Worm in a cup of mezcal — Photo courtesy of iStock / Niciak
The tequila worm has achieved a delicious, low-key ubiquity. It’s made silent cameos, in “Poltergeist II,” where it offered an assist on a plot-defining possession, and in “Urban Cowboy” which fed into the rumors that, “The Mexicans say if you eat the worm, you’re gonna see visions.” (Not true.)
In daily life, offering a Japanese elder the worm is considered to be a sign of respect, while eating one in frat houses is considered the ultimate flex. But for all the enthusiasm, entomophobia and lollipops/worm combos it has inspired, its history still remains a matter of conjecture.
First of all, an important point of clarification. Your tequila bottle’s hitchhiker isn’t a worm, but rather a larva of the beetle Scyphophorus acupunctatus, or larva of the moth Comadia redtenbacheri from the Cossidae family of moths. (The former is red; the latter is white.)
Chances are scientific classifications probably aren’t a huge consideration when playing the “to eat or not to eat” game with something that has all the visual markers of a worm. But the bug’s true classification gives us a huge clue to its original function.
First, we have to zoom out. Like kindred spirits scotch and whiskey, Mexico’s two primary liquors, mezcal and tequila are both distilled from the same source: the agave. But while tequila is technically mezcal, it can only be brewed from blue agave, in the Mexican state of Jalisco, surrounding the town of Tequila.
Plantations that would grow multiple forms of agave (since mezcal can be made of multiple strains of the plant) would end up with bottles of visually interchangeable light-colored liquid. To limit confusion, jimadores (ranchers who harvest the plant by hand using long, sword-like knives) would pluck the bugs from dead or dying agave plants and place them in bottles of mezcal.
That’s right: the larvae disguised as worms, rumored to alter the taste of the spirit, rumored to be proof positive the booze was strong enough, even rumored to have magic powers, were really just glorified name tags.
Agave plants outside the town of Tequila in Mexico — Photo courtesy of iStock / Coast-to-Coast
As Jorge Torres, a server and sommelier at the Fairmont Mayakoba in Playa del Carmen explains, during his degree research on mezcal and tequila, much of the history around the worm’s (larva) jump into ubiquity is conjecture. Especially given small towns’ tradition of putting snakes, iguanas and other small animals into bottles of mezcal.
“They don’t add anything to distillation,” he says. “It’s just marketing. Many little towns around the country, rural people, poor people, they only have lands and part of the belief has been from generation to generation. So perhaps their grandfather or their great-grandfather does that. So, they’re doing the same tradition.
“It’s part of our roots. If we make a line for the period of the time, I don’t know when they started to do that. Because it’s been for generations. They’re still doing that, and they will do the same for the next generations.”
But there is a keyword worth noting in his observation: marketing. Tequila was first exported in the 1890s, and in the 1940s, Nacional Vinicola was the first company to add the attention-grabbing creepy-crawler to the bottles.
Once tequila was granted protected status in 1977 (on October 13, if you’d care to celebrate), the worm system was rendered unnecessary. However, branding is harder to shake – even though today you’ll be hard-pressed to find a bottle with a worm at your local liquor store.
“The tequila had already personality,” says Torres. “The plant, the bottles and region with the laws protecting all of that. So, they didn’t have to use the worm for the rest of the mezcal. But they were using the worm for marketing and for flavors because they are making some salts with the worm. Nowadays, you can use the orange at the end of the tasting with worm salt, or worm with chili powder. This moment is now for the ritual.”
Tequila shots with lime — Photo courtesy of iStock / stockfotocz
The questions remains: If you do run across one of these increasingly rare little larva buddies, should you eat it? Answers vary.
An internet commenter compares it to “wet rotten leather washed with ashtray juice,” while others chew it like a gummy bear and claim it as a delicacy. And Torres notes many of his guests still swear by it, although he doesn’t partake in the ritual himself. But he does see the appeal, particularly for those looking to indulge in his country’s traditions.
“It’s part of the experience,” says Torres. “If you want to do it – go for it! But if not, you have lots of options that are really tasty.”
That’s something we can all raise a glass to.