Back home in L.A. for the first time in years, I was determined to meet up with one of my oldest friends, Wendy, who lives in Bellflower. Wendy’s a planner. When I told her earlier that week that I wanted to hang, she rounded up the troops—our closest friends and their spouses—and prepared by making a few grocery stops to pick up ingredients for a casual carne asada in her backyard.
Her husband, Fred, was in charge of the drinks. He lined the rim of an icy mug with chamoy and a dusting of Tajín before filling it with Clamato juice, followed by Worcestershire sauce and Tapatío hot sauce, and finishing it off with Modelo. The Michelada transports me to lazy Sundays in the San Fernando Valley, where I grew up, punctuated by shrimp cocktails loaded with avocado, as Juanes, Café Tacuba or merengue hums in the background, a mix of spice and savory, citrus and sweet. If only, I thought, someone would package this experience, complete with all the necessary trappings that make it feel so appealingly bespoke—the perfect way to get the party started.
Wendy, apparently, had. She had begun selling Michelada kits to friends and family at a barbecue ahead of a Dodgers game. The kit included a small bottle of Clamato, a foam cup already rimmed with chamoy paste and a dusting of Tajín, a tamarindo straw and some sweet and spicy Mexican candies for good measure—all nestled comfortably within a reusable, Dodger Stadium–approved, clear plastic shoulder bag. All her customers had to do was buy the brew at the ballpark and they would be on their way to optimal Michelada bliss.
@tapiasfuego Instagram saw it first 🥵❤️🔥 almost sold out! 🫶🏻 LINK IN BIO to purchase. #dodgers #dodgergame #baseball #baseballseason #dodgerstadium #michelada #dodgermicheladas #dodgersbaseball #openingday #dodgersopeningday #fyp #fypシ ♬ 1 Thing (Instrumental) - Amerie
Wendy and Fred were already experts at bringing their own refreshments to Dodgers games. Put off by the high prices and underwhelming offerings at the concession stands, Wendy often packs snacks like ceviche or fried chicken. (The stadium allows this.) But it wasn’t until she saw a TikTok post earlier this year, which featured a creator called Tapia’s Fuego and her own take on the stadium-approved Michelada setup, that Wendy’s side hustle was born.
According to lore, the Michelada can be traced to the late 1970s, to the central Mexican state of San Luis Potosí. A country club patron, Michel Espér, was parched and in need of refreshment, and asked for ice and lime in his beer. The drink has come a long way since then, morphing with changing tastes and becoming increasingly baroque along the way. And while the drink has enjoyed moderate popularity on menus far and wide, with variations appearing at bars both south and north of the border, it is now the star of a grassroots movement that exists far outside the confines of the cocktail world, and it’s fueled by a growing multitude of DIY Michelada side hustlers.
At a pop-up shop in my adopted hometown of Detroit, a vendor sells seven-ounce containers and squeeze bottles of chamoy paste infused with flavors like watermelon, mango and spicy tamarindo, ready to line a cold mug or pint glass. Meanwhile, in Phoenix, a TikTok user who goes by @ssserg_ and has gained a following for drink videos, has jumped on the Miche bandwagon with the launch of his own line of chamoy paste. He regularly promotes other home-based Michelada mix makers, such as Stephanie Reza, the creator of the Texas-based Gorda’s Mix, among others.
The DIY Michelada craze taking place online might be mistaken for just another social media trend, if not for the Michelada’s concurrent real-life rise. Just last year, Modelo Especial, frequently the beer of choice for Micheladas, beat out Bud Light in retail store sales. And in July of this year, Chicago’s Oakwood Beach became the scene of what the Tribune described as one of the leading Latino music festivals in the city, the Miche Fest, or Michelada Festival. An estimated 10,000 visitors showed out each day of the two-day festival to catch a lineup of renowned Mexican American regional artists, along with chart-topping headliners that included Kali Uchis, Los Angeles Azules and Junior H. At the center of the ticketed event was Michelandia, a central hub in which more than a dozen Michelada stands competed to entice passersby with their particular takes on the drink, including sharable Micheladas served in buckets, or topped with tortilla chips and ceviche or a layer of gummy candies, like the viral Micheladas of Mexico City.
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While the Miche Fest has quickly made inroads in Chicago’s already crowded summer festival market, it has also helped establish burgeoning independent Michelada mix brands like Big Mich. Founder Javier Garcia, who grew up in the mostly Latino Chicago suburb of Cicero, launched the brand in 2017 along with his wife Nathalie. Garcia, who has a restaurant background, quit his job and used his last $600 paycheck to purchase a few cases of Mason jars, limes and all of the other ingredients needed to make his first batch of savory and spicy mixes.
To make his first sales, he drove his Volkswagen Passat around largely Latino neighborhoods in the Chicago area, starting off in Cicero, followed by stops in Pilsen, Little Village and elsewhere, passing through alleyways and stopping whenever he saw crowds of other gente gathered. It was May 6, 2017, when more than 1 million viewers tuned in to catch the boxing match billed as the Mexican Showdown between Canelo Álvarez and Julio César Chávez Jr.
Garcia offered jars of his new product at parties, telling people that if they liked it, there was more where that came from. Today, the Big Mich brand is carried in about 350 locations, including at some 40 restaurants and bars, as well as supermarkets and liquor stores across Chicagoland. In addition to his OG Classic flavor, Big Mich is also available in mango, tamarindo, smoky lime and cucumber versions, and as a Bloody Mary mix.
Garcia sources ingredients from local distributors, mostly Latino, at the South Water Market to keep the dollars within the community. “Big Mich is definitely Micheladas first and foremost, but it’s also a platform for all of us to be able to give back to the community,” says Garcia.
Wendy, meanwhile, has already started thinking about plans for next summer. Her husband’s pre-game barbecues, complete with spicy chicken wings and thick cuts of tasajo from neighborhood staple La Carniceria Meat Market, attract more than 300 visitors.
With so much company, Wendy can see the dollar signs from her DIY Michelada kits materializing. That entrepreneurial spirit, she says, comes from her mom. “My mom has always been one that looks at stuff and thinks, ‘Man, I can do better,’ and she does,” she says.
During my visit with Wendy, I bought one of the tote bags from her recent Miche kit pop-up—sans the ingredients—as a souvenir. Next year, it’ll be ready to hold whatever she dreams up next.
