A Little Blood

On tequila's longtime dance partner, sangrita.

by Felicia D' Ambrosio

From the fertile volcanic soil of Jalisco, Mexico arises the blue agave, a spiky cactus monitored by jimadores with generations of knowledge about the slow-growing plant. The agave matures for four to seven years before its juicy heart is harvested, slow-roasted to extract its complex sweetness, then mashed and distilled to produce the shot of tequila you so carelessly pound down at happy hour.

A better way to appreciate tequila's floral, vegetal and pepper notes is to sip the spirit alternately with its longtime dance partner, sangrita. LeNell Smothers, co-owner of Casa Coctel in La Paz, Mexico, traces sangrita's origins back to a snack of oranges topped with chili powder and salt in the home of a Senor and Senora Sanchez; the oranges were eventually juiced, and somewhere along the way tomato juice came into play, giving sangrita its moniker, meaning "a little blood." Apocrypha aside, a modern sangrita mixture of tomato and citrus juices spiked with chili powder or hot sauce is now a standard accompaniment to a caballito of booze at Philly's better tequila destinations.

Twins Cantina los Caballitos (1651 E. Passyunk Ave.) and Cantina dos Segundos (931 N. Second St.) take a Bloody Maria approach to sangrita. A combination of orange and tomato juices are punched with housemade vegan Worcestershire sauce, hot sauce and a blend of spices, including garlic powder. In addition to partnering flights and shots of high-end tequila, both Cantinas serve Micheladas of sangrita and beer, a strange-sounding pairing that alchemically transforms a steamy dog day. A similarly savory admixture is prepared with fresh juices at Tequilas (1602 Locust St.), where manager Manuel Lopez encourages guests to try sangrita as an aperitif. "It opens your appetite," he says.

Distrito (3945 Chestnut St.) serves sangrita with its shots, but the kitchen also spins its tomato, orange and lime concoction into a sorbet adorning hiramasa ceviche, the red nectar providing contrast to buttery yellowtail.

The sweetness and acidity of sangrita are what makes it sing, a tone that can be quickly drowned by tomato juice's loud flavor. At Xochitl (408 S. Second St.), general manager Sergio Ruiz adds only a modest amount of tomato ("for color") to his 12-ingredient sangrita, based on equal parts blood orange purée, and orange, pineapple and tomato juices, plus lime juice, chili piquin, pomegranate molasses and a puréed quarter of a small onion. "It's not mainly tomato juice," says Ruiz. "It should be sweet and savory at the same time." If you want to try it in cocktail form, quietly ask a Xochitl bartender for a Vampiro, a sort of red margarita that replaces sticky lime and triple sec with a little blood.

(felicia.dambrosio@citypaper.net)