City's long-evaporated Lake Texcoco. The cantina cuts across the social and political spectrum. Electricians drink with errant university-students alongside Swedish tourists and street-traders.
Ex-president Carlos Salinas de Gortari (1988-1994), the architect of many of Mexico's landmark open-market reforms, became a regular before taking office. Customers fought to pay his costly drinks bill (he always drank whisky) in pursuit of political favour. Narrowly defeated presidential contender, leftist Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador, was a punter when he served as Mexico City Mayor (2000-2005). He soaked up the socialist tradition that harks back to Fidel Castro and Che Guevera reputedly plotting the Cuban Revolution of 1959 there. These urban myths make up much of this 19th century establishment’s charm.
Mexico City is far from immune from the trend towards replacing the traditional with the modern and fresa ('posh and pretentious' in Mexican slang). There exists a parallel version of the pinewood-pub invasion of Britain that has seen traditional ales replaced with vodka and cranberry in the UK. But as I looked around El Nivel, with its oversized pocket-watch on the wall showing time going backwards, I felt confident that this miniature Mexico will endure for another 152 years. |
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