When we rename the things we see according to our own language, culture, lifestyle, and worldview, we not only change their title, but we also change their essence. When the Europeans arrived in America, they christened local drinks with familiar names — wine, beer, mead — granting them with new words from their own cultural and linguistic repertoire. When Brazil became known as such, the ‘nanavi,’ an indigenous fermented pineapple drink, began to be referred to as ‘pineapple wine.’ The ‘cauim,’ a fermented cassava drink reported by famous German sailor Hans Staden, was renamed the ‘beer’ of the Indigenous peoples, according to chronicles of the discovery.

In the same way, Indigenous peoples renamed the white, fiery alcoholic beverage of the Europeans using their own vocabulary. Alcoholic distillation was unknown in pre-Columbian Latin America, and so, this elixir — the one that burned like the ire of Guaraci — they called cauim tatá: drink of fire.

The truth is, when we call cauim the indigenous ‘beer,’ we automatically give it a different meaning. Cauim was never a beer, but rather a different kind of beverage altogether — a drink with nutritional, social, and ritual functions, different from those of the Europeans’ and fundamental to many Indigenous peoples. Cauim is made from entirely American ingredients, including corn, cassava, cashew, sweet potatoes, and yams. In renaming something, we often lose much of its original meaning because we apply a foreign perspective to its new name and leave out much of the cultural context and original tradition. This phenomenon seems to have intensified over time as the world has increasingly forgotten languages, rituals, religions, customs, and entire food cultures.

‘Wines’ and ‘beers’ made from pineapple, cashew, jenipapo, sweet potatoes, corn, plantains, honey and cassava are still found all over Brazil — as are the innumerable ways to make them: chewing, boiling, dilution and mixing — even though their presence has decreased or disappeared altogether with the development of cities.

Centuries of cultural repression, westernisation, and subsequent industrialisation of indigenous foodways have led to a diminishment of what was once a diversity of alcoholic fermented beverages, each with its own name and preparation. Now, there are just a few types of fermented alcoholic drinks on supermarket shelves, placed alongside beers, wines, and, on rare occasion, sake.

Vandana Shiva states in her book Monocultures of the Mind that: “the disappearance of local knowledge through interaction with dominant Western knowledge occurs at many levels and through many processes. First, they make local knowledge disappear by simply not seeing it, denying its existence. This is very easy for the distant gaze of the dominant system of globalisation. Born of a dominant and colonising culture, modern knowledge systems are themselves colonisers.”

We can imagine, centuries or even millennia ago, the diversity of alcoholic beverages that existed in the world. Each continent, country, region, and even family had their own alcoholic fermentation recipes. It was common to find people fermenting fruits, while others preferred to use honey, grains, or roots as the base for their drinks. This wealth of alternatives mirrored the creativity and deep connection ancestral communities had with nature and all of its resources.

Some entrusted the task of breaking down starch to germination, while others relied on chewing, and still, others embraced simple and spontaneous alcoholic fermentation, like what  happens in honey and wild fruits. The combinations were rich and varied: fruits with honey, honey with herbs, grains with fruits, plant sap with grains and honey, added resins. Each of these thousands of beverages had its own name, tradition, and production method that tied it to a people or place. There were no restrictions to conform to, no classifications or regulations.

Communities that were rich in fruits fermented fruits. Those with abundant grains fermented grains. It is precisely this intentional use of available natural resources that produced nearly all primitive alcoholic beverages. It is no coincidence that grape wine was born or developed in the region of Georgia: there, the fruit is plentiful, native, robust, adapted, and naturally full of sugar and yeast, two essential qualities for the success of a good fermented drink. Interestingly, although many associate the birth of grape wine with Georgia, ancient ceramics prove that the oldest records of fermented grapes are, in fact, Chinese and were mixed with other grains, fruits, and honey; about 10,000 years ago these fermentations were prescribed as potent remedies.

Before society categorised, normalised, and standardised alcoholic beverages according to market rules, designations of origin, characteristics, and even ‘purity standards,’ the world of alcoholic fermentations was far less bureaucratic and, I dare say, much more authentic and fun. The beverages produced and consumed not only had intoxicating functions but were also nutritious, medicinal, and sacred.

It wasn’t until the European Middle Ages that many of the alcoholic beverages known up to that point began to be classified, which also made them subject to regulation, control, and taxation. The modern world of fermented alcoholic beverages has resulted from centuries of documentation, standardisation, globalised techniques and ingredients, industrialisation, and mass production, which have increasingly distanced these drinks from their origin, traditional use, and even their ‘purpose.’

