“I was drunk!” confesses Edgar
Preciado, the congenial de facto
mayor of the L.A. craft beer scene.
He’s reflecting on March 4, 2018, the
night of his first “cholo chug.”
Preciado had spent the day at
Monkish, waiting to purchase the
Torrance brewery’s highly sought-
after cans. That evening, bored at
home and under the influence of a
few too many hazy IPAs, he made
the fateful decision to post a video
to his @BeerThugLife Instagram.
He grabbed an Enter the Fog Dog,
cracked it open and, within sec-
onds, the can that he’d waited
hours to procure had emptied out
into his esophagus.
The following morning, Preci-
ado was shocked to discover more
than 1,000 people had watched his
drinking feat — his previous posts
usually maxed out at a few dozen
likes.
The 42-year-old Compton resi-
dent, who works as a production
coordinator at an aerospace com-
pany, knew he was on to some-
thing. Preciado soon would add a
delightfully profane signature
toast as he continued to capture
himself rapidly imbibing other cel-
ebrated local craft beers, plus some
out-of-market heavy hitters, in-
cluding his infamous chugging of
Toppling Goliath’s KBBS, a holy
grail bourbon barrel stout.
Industry insiders began to take
notice. Not only was Preciado up-
ending the beer culture stereotype
of the bearded white hipster, his
wanton disregard for drinking eti-
quette was a middle finger to the
pinkie-raised snobbery common
among craft consumers — and fans
loved it.
“He was a breath of fresh air for
a lot of people,” says Todd Alström,
cofounder of the Beer Advocate
website. Beyond Preciado’s chug-
ging prowess, Alström was im-
pressed that he often called out the
lack of diversity in craft beer, an in-
dustry that has been slow to bring
women and people of color into the
fold. Preciado “is one of the faces ofthis change we’re seeing, this
change we need.”
Nowadays, it’s difficult for Pre-
ciado to attend a local beer event
without being mobbed, and brew-
eries across the country are con-
stantly soliciting him to chug.
While Preciado continues to
work at his day job, in his free time,
he’s busy expanding Beer ThugLife’s reach. The brand includes
apparel, merchandise, frequent
beer collaborations and even a tie-
in with the upcoming indie horror
flick “Cholo Zombies.”
The budding beer influencer
has his detractors. Critics have ac-
cused Preciado of promoting vi-
olence through his “thug” persona,
and he continues to receive back-lash from some members of the
Latino community who contend
that his videos perpetuate a nega-
tive stereotype.
“Unfortunately, human beings
are always going to be judged by
appearances,” Preciado says. “But
when they start talking to me and
they know who I am, all of that goes
out the door.”
To fully understand Beer Thug
Life, you have to go back to the ’90s
when Preciado, a first-generation
Mexican American, was a teenager
in South L.A.
“Those streets were mean,”
says Preciado, who would ulti-
mately become a gang member. “I
joined it because of the brother-
hood. Everyone was cool but all of a
sudden, people were getting shot.
You see your best friend die. That’s
when you’re like, ‘Man, what am I
getting into?’ ”
At 15, he met his high school
sweetheart and future wife, Maria.
Three years later, the two became
parents to Edgar Jr., who was fol-
lowed by two more sons, Angel and
Carlos.
Preciado struggled to stay out
of trouble, eventually landing a
five-year federal prison sentence
for writing counterfeit checks.
While he served his time, Maria
worked a full-time job, earned a
bachelor’s degree and made sure
her sons excelled at Compton High
School. (Edgar Jr., 23, recently
graduated from Princeton; 21-year-
old Angel and 19-year-old Carlos
are attending Cal State Long
Beach and UCLA, respectively.)
His wife and sons’ against-all-
odds perseverance filled Preciado
with immense pride but also regret
that he could not be there with
them. “I realized, ‘What am I do-
ing? I have to change this. For my
kids. For my family. I’m better than
this.’ ”
His authenticity won over fans
who initially doubted Preciado and
disliked his swagger.
“I really thought it was a gim-
mick account. Like it was making
fun of cholos by using craft beer,”
says Ray Ricky Rivera, co-founder
of SoCal Cerveceros, the home-
brew club that has been the
launching pad for a growing trend
of Latino-run breweries in Los An-
geles. “I grew up in the projects
around actual cholos. Gangsters.
And I know that whole culture. So
when people make fun of it, I don’t
find it funny.”
But when Rivera met Preciado,
he had a change of heart.
“He represents the Latino
tribe,” says Rivera, who notes that
Preciado is now one of the most be-
loved members of the Cerveceros.
