Rey Campero Sierra Negra Mezcal 48% 700ml

Rey Campero Sierra Negra: The Whisper of the Mountain

There's something reverent about Sierra Negra. It's not loud. It's not showy. It's not trying to impress with fire or fruit. What it is, is deep. Deep in age-often taking 15 to 20 years to mature. Deep in flavour-subtle, shifting, complex. And deeply tied to the earth it comes from, usually grown at higher elevations in rocky, nutrient-poor soils where only the toughest agaves survive. In many ways, Sierra Negra is a kind of mezcal sage-old, wise, and gently intense.

With Rey Campero behind it, this agave is treated with the precision of a love letter. The production remains true to the family's ancestral style: pit-roasted agave, tahona crushed, wild fermented, and double distilled in copper. It's a slow, respectful process. No rushing, no shortcuts. Just time, tradition, and trust in the plant.

Pour it, and the nose is instantly intriguing-aromatic without being overpowering. You get gentle wood smoke, dried apricot, sandalwood, and roasted walnuts. There's also something floral here-honeysuckle maybe, or chamomile. Underneath it all, a whisper of salinity, like standing at the edge of the sea on a cool morning. It's elegant, but with a grounded, rustic undertone-like a silk scarf tied around a machete.

On the palate? Magic. Silky texture. A delicate sweetness balanced by soft bitterness. Think grapefruit pith, burnt orange, toasted coconut, and cracked white pepper. There's a beautiful tension between the light and the dark, the sweet and the savoury. Mid-palate, it blooms into herbaceous complexity-sage, oregano, even a touch of eucalyptus. The smoke is wispy, refined. Not a fire, but the curl of incense in a clay church.

The finish is long, quiet, and contemplative. Like a good conversation that stays with you for days.

Sierra Negra is one of those agaves that doesn't scream its uniqueness-it lets you discover it, layer by layer. And Rey Campero's version is a masterclass in restraint and respect. It's not trying to reinvent mezcal. It's trying to honour it. You taste not just the plant, but the altitude, the weather, the hands that worked it, the stones that crushed it, and the wood that warmed it. It's agricultural poetry.

This is the kind of mezcal you pour for moments that matter. A sip for a celebration, or maybe just a moment of quiet. Best served neat, in a copita, with your phone off and your senses tuned in.