Skip Baltimore? Not after Clavel.

By James Colino

 

As a teenager, my parents would drag me to Inner Harbor in Baltimore at least once per year. We’d walk along the waters edge looking at sail boats wondering who could afford such things. I would peer into the brackish water littered with cigarettes and candy wrappers hoping to catch a glimpse of a crab dismembering a dead fish or something. That was the highlight of my trip.

Over the years, Baltimore became a place I passed by on the way to DC or New York. I never gave a return visit a second thought.

That was almost 20 years ago.

Today, when the topic of visiting Baltimore comes up in conversation, l always hear people say it’s dangerous and not worth visiting.

I’m sure some parts of the city are dangerous. Every city has them. But, last week, I found a cleaned up Inner Harbor. I found a city teeming with smart college students. I found a sports town with pride in their teams. And best of all, I found a really good reason to return to Baltimore on a regular basis.

That reason is a mezcaleria called Clavel.

Clavel Vibe

Typically, Tuesday is a dead zone for most restaurants. 8pm on a Tuesday is usually cleanup time. So when I pulled up to Clavel and found a parking spot right in front of the building, I was fully expecting to find the bartenders cleaning glasses and the waiters doing sidework.

Outside, the street was dark and quiet. The location wasn’t quite what I expected. It’s not on restaurant row. It’s not in a cute neighborhood. But it’s exactly where I’m used to seeing a restaurant in the Mexican neighborhood where I grew up in Illinois. In a real Latino neighborhood, bars and restaurants are where they are. They’re a destination – not part of a multi-year re-development project. It felt like home.

As I got out of my car and snapped a few pictures for the Gram, I wasn’t sure how to enter the building. I mean, there was a door, but it didn’t look like your typical entrance. I pulled on the handle anyway, expecting it to be locked. Instead, the door swung open to an unexpected buzz of human energy, clanking plates, and familiar Mexican smells.

The place was hoppin!

So much so that I barely get both feet past the door frame.  My butt was keeping the door from closing. From my tip toes, I could see what looked like a kitchen at the far end of the narrow hallway-like entrance. To my right, behind a windowed wall was a bustling dining room filled with all walks of life. There was a trio wearing army fatigues, a couple on a first date, a young family of four, and a business meeting in full swing. Everyone looked happy.

I was about 10 or 12 people deep in line but I could see a hostess leading people past a small but crowded bar area. She was good. Clavel doesn’t take reservations so she had to think on the fly trying to fit each group of customers wherever she could without extending their wait or overwhelming the servers. That can’t be easy.

As I got closer to the front of the line, I could see more of the interior. The space was dimly lit with the glow of rope lights and candles softly illuminating arched doorways and exposed brick walls. I had a clear shot at the busy kitchen now. It was an all-woman kitchen. That made me smile. It reminded me of my childhood. On many weekends, my family would rent dance halls for special events and the women would occupy the kitchen to cook mole, tortillas, beans, and rice.

The reason for my visit this day was not to eat though. It was to sip mezcal. I’d heard good things about Clavel from my mezcal community. They have a regular weekly tasting event bookable through Resy. There were spots available when I looked online the week prior but I got sidetracked and never locked in a date. When I returned to book it, it was sold out. Hoping to reverse my misfortune (but with zero expectation of a reply) I emailed a generic email address asking if I could book a table or a seat at the bar instead.

To my surprise, the GM Siska got back to me right away and explained that the event was indeed sold out. She also mentioned they don’t take reservations but she would gladly hold a bar seat for me. That sounded promising. But when I arrived and saw how busy the bar was, I didn’t think I’d be sitting any time soon. Imagine my surprise then when the hostess walked me over to the bar, wedged herself through the crowd, and showed me to a lone wooden stool leaning forward against the underside of the bar. It was reserved for me.

The Tasting

Sitting down at the bar of proper mezcaleria is always a little bit overwhelming for me. My eyes scan the shelves looking at labels, I check out the glassware, I look for a mezcal list, and I always peek at the cocktails leaving the service area.

