How three friends, a family in Chichicapam, and one damn good mezcal found their way to Washington
The mezcal was, quite simply, undeniable.
Chef Andrae Bopp remembers that first taste of a specific mezcal on a trip to Oaxaca like a bright flame: “It was an eye-opener on how good it was. The nose, the mouthfeel and the flavor.” But it wasn’t just the mezcal that lingered. It was the feeling of possibility.
In 2018, Bopp and two longtime friends were in Oaxaca for what was basically a mezcal-fueled pilgrimage. They met a family. They fell for a bottle. And, in true “we could do this” fashion, they made a loose verbal agreement to bring the mezcal home. What followed was a six-year saga of border-crossing logistics, unshakable commitment and one slow, very intentional import project.
Solo Esto is the brainchild of three Washington industry pros: Bopp (AK’s Mercado, Walla Walla), winemaker Keith Johnson (Devium, Sleight of Hand) and barman Jim German (of Walla Walla and Seattle fame). On a mezcal tasting tour in 2018 with Alvin Starkman of Mezcal Educational Tours, they met the Hernández family in the village of San Baltazar Chichicapam.
Their source of inspiration? “The people and the quality of the mezcal,” Johnson says. “We felt that we were in a position to make a difference in a community and we wanted to share some of the beautiful mezcal that we had found.”
A return trip in 2019 sealed the deal. They brought bottles back to Washington and found themselves repeatedly drawn to Fortunato Hernández’s product while tasting. “The most unique thing about Fortunato’s mezcal is his consistency. Many producers make great mezcal, but also some lesser batches, every mezcal that they produce is exceptional. For us, they are a true standard bearer for the village of Chichicapam,” says Johnson.
Solo Esto wasn’t launched. It was patiently, stubbornly willed into being. After their 2019 trip, the trio agreed to work with the Hernández family, even though they didn’t have an import license or a timeline. “We purchased our mezcal based on a loose verbal plan,” Bopp says. “Not knowing all the details of starting an import business.”
Then came the hurdles: hiring a Mexican attorney, navigating the trademark process, enduring pandemic-related delays, and filling out paperwork they didn’t even know existed. They pushed through. Slowly.
Finally, in December 2024, six years after their initial tasting, the team returned to Chichicapam to hand-bottle and label their very first pallet alongside the family.
“It was a couple of days full of laughter, Zapoteco lessons and camaraderie,” Johnson recalls. “It was amazing to see how close-knit the family is.” During one of their long seafood lunches, someone coined the phrase that would come to define the brand’s ethos: Nosotros avanzamos juntos. We move forward together.
The name Solo Esto means “just this,” but what the brand stands for is more than a clever phrase. It’s an ethos.
From the beginning, the founders rejected the standard U.S. importer playbook. There would be no bargaining on price, no aggressive scaling, no mass-market positioning.
“We choose not to negotiate on pricing with our producer(s) because we have seen first hand, the time, extremely hard work, and skill that goes into this artisanal product,” Johnson says. “The impact on the family should be fairly obvious as they are receiving a more than fair price for their mezcal. If that helps to continue to improve their lives, then we have done all we needed.”
Even the packaging is a commitment to staying local: bottles and closures sourced in Oaxaca, labels printed on agave paper just down the road. “It was the environmentally responsible thing to do,” says Johnson. “And it was a way for us to further invest in the people and businesses of Oaxaca.”
That pace, too, is part of the deal. “American importers often try to take a fast track to increase scope too quickly,” says German. “Thereby creating unnecessary pressure while simultaneously reducing quality. We are proud to support the Hernández family’s pace of small batches and excellence.”
Solo Esto is currently self-distributed in Washington, and their slow-build approach hasn’t stopped them from gaining traction with some of the region’s sharpest beverage programs. Their first Seattle sales trip landed them on the backbars at Roquette, Jarr Bar, both Monsoon locations, and a number of spots within the Renee Erickson group. They’re also pouring at Hound and Bottle in Bremerton, and in Spokane and Pullman.
At Bopp’s own AK’s Mercado in Walla Walla, guests can order Solo Esto in thoughtful flights — because this isn’t the kind of spirit you shoot or bury in a sour mix. “Slowly. Slowly. Slowly — not in a cocktail,” the trio advises.
To hear the team describe it, Solo Esto is as much about how mezcal is consumed as how it’s made. “With us, it is just that — stay true to the culture around mezcal,” Bopp says. They offer staff trainings and tasting presentations to restaurants and bars, often emphasizing pour size, glassware and ritual.
They call it ceremonial mezcal. “Meaning it could be a ceremony of anything — friends who haven’t toasted in a week, weddings, wakes or childbirth. A celebration of living our lives by slowly drinking something delicious with intention,” says German.
That story is poised to reach an even bigger audience soon. Bopp will appear on Seattle’s Hot Stove Society Show with Tom Douglas to share the journey behind Solo Esto. “It is a feel-good story about helping and not exploiting, working together and not taking control. The fact that we have been included to take part in family celebrations and daily life, just the spirit of collaboration on this project speaks for itself,” says Bopp.
For Bopp, Johnson and German, the highlight wasn’t the first sale or even seeing that long-awaited pallet arrive in Washington. It was the small moments through the process.
“There have been so many moments,” Bopp says. “The bonding with the family, the bottling experience, seeing our first pallet arriving at our warehouse, and of course that very first sale.”
“Definitely sipping from the jicaras with the family at the end of our bottling days. Lots of excitement and even a few nicknames given to us … resulting in bursts of laughter,” says German.
After six years, they’re still not in a rush.
