When Small Can Still Bloom

Imagine walking into a wine bar and saying:

“I’d like a red wine.”

Nothing wrong with that. But anyone interested in wine will probably go one step further.

From where? Burgundy or Bordeaux? Douro or Alentejo?

Which grape? Pinot Noir? Touriga Nacional? Nebbiolo?

We understand instinctively that these choices matter.

So why, when it comes to one of the world’s most complex spirits, do we so often simply say:

“I want a mezcal.” 

Imagine, instead of simply ordering mezcal, asking for:

“A Cenizo and Salmiana ensamble from Durango.”

Wine consumers learned Chardonnay, Riesling, Pinot Noir and Nebbiolo.

Why shouldn't they learn:

Espadín. Tobalá. Tepeztate. Arroqueño. Cenizo. Salmiana.

A relatively straightforward Oaxacan Espadín and an ancestral mezcal from Durango can provide completely different experiences.

There is a famous saying in Oaxaca:

“Para todo mal, mezcal; para todo bien, también.”

For everything bad, mezcal; for everything good, mezcal too.

Mezcal isn't simply something to consume.

It is also a remarkable example of how craftsmanship can survive—and even flourish—in an increasingly industrialized world.

Mezcal and the Value of Staying Small

Nowadays there is something unusual happening in mezcal.

Across much of the industrialized spirits world, the gravitational pull is toward scale. Companies consolidate, production becomes centralized, efficiency improves—and small producers can gradually disappear.

Mezcal offers an intriguing countercurrent.

Small producers aren't only surviving. New ones are emerging.

Some come from families that have been making mezcal for generations. Others are restarting an interrupted family legacy. And some are beginning from scratch, building small artisanal production without generations of mezcaleros behind them.

This raises an interesting question:

Can a spirits category grow without requiring every producer to become big?

¿Calidad o Cantidad?

Much traditional mezcal production remains remarkably small.

The oven has a physical capacity. The fermentation vats have a physical capacity. The still has a physical capacity. And the mezcalero has only so much time.

The agave itself may need many years—and in some cases well over a decade—to reach maturity.

There is simply no button to press to make ten times more.

At the extreme is Mezcal Ancestral, representing only around 1% of total certified mezcal production.

That tiny share isn't difficult to understand.

Traditional ancestral methods—such as hand crushing or tahona milling, fermentation in traditional vessels and distillation in clay pots or other permitted ancestral stills—can produce extremely low yields compared with industrial production.

It is almost the opposite of a production system designed for scale.

Once we understand this, small batch stops sounding like marketing language.

It becomes an agricultural and production reality.

And this is where the consumer becomes important.

Progress Starts With Education

If consumers reward only low prices, consistency and unlimited availability, producers will naturally feel pressure to provide exactly that.

But imagine consumers asking different questions:

Which agave? Where did it grow? How long did it mature? Who made it? How was it fermented and distilled? How large was the batch?

Suddenly, the things that make a product different become the things that make it valuable.

Limited availability isn't necessarily a failure to scale.

Variation isn't necessarily a quality defect.

And a batch of a few hundred bottles doesn't necessarily need to become a batch of 100,000.

Progress starts with educating the consumer.

Small Batch, Bigger Future

And this is what fascinates me about mezcal.

Growing international interest can create economic space for small production rather than automatically eliminating it.

Younger generations may decide that inherited family knowledge is worth continuing. Families may restart a tradition abandoned decades earlier. Small investors may decide to build something artisanal from scratch.

But this opportunity can only endure if consumers understand why these products deserve to exist.

A small producer cannot necessarily offer unlimited supply or perfect batch-to-batch uniformity. Their raw material may take a decade to replace. Their production may be measured in hundreds of bottles rather than hundreds of thousands.

So why should we value them?

Because efficiency isn't the only form of value.

There is also provenance.

Craftsmanship. Time. Individuality. And the human being behind the bottle.

Heart and Soul

This lesson extends far beyond mezcal—to tequila, rum, wine, olive oil, cheese, presunto and countless other artisanal products.

Premium shouldn't simply mean a fancy bottle, elaborate packaging, a famous name or a higher price.

Sometimes premium means understanding who made something, where it came from, why it tastes different and why there isn't very much of it.

Small doesn't automatically mean good. Industrial doesn't automatically mean bad. And growth isn't the enemy.

The danger comes when scale becomes our only definition of progress.

Perhaps mezcal is showing us another possibility:

A category can grow without requiring every producer to become big.

And when consumers learn to appreciate products with genuine identity—products with heart and soul—small producers don't merely have to survive.

They can bloom.

About LVT Global

LVT Global elevates premium agri-food brands through strategic insight, market-entry expertise, and powerful storytelling.