Corporate Convention Centers Are No Place for Moonshine
Corporate Convention Centers Are No Place for Moonshine
Mamajuana in Midtown
In search of an old friend and some Dominican rum, I arrive at the Javits Center in midtown Manhattan. In the early-afternoon heat of late June, I fight through packs of hungry people bound for the Fancy Food Show, North America’s largest specialty food event. Vendors and buyers are pouring into the conference center, eagerly awaiting the free booze and samples from Cheeseland Inc., Birch Benders Micro-Pancakery, the Chocolate Chocolate Chocolate Company, and the like.
Spanning four city blocks and overlooking the West Side Highway, the convention center exists on the margins of Manhattan culture; the sterile, corporate space is a meeting place for out-of-towners, clad in business clothes and identical lanyards bearing their event tickets. I am not here to buy, sell, or sample, although the mosaic of artisanal aromas is starting to make me wish I was. I’m here to meet with Jack Astacio, my former surf instructor and founder of Mamajuana Kalembu, the first mass-produced bottled brand of this traditionally homemade spirit. Jack spots me immediately; Rum Punch in hand, he points us in the direction of a vacant table.
What is Mamajuana exactly and why did he decide to bottle it? Initially called Damajuana (the name of the narrow-necked, wide-bottomed bottle in which this and many other fermented beverages were produced), the drink originated as a fermented, herbal tea. The Tainos (native inhabitants of the island of Hispaniola) would steep tree bark, roots, and herbs that they believed to have medicinal qualities. Over time, the D was replaced with an M, and water was replaced with rum. Still touted for its health benefits, Mamajuana is more commonly known as an aphrodisiac; “The tradition is that you drink Mamajuana with your woman and you are in love,” Jack explains, perhaps conflating love with lust.
According to traditionalists, bottled Mamajuana is to moonshine as the Javits Center is to Manhattan: vaguely reminiscent of the real thing, yet sanitized to a fault. The home-brewed hooch, requiring, at the very least, two weeks of aging, is bespeckled with pieces of bark and leaves. For many, the smoothness of the bottled stuff lacks the charmingly earthy grit of the moonshine; just add Kalembu to the list of artisanal bullshit that litters the convention center’s showroom. Some Dominicans even bring the herbal fixings back to New York in order to avoid its bastard sibling.
But Jack would argue that without the expertly bottled booze, the tradition would surely die out. The art of waiting has been lost on the millennial generation of Dominicans who are reaching adulthood in the instantaneous era of Facebook and Instagram; without pre-made moonshine, Mamajuana would be a relic of the past.
Perhaps it was the sterility of the scenery around our conversation, but despite Jack’s pitch for Kalembu and the free bottle I received upon my departure, the notion that someone could be making Dominican moonshine merely a few subway stops away peaked my interest. I soon scoured the city for homemade Mamajuana. I emailed friends of friends, I called Dominican cultural centers, I even inquired at a restaurant in Inwood called Mamajuana, all to no avail. For now, I’ll settle for the bottled goods, all the while, dreaming of the misty taste of authentic Dominican moonshine.