First mezcal worm

We love an exotic curio in a drink, don’t we? Throughout history we’ve been mysteriously drawn to them, like moths to an agave. The weirder the better. Scorpions in vodka. Snakes in distilled rice wine. Centipedes. Baby mice. All of which usually come with an unsubstantiated ‘artisanal’ backstory that claims to improve health or vitality or virility.

The mezcal ‘worm’ is the A-lister of them all. The clickbait story of a humble, plant-boring insect that has been worming its way into popular drinks mythology for generations.

While it might not be the oldest tradition, it’s certainly become mainstream. Discussed by connoisseurs and college students alike, it’s the one that’s caught the public imagination the most and infested its way into modern popular culture.

Not bad for a small Mexican grub that can’t even officially be classified as a worm.

So what is it then? It’s actually the larva of the agave redworm moth (comadia redtenbacheri), which feeds on the many agave plants that grow in the fields around Oaxaca, the heartland of mezcal, which are used to make this traditional smoky Mexican spirit.

Funnily enough, it’s only recently been confirmed as a single species when the DNA of multiple specimens was scientifically sequenced in 2023 (bet there were a lot of lab assistants who volunteered for that gig). Previous possibilities included the larva of the tequila giant skipper butterfly and the unfortunately named agave snout weevil. Both are major pests to agave and yucca plants all over Mexico but apparently didn’t make the cut when it comes to being preserved in such a precious spirit.

Known in Mexico as a gusano (worm in Spanish), the pink-hued larvae of the redworm moth burrow deep into the heart and roots of agave plants and don’t come out again until they morph into a disappointingly beige moth when fully grown.

Colloquially they are known as chinicuiles, and are commonly roasted or deep fried by locals, usually sprinkled in tacos with green tomatoes, lime and chilli. They’re prized for their nutty taste, which is compared favourably to pork crackling, and have been a protein-rich delicacy since pre-Columbian times. They can be found in markets all over Oaxaca, often costing up to $0.40 a gusano, which can be pretty lucrative business when you think there might be up to 400 or so larvae living in a single plant. That’s why some mezcal makers are said to hire security guards to scour the fields for worm poachers!

Of course, because they burrow in so deep, it’s sometimes quite hard to ‘harvest’ them. Often, it’s best to wait for the rainy season (May-September) when they start wriggling out of the maguey (agave) by themselves. Once caught, they are apparently put in a vat of water for a year to clean before finally being soaked in mezcal, which rinses them of any final waxes or impurities that might affect the final mezcal's flavour.

Now, contrary to what some people believe (you know who you are), the mezcal worm is completely harmless to eat. Despite the legends, it doesn’t contain any psychedelic properties, and it is not a hallucinogen or an aphrodisiac. Those effects you’re feeling? That’ll be the half bottle of mezcal you’ve consumed on an empty stomach.

So how and when did these tasty pests end up in a mezcal bottle (and never tequila by the way)? The answer is: surprisingly recently.

The first year we can confidently verify a worm being in a bottle of mezcal was 1944. And that’s only because there was a legal trademark wrangle between two mezcal brands, both of which were ‘con gusano’ (bottled with a worm).

It seems that in the early 1940s there was an established mezcal brand called Legítimo Mezcal de Oaxaca con su propio gusano (which literally translates as ‘authentic Oaxacan Mezcal with its own worm’). In 1948, a new brand called Gusano de Oro (‘golden worm’) was accused of copying its label text, colour scheme and various other distinctive brand assets. It’s only through this trademark conflict – won by Legítimo Mezcal by the way – that ‘the worm’ makes its triumphant debut in Mexican governmental court documents.

It’s the earliest reference we can find. Scour the internet, and you will read a heap of stories about a man named Jacobo Lozarto Páez – who is variously claimed to be a Chihuahuan-born art student, shop assistant at La Minita (a liquor store in Mexico City), a mezcal bottling plant entrepreneur or a Master Mezcalero. All or none of these facts could be true, but he has been given the popularist honour of being the historical name behind the myth – the first man to add a worm to mezcal. The troubling thing is, these ‘origin’ stories often focus on 1950 as the start date, when we know it was happening at least six years previously, if not more. And is there any information about Jacobo’s earlier or later life that is readily available? There is not. Which is suspicious in itself for such a culturally sensitive legend.  

Mariano Azuela

On top of that, the first literary reference to the worm in a mezcal bottle was in the novel Sendas Perdidas (Lost Roads) in 1949. The last book by Mariano Azuela, a prominent Mexican author, it showed how culturally prevalent the custom had become.

What we do know for sure is that adding a worm to mezcal was a particularly ingenious marketing ploy. Some might claim it was done for taste, others say it shows the purity of the spirit (the high ABV perfectly pickling the worm – so you know the spirit’s not been watered down). Nonsense. The worm was added to help mezcal stand out from tequila brands, which were booming in the 1940s.  

During World War II, tequila had essentially replaced whisky in the U.S. market as European spirit inventories dropped, leading to a surge in demand and a 110% expansion of agave fields between 1940–50. The invention of the margarita cocktail (read the full story here) in the 1940s also helped, boosting its cool and sophisticated image. So mezcal was in tequila’s long dark shadow, perceived as its poorer cousin, and needed something to differentiate it and raise its profile.

The worm gave mezcal a hook, positioning it as being a more wild, rustic and ‘artisanal’ product, particularly for the export market. And it certainly worked, in part. American tourists bought it by the carload. Macho drinkers raced each other to eat the worm in bars and colleges all over the States. The myth spread. But it also did this traditional spirit category no-end of long-term damage too. Fast-forward to the 1970s, and the worm was starting to be seen as a gimmick it was. Premium mezcal producers rightly thought they were devaluing their reputation and detracting from what made mezcal so special by adding a worm to their hand-crafted spirit. And better educated consumers started associating the worm with cheaper, lower-tier brands.

This led to some mezcal producers vocally calling to ban the worm entirely in the mid-1990s. The fight went all the way to federal government, but Mexico’s health authorities ultimately determined the larvae used in mezcal were safe for human consumption and there was no clear food‑safety reason for a ban. It was also concluded that 'worm mezcals' were just a commercial niche. It’s certainly true these days, as worms are rarely seen in the bottles that grace the shelves of global bars or spirit shops.

Today, mezcal proudly and rightly sits side-by-side with tequila, most brands now emphasising the nuances of terroir and artisanal craftsmanship rather than using any form of gimmickry to sell their wares.

But for centuries, the gusano represented much more than just a taco filling or marketing ploy. For the Mexican indigenous peoples, it was a symbol of fertility, change and life. And ultimately, that’s what it’s been doing all along. The worm was used to give life or change the mezcal category for the better in the 1940s. So, although a rare sight these days, when you next see the ‘worm’, spare a thought for the role a humble moth has played in the fortunes and reputation of this global Mexican spirit category.