Cholula
Along the worn, well-traveled road that stretches lazily towards the center of Chapala, Mexico, a young girl walks slowly, her bare feet shuffling in the dirt. In her hand she holds a small guitar by the neck, it’s body occasionally tapping the dusty trail.
“Hurry up, Maria,” her father says ahead of her.
He’s a young man with jet black hair, clad in traditional Mariachi clothing. Even from the back, he's handsome. He also holds an instrument, the larger guitarrón. Though unlike Maria, his respectful hand ensures that it never touches the ground.
She quickens her step to catch up to her father, as he once again calls back to her.
“One day mija, you’ll be walking this road to star in your own shows.” he says.
She looks to the ground. “I don’t know.”
“You’re young, we’ll keep practicing. You’ll get better.” Through each word he reassures her as only a father can.
It’s not that she's a bad mariachi, or even that she dislikes it. She enjoys playing. Likes how she could let herself hide behind the guitar, in the background (as opposed to her father’s role as guitarrón, in which he leads the rhythm of the whole piece). But most of all, she feels like she is a part of something greater, something that means more to the town of Chapala than it ever would to her.
They approach the center of town. It’s little more than a cobblestone square but today it’s lined with people. She sees some who sit in the sun, farmers who display their colorful peppers and earthy spices, and children who run after each other, splashing their hands in the cool water of the fountain.
Her father leaves to join his band mates and shortly after, the notes from their first song start to ring out, giving the town square a new energy, as if their music is the heart which sustains the life of the whole village. As the song continues, the children, farmers, and workers continue to gather. As they fill in the empty space, blocking her view, he looks back at her and winks.
She would never be as good of a mariachi as her father. But that was ok. She didn’t have to be the best. She would be happy to simply be good enough. Much like this bottle of Cholula Hot Sauce.
Traits: Mild, peppery, sweet.
Heat: 3,600 SHU
Label: Classic, makes me feel like home. Bob Saget label. The wood topper is my favorite thing to accidentally drop and watch roll underneath my oven.
Score: A very good go-to. Nothing life changing, but always satisfying. 3.5/5 guitarróns.