We established production standards and turned most alcoholic beverages into something replicable worldwide. And while many of them have benefited from the refinement of techniques and strict standards over time, giving rise to true cultural gems, this path often focuses more on the need for control and taxation than on the appreciation or preservation of local traditions. As a result, fermentative possibilities that fall outside of the norm and commercial standards have diminished, relegated to the background of all alcoholic beverages in our contemporary world.

Today, some authors face challenges classifying ancestral fermented beverages, debating between the terms ‘beer’ and ‘wine’ to describe a diversity that exists outside of those names. While some choose to use the term ‘wine’ to refer to ancestral fruit ferments (rich in fructose), others prefer the term ‘beer’ for those made from grains, tubers, and roots (which contain starch) and reserve the term ‘mead’ for beverages based from honey.

Grains and Roots

Grains and roots face a distinct challenge when it comes to alcoholic fermentation. This is because the sugars present in these ingredients are too large to be converted directly into alcohol. In order for the starch in grains and roots to be converted into alcohol, it must first break down into smaller sugars. This breakdown rarely occurs naturally, and that’s where highly refined ancestral techniques come into play: methods to break down this starch through germination, salivation, conversion by microorganisms, and even enzymes present in specific plants.

According to many experts, ancestral beverages made from grains and roots are often classified as ‘beers,’ further subdividing into different categories. Malted beers are made from grains that have undergone a germination process, while white beers are achieved by microorganism conversion, and insalivated beers are produced through chewing. In the first category, we find beers made from malted grains and the renowned chicha de jora in Peru. ‘Chicha’ is the generic name given to corn ferments that spread throughout Latin America, divided between insalivated chichas (the same starch breakdown process by ptyalin) and germinated chichas (germination allows the breakdown of starch into simpler sugars). Often, they are produced from insalivated cassava or corn, fermented to create a characteristic alcoholic beverage.

In processes involving grains such as barley, wheat, or other cereals, they are moistened and kept under controlled conditions of temperature and humidity, stimulating sprout growth. Then, the grains are dried and ground for use in the beer-making process. The second group includes sake and ‘pajuarú’, which are known for the conversion, or intentional contamination, of microorganisms during fermentation. Finally, we have the third group, which includes beverages like cauims, caxiris, and masatos, which are produced through the process of salivation.

Salivation

It is essential to accurately emphasise how important and prevalent salivation is in the world of ancestral beverages. Chicha in Peru, ‘pikami’ in Arizona, ‘kawa’ in Polynesia, and cauims, caxiris, and masatos in the Amazon go through similar processes. The presence of ptyalin, a digestive enzyme in saliva, plays a fundamental role in converting starch and sugar into maltose and dextrin, therefore enabling saccharification and, in turn, fermentation. This chewing and spitting promotes the breakdown of starch, essential for alcoholic fermentation. Various ingredients such as potatoes, sweet potatoes, yucca, yams, corn, bananas, quinoa, barley, wheat, and cassava are used in the production of these beverages, processed through mastication and fermentation.

Brazilian Ancestral Alcoholic Beverages

Since time immemorial, Brazilian Indigenous peoples have produced and celebrated their fermented beverages, which played crucial roles in their religious and ritual cultures. One of the oldest documented references to these beverages is cauim, a fermented cassava drink consumed by the Tupiniquin and Tupinambá peoples. Records in Hans Staden’s book, Viagens e Aventuras no Brasil (1557), describe the process where women chewed boiled cassava roots, creating a mass that, when mixed with water, fermented in large underground pots, resulted in a dense and possibly nutritious beverage.

Despite numerous interferences related to European invasion, religion, industrialisation, and globalisation, some tribes have resisted and continue to maintain their traditions, fostering ritual ceremonies involving the consumption of their versions of fermented beverages, with various names, distinct processes, and specific purposes. Among these, examples of resistance within Brazilian territory can be highlighted.

The Arawetés celebrate the production of corn cauim with elaborate rituals. The process includes women chewing, while men hunt and dance as they heat the fermenting cauim. The ceremony culminates with participants sharing meat and strengthening social connections.

The Tikuna produce pajuarú, a beverage made from fermented cassava beiju. The technique involves the process known as ‘cebar’ to remove cyanide, followed by heating the dough in the oven. Unlike cauim, they use enzymes from the ‘periquiteira’, a tree found in tropical American regions, to break down starch. The result is a rough beiju but an effective fermentation.

