An Irish michelada that might drive the snakes out of Mexico

It is a truth universally acknowledged that human beings will put almost anything in their beer, provided they are given a good enough reason or enough peer pressure.

Take St. Patrick’s Day. A perfectly fine Catholic feast day that, thanks to some transatlantic shenanigans, turned into an excuse for Americans to dye their beer green and pretend to be Irish for exactly 24 hours before retreating to their usual national pastimes of arguing about egg prices and misunderstanding soccer. The day allegedly honors Saint Patrick, a missionary who, depending on which story you believe, either drove the snakes out of Ireland (which is a lie) or converted a bunch of pagans by explaining the Holy Trinity with a shamrock (which is slightly less of a lie, but still suspicious). Either way, March 17 became a day of religious observation in Ireland, where people went to church and then went home to soberly contemplate their sins, much like every other day in Ireland.

But then, like everything else that reached America’s shores, St. Patrick’s Day underwent an evolution — or, more accurately, an aggressive rebranding campaign. Irish immigrants in the U.S., tired of being treated like third-class citizens, turned the day into a celebration of their heritage, with parades, music, and eventually, large quantities of beer. Then, of course, the rest of America realized that drinking beer in public was fun, and suddenly, everyone was Irish on March 17. The green dye came later, probably invented by some sadistic Chicagoan who thought, “What if beer, but swamp-colored?” The tradition stuck, and now we have an annual event where people consume regrettable amounts of Guinness and wear shirts that say “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” despite being named Chad and having zero Irish ancestry.

Now, let’s turn our attention to the Michelada. Mexico, you see, does not need a holiday to tamper with its beer. The Michelada is a daily act of ingenuity, an ongoing testament to humanity’s inability to leave well enough alone. Much like St. Patrick’s Day beer, the Michelada’s exact origins are hazy.

One theory attributes the Michelada to a man named Michel Esper, who supposedly frequented a sports club in San Luis Potosí in the 1960s and enjoyed ordering his beer with lime, salt, and hot sauce. Another, less romantic theory suggests that “Michelada” is just a mash-up of “mi chela helada” (“my cold beer”) and that, rather than the stroke of genius from a single visionary, it was merely a logical step for a country that already puts lime on everything. Either way, the Michelada spread like wildfire, and soon every cantina in Mexico had its own version, each one slightly different but always adhering to the fundamental principle that beer should not have to stand alone.

Like St. Patrick’s Day beer, the Michelada has its skeptics. There are those who argue that beer should remain unadulterated, left to exist in its purest form. These are the same people who think pizza shouldn’t have pineapple and that socks should always match. But the Michelada, like St. Patrick’s Day, thrives on joyful chaos. It is beer with flair, beer with a sense of adventure.

The key difference, of course, is that while St. Patrick’s Day beer is a one-day-a-year spectacle, the Michelada is an everyday companion. No one wakes up on March 18 and thinks, “Ah yes, time for another pint of green Bud Light.” But a Michelada? That is a remedy. A lifeline. It is brunch, it is beach, it is “I made some mistakes last night, and I need to set things right.” In this sense, Micheladas are superior. They do not pretend to be something they are not. They do not need an artificial holiday to justify their existence. They simply are.

And so, what have we learned? That beer is merely a blank canvas onto which cultures project their own particular forms of merriment, regret, and questionable decisions. That humans, given enough time and access to condiments, will eventually throw anything into their beverages. And, most importantly, that whether it’s green beer in Chicago or a Michelada in Mexico City, history is often just the sum of our most enthusiastic bad ideas.

The St. Paddy’s Day Michelada

Ingredients:

• 1 cold Mexican lager (Corona, Modelo, or Pacifico)
• 1 oz Irish whiskey 
• 1 oz lime juice
• 2 dashes hot sauce 
• 1 dash Worcestershire sauce (or Maggi sauce)
• ¼ cup Clamato or tomato juice
• 1 pinch celery salt
• 1 pinch black pepper
• 1 handful ice
• Green food coloring
• Tajín or salt for the rim

Garnish:

• A lime wedge
• A crispy strip of bacon 
• A small pickle or pickled jalapeño 
• A tiny Irish flag

Directions:

1. Rim the glass with lime juice, then dip it in Tajín or salt.
2. In the glass, mix the lime juice, hot sauce, Worcestershire sauce, Clamato, celery salt, and black pepper.
3. Add ice
4. Pour in the whiskey
5. Crack open the beer, add a few drops of green food coloring, and gently pour it in. 
6. Garnish extravagantly—lime, bacon, pickle, and a tiny Irish flag for maximum confusion.
7. Drink responsibly, or at least with plausible deniability.

Stephen Randall has lived in Mexico since 2018 by way of Kentucky, and before that, Germany. He’s an enthusiastic amateur chef who takes inspiration from many different cuisines, with favorites including Mexican and Mediterranean.