How to Drink Tequila: Beyond the Salt and Lime Ritual

The first time I properly drank tequila—and I mean properly—was in a dimly lit mezcalería in Oaxaca, where an elderly bartender looked at me with something between pity and amusement as I reached for the salt shaker. He gently pushed my hand away and poured me a small measure of blanco tequila in a narrow glass, nodding toward it as if to say, "Just drink it." That moment changed everything I thought I knew about Mexico's most misunderstood spirit.

Most of us have been doing it wrong. The whole salt-shot-lime circus? That's about as authentic as wearing a sombrero to Cinco de Mayo. Real tequila drinking is an art form that deserves respect, patience, and most importantly, the right approach.

The Glass Matters More Than You Think

Forget those wide-mouthed shot glasses collecting dust in your cabinet. In Mexico, tequila is traditionally served in narrow glasses called caballitos—literally "little horses"—which concentrate the aromas and allow you to sip rather than slam. I've also seen plenty of locals drinking from small clay cups called jarros de barro, which supposedly enhance the earthy notes of the agave.

If you're serious about tasting tequila (and you should be), a Riedel tequila glass or even a champagne flute works beautifully. The narrow opening captures those volatile compounds that carry all the flavor—the sweet cooked agave, the peppery finish, the subtle vanilla notes from barrel aging. You lose all of that when you throw it back like medicine.

Temperature Is Everything

Room temperature. Always room temperature. I learned this the hard way after years of keeping bottles in the freezer like some college kid hoarding vodka. Cold numbs your palate and masks the complexity that master distillers spend years perfecting. The only exception? If you're drinking genuinely terrible tequila—but then again, why would you?

Some bartenders in Guadalajara will tell you that blanco tequila can handle being slightly chilled, maybe 60-65°F, but anything colder and you're essentially drinking expensive ice water. Aged tequilas—reposados and añejos—should never see the inside of a refrigerator. That's like putting ice cubes in a glass of Macallan.

The Ritual of Sipping

Here's where most people get it wrong. Tequila isn't meant to be conquered; it's meant to be conversed with. Start by pouring about an ounce into your glass. Hold it up to the light—good tequila should be crystal clear if it's blanco, or show varying shades of gold to amber if it's aged.

Now comes the part that might feel pretentious but isn't: the nosing. Bring the glass to your nose, but keep your mouth slightly open. This prevents the alcohol from overwhelming your nasal passages. You're looking for agave first—it should smell vegetal, slightly sweet, maybe with hints of citrus or pepper. Aged tequilas might give you vanilla, caramel, or oak.

Take a small sip. Let it coat your tongue. Don't swallow immediately. This is where tequila reveals itself—the initial sweetness, the mid-palate complexity, the finish that can range from smooth to fiery. Breathe out through your nose after swallowing. You'll taste things you missed on the way down.

The Sangrita Secret

If you want to drink tequila like a local—and I mean a real local, not a resort bartender—you need to know about sangrita. This isn't the bastardized tomato juice mixture that some bars serve. Traditional sangrita from Jalisco is a sweet-spicy-sour chaser made from orange juice, grenadine, and chile.

The dance goes like this: sip of tequila, sip of sangrita, repeat. The sangrita cleanses your palate between sips while complementing the tequila's flavors. It's like having a conversation where both parties actually listen to each other. I've spent entire afternoons in cantinas watching old-timers nurse the same glass of tequila for hours, alternating with tiny sips of sangrita, lost in conversation.

Pairing Tequila with Food

Tequila and food pairings are criminally underexplored outside of Mexico. Blanco tequila, with its bright, crisp profile, cuts through rich, fatty foods like carnitas or cheese-stuffed chiles. I once had a transformative experience pairing a high-proof blanco with fresh ceviche—the citrus in the fish played off the agave notes like a well-rehearsed duet.

Reposado tequila, with its subtle oak influence, stands up beautifully to grilled meats. There's a taco stand in Mexico City where they serve al pastor with a small glass of reposado on the side. The slight sweetness from the barrel aging echoes the caramelized pineapple on the tacos.

Añejo tequila is a different beast entirely. Treat it like whiskey. Dark chocolate, flan, even a good cigar if that's your thing. I've seen Mexican businessmen end meals with an añejo and a piece of cajeta candy, savoring both like they held the secrets of the universe.

The Margarita Paradox

Let's address the elephant in the room: margaritas. They're not the enemy of good tequila, but they're often its worst ambassador. A proper margarita should taste like tequila, not like a lime-flavored slushie from a mall food court.

The classic recipe is deceptively simple: 2 parts tequila, 1 part fresh lime juice, 1 part Cointreau or triple sec. That's it. No sour mix, no flavored syrups, definitely no blender. Use 100% agave blanco tequila—save the aged stuff for sipping. Shake it with ice, strain it over fresh ice in a rocks glass with a salted rim if you must.

But here's my controversial take: if you're drinking good tequila, skip the margarita entirely. It's like drowning a perfectly good steak in ketchup.

Understanding What You're Drinking

Not all tequila is created equal, and the differences matter more than most people realize. By law, tequila must be made from at least 51% blue agave, but that remaining 49% in cheaper bottles? Usually grain alcohol or sugar cane spirits. These "mixtos" are responsible for most people's tequila horror stories and legendary hangovers.