The Wayampis celebrate their festivities with caxiri, a beverage made from cassava. The ritual includes an initial mastication by virgins of the tribe, who then ferment the cassava in a wooden boat with a second double fermentation. The beverage is presented as an offering to the gods to ensure good harvests and safe journeys.

The Igarikós use beiju and caxiri as base foods, enriching caxiri with different ingredients like meat and fish. Women are in charge of production, their skills indispensable, from extraction of the cassava’s intoxicant, all the way through to creation of flavourful sauces.

The Xokleng produce mõg, a beverage made from honey, xaxim heart, and other ingredients. This beverage is used on special occasions, such as weddings and rituals, due to its anaesthetic and analgesic effects. The secret recipe is held by the elders.

Latin America: Techniques, Processes, and Customs

Pajuarú. Abativi. Kouroucaya. Kasiri. Nanavi. Jetivi. Cauim. Mocororó. Tarubá. Caiçuma. Mõg. Macaloba. Chicha. Masato. Pulke. Tepache. We are intertwined in a delicate web of alcoholic traditions that blend, fuse, and transcend the boundaries of time and space. However, it is not surprising that many of us are unfamiliar with these beverages.

A notable example of extremely refined techniques in the production of alcoholic beverages is the Amazonian pajuarús, mentioned earlier, made from intentionally contaminated cassava beijus with specific microorganisms. Preparation of the Amazonian pajuarú begins with cassava beiju, a traditional byproduct made from cassava starch, also known as tapioca. The beiju is intentionally contaminated with, or converted by, microorganisms that play a fundamental role in starch breakdown and sugar fermentation. Contamination is done by exposing cassava beijus to specific temperatures and humidities, wrapped in leaves, in the middle of the jungle. This process is similar to that used in the production of the famous Japanese sake with its kojis and rice. Today we know that, in addition to various yeasts and bacteria, one of the microorganisms responsible for starch breakdown is Rhizopus oligosporus, a filamentous fungus of the Zygomycetes class. It is recognized for its important role in fermentation processes, including the production of traditional foods in various cultures.

Another example of ancestral techniques that are extremely elaborate and long forgotten is the cajú mocororó from northeastern Brazil. These older mocororó variations were fermented from native cashews, processed in clay amphoras stored underground. The same wisdom is found in the tradition of Georgian wines made in amphoras. The mocororó we know today is a fermented beverage made from cashews, found throughout the northeast, especially on the coast of Ceará, and preserved by the Jenipapo-Kanindé and Tremembé ethnic groups in their festivities and rituals. It is estimated that at least 14 Ceará ethnic groups practise the tradition of fermenting cashew beverages. But, as with many other cases, the word ‘mocororó’ does not only refer to the Jenipapo-Kanindé’s fermented cashew drink. ‘Mocororó’ is a generalised term, just like the words ‘cauim,’ ‘caiçuma,’ and ‘caxiri,’ used to refer to a series of fermented beverages from different regions and ethnicities. Today, there are cassava-based mocororós in Pará and rice-based mocororós in Maranhão.

As we delve into the world of corn, we come across the chichas, previously mentioned. Countries with a tradition of making corn chicha include Peru, Colombia, Ecuador, Bolivia, Venezuela, Panama, El Salvador, and Guatemala. The exact origin of the name ‘chicha’ is not entirely clear and may vary among different Latin American cultures and regions. However, it is believed that the word has origins in the Indigenous languages of the region and became popular among colonists after the European invasion, who began calling many alcoholic beverages they found in America ‘chichas.’ In a number of native languages, there were words that denoted the action or process of cooking or preparing food, and it is possible that chicha may have emerged from one of these words. For example, in Quechua, the word chicha may come from the word ‘chichay’, which means ‘to cook’ or ‘to ferment.’

The consumption of ancestral fermented Latin American alcoholic beverages that still lives on today is limited to traditional and rural communities, folk festivals, or other references related to Indigenous culture. An example of this is ‘aluá’, which is still present in celebrations and rural areas of Brazil, especially in certain regions of Minas Gerais and Bahia. Aluá is a fermented beverage that was previously known by Indigenous peoples of the region but was introduced by Africans on Brazilian soil. Aluá is made from corn or corn flour, cooked and fermented for long periods of time. Versions of this beverage made with rice and pineapple peels are also common. In an early version of aluá, Indigenous peoples fermented only corn; the eventual addition of rapadura, or unrefined sugar, ‘for better fermentation’ occurred after the arrival of Europeans and the sugarcane era. Aluá, like many other ancestral alcoholic beverages, has notable similarities with other beverages produced in different Latin American countries. A similar example to aluá would be tepache.

