National spirit Mexico's snake tequila rattles the innards

ENSENADA, Mexico -- Dropping into Francisco Dario's cantina in a remote canyon southeast of this tourist resort can be perilous.

As the gray-haired jack-of-all-trades invites visitors into the establishment built in the shadow of Mount Pico del Diablo, he warns them not to tap on a jar containing an angry rattlesnake.

But he doesn't seem too nervous about filling a shot glass with a wooden ladle full of the crude and fiery spirit tequila con vibora. Rattlesnake tequila.

Dario's hideaway may be the last in northern Baja California to serve this most elemental form of Mexico's national spirit -- a folk remedy to many natives and a cross-cultural dare for hard-partying college kids. In a country where much of the tequila industry has turned sophisticated -- with handblown bottles and years of aging in oak casks -- Dario offers a whole coiled rattlesnake soaking in every reclaimed juice jar on his bar.

There is nothing subtle about this rough elixir he serves up at the Rancho Agua Caliente, an 800-acre natural hot spring at the end of a dirt road off Baja's Highway 3, roughly two hours south of San Diego.

Sliding a brimming shot glass across his dark Formica-topped bar, the 46-year-old ranch manager smiles and urges: "Try it. It calms the nerves, and is a fine remedy for arthritis, kidney problems and cancer."

Liquid fire

Laden with pinkish scales and snake pulp, it goes down like liquid fire.

Dario was taught how to make the stuff, which goes for about a buck a shot, by a previous manager who reportedly learned the process from a Japanese business partner.

Leaning on the bar, he said, "I catch a snake myself with a special stick. Then I drop it into a jar and fill it with a gallon or so of cheap white tequila."

In its death throes, the snake emits minute amounts of compounds with certain medicinal properties, Dario contends.

"After it's dead, I gut the snake and put it back in the jar," he said. "Then I put the jar in the sun for three months, then in the shade for three months."

"After all that, it's ready to serve," he added.

The fact that Dario's customers don't keel over on the spot may have to do with the product's exposure to sunlight. Rattlesnake venom breaks down in high temperatures, according to experts.

Don Boyer, curator of reptiles and amphibians at the San Diego Zoo, is more concerned with the fate of the snakes.

"I've actually been to Rancho Agua Caliente and talked to the owners," he said. "I told them, 'I like tequila as much as anyone. But, gee, do you really have to kill rattlesnakes?'"

Disappearing from scene

Locals, however, say tequila con vibora is disappearing from the cultural scene in Baja California, where the biggest cities are being rapidly transformed by new high-tech businesses, seaside developments and waves of retirees from the United States.

"In years past, every local cantina had a pickle jar full of it stashed somewhere; not anymore," said John Bragg, who keeps one of the world's largest collections of tequila, North America's first distilled spirit, at his Pancho's restaurant in Cabo San Lucas.

Among his more than 500 tequilas is tequila con vibora.

"We sell over 50 gallons a year of it at $4 a shot to mostly American college kids, who make a big deal out of it," he said. "Sometimes they make me haul the snake out so they can get a picture holding it."

Added Bragg: "That beat up old snake looks like a ragged piece of inner tube."