This time, I was intrigued by a large glass demijohn in the corner with a dark liquid in it. More on that later.

In the US, most mezcalerias pride themselves on having a large selection of mezcal to choose from. As such, I expected a huge wall of mezcal. Instead, I found what appeared to be a highly curated list of bottles.

Since I couldn’t join the guided tasting, I decided to do my own at the bar. It’s what I normally do anyway. After scanning the mezcal list for far too long, I ignored my usual “start with a something sweet and simple” rule. My go to is typically an ancestral espadin. But this time, for some reason, I ordered a Tepaxtate. It was a rookie mistake. Tepaxtates can hit your tongue like a lightening bolt if your pallet isn’t ready and this one certainly did.

While my eyes were still watering, I vaguely noticed a man making his way down the bar shaking hands with and talking to patrons. He seemed to know everyone. When he got to me, he relocated a friendly local who was sitting next to me, pulled up a stool, and starting talking to me mid-sentence as if we were picking up a conversation from five minutes ago.

 “I was hungry. I had to eat. So I thought I’d come down and order some tacos. I’m Carlos, by the way.” he said as he shook my hand.

“What have you tried?” he asked. My face was still numb from the Tepa but I managed to tell him about the lightening in my mouth. “Oh, you have to try a tobala.” he said.  “It’s so smooth.”

Before I could reply, the bartender brought over a couple clay copitas with  and a skinny bottle of Dixeebe Tobala.

“This is a 52 but you won’t even know it.” Carlos was referring to the alcohol content.

From here I want to oscillate between his intentionality behind the restaurant, his warmness, the staff warmness, the good mezcal and him eating tacos. And leaving as quickly as he came.

And in a flurry of hand gestures and requests for the bartender, some tacos appeared and a two copitas.

We had Dixeebe Tobala. It was a 52% but it didn’t burn. Most Tobablas don’t. It had notes of papaya and orange peel.

We also had a Cinco Capon. This is a unique production method whereby they in a cowhide. It was a little gamey, cacao and serrnaos. I expected it to be sweeter.  A lot of capons are because they have more time to concentrate their sugars.

Oneof th eunique things of a mezcaleria is how they serve their mezcal. It was served couldn’ for some unknown reason I made a rookie mistake. They served theirs

“We have a very intentional agave program. If we don’t know the producer, chances are, it’s not on our shelves.”

I asked Carlos, “You’ve been open for over a decade. You’ve had lots of people write about this place. What store haven’t you told that you want people to know?”

It seems a place where everyone is welcome and everyone knows it.

He said “I We haven’t really changed anything since we opened. We started with intention and we continue to be intentional about everything we do.”

He went on to explain the relationships they have with co-ops in Mexico where they source indigenous strains of corn they use for their tortillas. They have an on–site nixtaleria where they use a natural processing method to prepare the corn for masa. They were the best corn tortillas I’ve ever had.

“For every mezcal we put on our shelf, it’s there for a reason. Maybe we know the family. We’ve been to their houses. Their values are similar to ours. We don’t carry a bottle just because it’s popular.

I noticed the shelves don’t have vodka, gin, or bourbon. Those are hidden. You can order one, but the main event here is the mezcal.

 The word clavel translates to "carnation" in Spanish.

For the restaurant's co-owners, Chef Carlos Raba and Lane Harlan, the name holds a specific family significance. Raba chose the name to honor his great-grandmother, who had a deep love for flowers. The carnation serves as a tribute to his Mexican heritage and the familial foundation that the mezcalería was built upon.

Mexican wines on the list, even if no one orders them. Sticking to the plan. Building something you love.

The night was full of surprises. The city surprised me, the lively tuesday, the welcoming staff, the all female kitchen, the personal tasting with the owner.

 

Keep going

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James Colino is the founder of Mezcal Culture and The Mezcal Download. He holds a Mezcal Certification from the Agave Spirits Institute and can be found visiting mezcalerias across the world, host tastings at home for friends, and working with bars on their agave programs.

 
Drinking MezcalJames Colino