Both aluá and tepache are instances of traditional fermented beverages that share similarities in both their production processes and their cultural relationship with fermentation. Both beverages have deep roots in the Indigenous and popular cultures of their respective regions. Tepache, native to Mexico, is made from the fermentation of pineapple peels, water, sugar, and spices, which results in a refreshing and slightly effervescent beverage.

Beverages made from cassava, corn, or salivated and fermented fruits are abundant throughout Latin American territory. In Brazil, referring only to salivated and fermented cassava, we hear the names ‘cauim’ in the old Tupi language, ‘masato’ for the Axaninkas, ‘tarubá’ for the Satures-Mawés, ‘caiçuma’ for the Yawanawás, ‘caxiri’ for the Wajampis, ‘macaloba’ for the Zorós. Masato, consumed in various regions of the Amazon, is also made through cassava mastication, followed by fermentation of the resulting dough.

Although the best-known cauim in Brazil is made from cassava, there are cauims made from fresh corn throughout Brazilian territory, such as those of the Guarani peoples. We also see variations made with roasted corn, potatoes, sweet potatoes, yams, bananas, palm saps and fruits. The same goes for caiçumas and caxiris, other terms considered generic today for many of the primitive Brazilian fermented alcoholic beverages. In addition to the examples listed above, fermented beverages made from salivated cassava appear in several other countries, such as Suriname’s ‘kasiri’ and French Guiana’s ‘kouroucaya.’

Kasiri (here, the question of phonetic similarity with the Brazilian term ‘caxiri’ arises) is a traditional alcoholic beverage from Suriname. Made from cassava, kasiri plays a significant cultural role in Indigenous and Quilombola peoples in the region. The production process of kasiri involves the use of bitter cassava, rich in starch, which is grated, squeezed to extract the liquid, and then left to ferment. The starch in the cassava is converted into sugars, allowing alcoholic fermentation. The result is a beverage with moderate alcohol content and an important role in local community celebrations and rituals.

Kouroucaya is an intriguing fermented beverage rooted in the traditions of French Guiana. Made from ingredients including cassava, it also plays a fundamental role in the cultural and ritual practices of local communities. Its production process is meticulous and often involves collective participation, bringing community members together for the preparation of the beverage through chewing, salivation, and fermentation.

Across the vast landscape of alcoholic beverages, Latin American ancestral traditions awaken interest, due to their authenticity and rich millennia-long history. However, the desire to incorporate these beverages into the modern commercial market raises important considerations. The central question is how to preserve and pay homage to Indigenous traditions without distorting their essence and meaning. It is a significant challenge: removing these beverages from the tribal and ritual context diminishes their purpose and authenticity. We must remember that current standards and concepts of beverages often do not align with Indigenous perceptions of what constitutes an alcoholic beverage.

The incorporation of ancestral beverages into contemporary culture requires a deep respect for the traditions and rituals of each ethnicity. It is not a simple ‘copy and paste’ process, but one that requires sensitive and adaptable understanding. It is necessary to analyse how we can rescue techniques and preparation methods, while preserving cultural significance and without promoting misappropriation. Furthermore, the commercial revival of traditional beverages requires a balance between health regulations, contemporary taste, and alcohol content standards.

Imagine a traditional cauim or chicha being served in a wine bar. The cloudy liquid, with pieces of cassava or corn, pronounced acidity, and low alcohol content, does not conform to modern consumption standards — not to mention a preparation method that involves chewing and saliva. The question, therefore, is how to honour and keep alive Latin American ethanolic traditions without losing their authenticity and adapting them to today’s standards? The answer may lie in creating new alcohol-centric experiences, rather than incorporating beverages that belong to a specific time, identity, and context. If we look carefully, we can find many producers who are already moving in this direction, producing Pét-nats from native honey and fruits, cashew wines, banana beers, modern cassava fermentations, and modern corn chichas.

The search for this delicate balance is a commitment to history, culture, and respect for the traditions of different ethnicities, without the naivety or carelessness of removing ancestral beverages from their context. By uniting the past and the present, we can celebrate the rich heritage of ancestral beverages and breathe new life into this essential part of our identity, ensuring it is not forgotten but renewed for future generations. 🐟