Always—and I cannot stress this enough—always look for "100% agave" on the label. It's the difference between drinking tequila and drinking tequila-flavored alcohol. The price difference is negligible compared to the difference in quality and how you'll feel the next morning.

Blanco (or silver) tequila is unaged, bottled directly after distillation or rested for up to two months. It's the purest expression of the agave plant. Reposado ("rested") spends between two months and a year in oak barrels. Añejo ("aged") sits for one to three years. Then there's extra añejo, aged over three years, which enters whiskey territory in terms of complexity and price.

The Mezcal Conversation

You can't talk about drinking tequila without acknowledging its smokier, more complex cousin, mezcal. While all tequila is technically mezcal (made from agave), not all mezcal is tequila. It's like the squares and rectangles thing from geometry class.

Mezcal can be made from over 30 types of agave, while tequila is limited to blue agave. The production methods differ too—mezcal producers often roast their agave in underground pits, giving it that characteristic smoky flavor that makes tequila seem tame by comparison.

If you're graduating from tequila to mezcal, start with something gentle—an espadín from a reputable producer. Sip it the same way you would tequila, but expect more complexity, more smoke, more... everything. It's tequila's wild older brother who dropped out of business school to become a shaman.

Common Mistakes That Make Bartenders Cry

Ordering "your best tequila" for shots is like asking for wagyu beef to make hamburger helper. Premium tequila is meant for sipping, contemplating, and savoring. If you're going to shoot it, at least have the decency to order something middle-shelf.

The lime and salt ritual? It was invented to mask the flavor of bad tequila. If you need training wheels to drink it, you're drinking the wrong stuff. That said, there's a time and place for everything. Spring break in Cancún? Sure, go nuts with the salt and lime. But in a proper tequila bar? You'll mark yourself as a tourist faster than wearing socks with sandals.

Never, ever ask for a "tequila sunrise." That Day-Glo orange concoction is where good tequila goes to die. Same goes for any tequila drink that comes in colors not found in nature.

The Morning After

Good tequila, drunk properly, shouldn't leave you with a crushing hangover. The horror stories usually involve mixtos, too much sugar from margarita mix, or simply drinking too much too fast. Tequila contains compounds called congeners—specifically, methanol—in lower concentrations than many other spirits. It's the added sugars and artificial ingredients in cheap tequila and mixers that really do the damage.

Stick to 100% agave tequila, drink water between rounds, and pace yourself. The Mexican way of drinking—slowly, with food, over the course of an evening—is designed to avoid the gringo mistake of treating every night like a competition.

Finding Your Tequila

The best tequila is the one you enjoy drinking. I know that sounds like a cop-out, but it's true. Some people will never move past blancos, and that's fine. Others discover añejos and never look back. The important thing is to drink it with intention, not obligation.

Start with a few well-regarded brands—Fortaleza, El Tesoro, Siete Leguas, Don Julio (though it's become a bit commercial). Try them neat, at room temperature, in proper glassware. Take notes if you're that type of person. Pay attention to what you like and don't like.

Visit a real tequila bar if you can find one. Talk to the bartender. Most are evangelists for the spirit and love nothing more than converting skeptics. Try a flight of the same brand's blanco, reposado, and añejo to understand how aging changes the character.

The Cultural Context

Tequila isn't just a drink in Mexico; it's a cultural touchstone. It appears at celebrations and wakes, business deals and breakups. There's a saying: "Para todo mal, mezcal, y para todo bien, también" (For everything bad, mezcal, and for everything good, as well).

Understanding this context makes you appreciate why Mexicans might bristle at seeing their national spirit reduced to a party trick. It's like watching someone chug champagne from the bottle—technically possible, but missing the entire point.

Final Thoughts from a Reformed Shot-Taker

That night in Oaxaca, after the bartender served me my first proper tequila, I sat there for three hours. We talked about agave cultivation, about his grandfather who was a jimador, about how the landscape of Jalisco shapes the flavor of the spirit. I drank maybe three ounces of tequila total, but I tasted more in those three ounces than in all the shots I'd thrown back in my misspent youth.

Learning to drink tequila properly isn't about becoming a snob or following arbitrary rules. It's about respecting the craft, understanding the culture, and most importantly, actually tasting what you're drinking. Once you start sipping instead of shooting, you'll discover that tequila isn't the enemy you thought it was from your college days. It's a complex, nuanced spirit that deserves a place next to whiskey and cognac in the pantheon of sipping spirits.

So pour yourself a small glass of something 100% agave. Hold it up to the light. Take a breath. And drink it like you've got nowhere else to be. Because in that moment, you don't.

Authoritative Sources:

Blomberg, Nancy. Tequila: The Spirit of Mexico. Abbeville Press, 2000.

Chadwick, Ian. In Search of the Blue Agave: Tequila and the Heart of Mexico. Soho Press, 2010.

Emmons, Bob. The Book of Tequila: A Complete Guide. Open Court Publishing, 2003.

Gaytán, Marie Sarita. ¡Tequila!: Distilling the Spirit of Mexico. Stanford University Press, 2014.

Martineau, Chantal. How the Gringos Stole Tequila: The Modern Age of Mexico's Most Traditional Spirit. Chicago Review Press, 2015.