“He represents the Latino tribe.
But he’s also a subculture of a sub-
culture. To me, that needs to be
shown as well.”By David Klein
I distinctly remember the feeling of an arm clotheslining
my chest as I was about to walk into a graveyard. It was the
tour guide who stopped me, pointed to an orange Igloo cooler
and said, “Grab some of this before you go in.”
A murky, boiling hot liquid was bubbling out of the spigot;
it smelled sour and fruity and had the nostril-stinging effect of
rubbing alcohol. The spirit seller grinned and laughed in
amusement as I took the plastic cup, which was filled with
what I was told was tepache, a fermented brew made from
pineapple skins, spiked with a healthy dose of agave moon-
shine for good cheer.
I was entering the Cemetery of Tzintzuntzan, in a small
village on the shore of Patzcuaro Lake, which is one of the
most famous cemeteries in Mexico for Dia de los Muertos
celebrations.
Dia de los Muertos is celebrated across Mexico and
throughout the United States (nondenominationally and by
Catholics), but full-on parades and lavishly decorated graves
are the long-standing hallmarks of celebrations in just a hand-
ful of places in Mexico, such as Oaxaca, Guanajuato and Mi-
choacán, the latter home to the Cemetery of Tzintzuntzan.
My tour group entered the cemetery at dusk, just as the
festivities were beginning. We walked through the rows of
graves festooned with cartoonishly large orange marigold
flower arrangements and easels holding improbably weighty
ribbon wreaths with deceased family members’ faces at their
center. Giant wooden altars, called ofrendas, sat erect over
tombstones with plates of frijoles, tamales, mole and loaves of
pan de muertoson their terrestrial levels, dinner for the de-
ceased who lay beneath them. We saw families laughing, danc-
ing and praying, heads bowed in unison. The scene was not
somber but one of remembrance and celebration.
I took a large sip of the bootlegger’s tepache. The drink’s
warm, bass-line burn immediately spread across my chest,
and my posture morphed from alert to languid in about 20
seconds. As I looked around, blaring sounds of a prayer spo-
ken in Spanish coming through speakers set up around the
graveyard faded away. I was overcome by an eerie stillness. A
sea of votive candles covered every square inch of untrod
earth, their light, filtered through the marigold petals, lighting
the whole football-field-sized area in a haunting orange glow
that seemed to shift with the breeze and spiral up toward the
starry sky. The drink had worked its magic.A spirited
Day of the
Dead drink
Ruth Mora
For The TimesLATIMES.COM/FOOD THURSDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2019F7
Homemade Tepache
10 minutes, plus 2 days. Makes 8 cups.If you have a fermentation crock or
kombucha jar, use it for this recipe,
since it’s made to accommodate
fermented liquids like this. But also,
you can use a large pitcher and
cheesecloth over the top, as I do, and
it will work just as easily. If you plan
ahead, you can save the peels from
the next time you buy a pineapple
and keep them in a plastic bag in your
freezer until you’re ready to make this
drink.(^8) cups filtered water, room
temperature
(^6) ounces piloncillo, finely chopped,
or 3/4 cup packed dark brown
sugar or granulated sugar
(^2) sticks canela or cinnamon
Peels and cores (not the top and
leaves) from 1 medium pineapple
(about 1 1/4 pounds)
1 Pour the water into a large pitcher
(at least 3-quart capacity) or blender
and add the piloncillo. Stir or blend
until the sugar dissolves.
2 Meanwhile, heat the canela sticks
in a small skillet over medium-high
heat until they smell fragrant and
nutty and start to unfurl, about three
minutes. Place the hot canela sticks
in the pitcher along with the pine-
apple peels and cores and give every-
thing a stir.
3 Drape a piece of cheesecloth over
the top of the pitcher and secure it
with a rubber band or kitchen twine.
Set the pitcher out on a counter in an
area that gets no sunshine or place it
in a cupboard with plenty of ventila-
tion. Let the brew sit for two days.
4 When ready to serve, use a spoon to
skim off and discard any white scum
floating on top of the liquid (there
might not be any). Pour the brew
through a fine strainer into another
clean, large pitcher. Pour as much as
you want to drink in a small saucepan
and heat it over medium heat until
hot. Pour the tepache into mugs and
serve warm. Refrigerate any leftover
tepache for up to five days.
5 For spiked tepache: Stir in 2 ounces
mezcal or tequila to your mug of
warm tepache.
By Ben Mims
The beer
thug life
Edgar Preciado downs craft brews and stereotypes, delighting drinkers and industry insiders.
Mariah TaugerLos Angeles Times