
Chef Lupita
Agua de Chaya con Limón
Yucatán's everyday tonic of boiled chaya leaves blended with lima agria, sugar, and ice. The bright green jarra that sits on every Peninsula table from Mérida to Valladolid.
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Yucatán's Maya honey-anise liqueur, built on toasted green anise, aged rum, and Melipona honey from the stingless bees the Maya have kept for two thousand years.
Xtabentún is from Yucatán. Not from Mexico generally. From Yucatán specifically, and the recipe carries the weight of a peninsula that has always cooked, distilled, and lived a little apart from the rest of the country. The name comes from Maya, xtabentún, the morning glory vine whose white flowers the stingless Melipona bees work for their honey. That honey is the soul of the liqueur. Everything else serves it.
The technique is simple to describe and demanding to do right. Toast the green anise. Steep it in rum. Sweeten it with honey thinned by warm, not hot, syrup. Rest it twice. That is the whole recipe. But every step is a place to ruin it. Burn the anise and the batch is bitter. Cook the honey and you erase the flower note that justifies the trip to a Yucatecan apiary. Rush the rest and the rum and honey sit beside each other in the glass instead of becoming one thing. La cocina no es decoración, es trabajo, and this includes the bottles on the shelf.
In the Yucatán I know, xtabentún is the drink that closes the meal. After cochinita pibil at a Sunday lunch in Mérida. After a long evening at a cantina in Valladolid. Stirred into café de olla as a Mayan coffee, the way the cooks in the small hotels around Izamal serve it to guests who linger after dinner. It is not a cocktail bar ingredient. It is a peninsula's after-dinner ritual, and the Melipona bees that make it possible are an inheritance the Maya have protected since before the Spanish landed at Campeche. Saber cocinar es saber vivir, and that includes knowing how to end the night.
Xtabentún descends from a pre-Columbian Maya ritual beverage called balché, fermented from the bark of the balché tree and Melipona honey, used in ceremonies dedicated to the gods of the underworld and the rain. When Spanish colonizers prohibited balché as part of the suppression of indigenous religious practice, Maya distillers adapted by infusing the honey and anise with sugar-cane aguardiente, the spirit the Spanish themselves had introduced, producing the liqueur recognized today. The flower for which the drink is named, Turbina corymbosa, contains compounds historically used by Maya priests as an entheogen, though the modern commercial liqueur is made strictly from the honey of bees that forage on the flower, not from the flower itself. The Melipona beecheii bee, central to the recipe, has been domesticated continuously in Yucatán for over two thousand years and is now classified as endangered by Mexican environmental authorities.
Quantity
1/2 cup
Quantity
1 tablespoon
lightly crushed
Quantity
3 cups
aguardiente de caña if you can find it
Quantity
1 cup
single-origin orange-blossom honey as a compromise
Quantity
1 cup
Quantity
1/2 cup
finely grated
Quantity
1 strip, about 2 inches
or Persian lime peel, pith removed
Quantity
1 small
Quantity
1/4 teaspoon
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| whole green anise seeds (anís verde) | 1/2 cup |
| star anise podslightly crushed | 1 tablespoon |
| white rum, 80 proofaguardiente de caña if you can find it | 3 cups |
| Yucatecan Melipona honeysingle-origin orange-blossom honey as a compromise | 1 cup |
| filtered water | 1 cup |
| turbinado or piloncillofinely grated | 1/2 cup |
| lima agria peelor Persian lime peel, pith removed | 1 strip, about 2 inches |
| cinnamon stick, canela de Ceylán | 1 small |
| kosher salt | 1/4 teaspoon |
Heat a dry comal or small heavy skillet over medium-low. Add the green anise seeds and the crushed star anise. Toast them gently for two to three minutes, shaking the pan constantly, until they smell sweet and faintly licorice and the seeds darken half a shade. Do not let them brown. Burned anise turns the whole batch bitter and there is no fixing it once you have committed the rum.
Tip the toasted anise into a clean one-quart glass jar. Pour the rum over the seeds. Drop in the strip of lima agria peel and the cinnamon stick. Seal the jar and shake it. Set it in a dark cupboard for seven days. Shake it once a day, no more. The rum will pull color from the anise and the peel and turn a pale straw gold. This is the infusion. There are no shortcuts here. No me vengas con atajos.
After seven days, make the syrup. In a small saucepan, combine the water, the grated piloncillo, and the salt over medium-low heat. Stir until the sugar dissolves completely. Do not boil. Pull the pot off the heat the moment it is clear and let it cool until it is just warm to the back of your hand, about body temperature. Now whisk in the Melipona honey. Heat is the enemy of honey. Pour honey into hot syrup and you cook off everything that makes Melipona worth using. Warm syrup only. Así se hace y punto.
Strain the infused rum through a fine-mesh sieve lined with a single layer of cheesecloth into a clean two-quart jar or pitcher. Press the seeds gently with the back of a spoon. Discard the spent anise, peel, and cinnamon. Pour the warm honey syrup into the strained rum and stir slowly with a wooden spoon for a full minute. The liquid will turn the color of dark amber held up to afternoon light. Seal the jar and return it to the dark cupboard for another seven days. The flavors marry in this second rest. Skip it and the rum and honey will taste like two separate things in the same glass.
After the second rest, strain the liqueur one more time through cheesecloth into a clean bottle. The xtabentún should be glossy, syrupy enough to coat the back of a spoon, and faintly viscous when you tilt the bottle. Store it at room temperature in a dark place. It keeps for at least a year and the flavor only deepens for the first three months.
Pour two ounces into a small clay copita or a thick-walled glass, neat and at room temperature, after dinner. For a hot afternoon in Mérida, pour over a single large ice cube in a heavy tumbler. For the Mayan coffee finisher, stir one ounce into a small cup of strong café de olla brewed with piloncillo and canela. That last one is how my friend Doña Rosario in Valladolid sends her guests home.
1 serving (about 60g)
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