"A smell can remind us of a moment that we thought we had forgotten, and it can remind us not only of what happened, but also reproduce the state emotional that we had at that time."
Where does Pisco appear in the lives of Peruvians?
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The vivid descriptions provided by the French sailor Maximilien René Radiguet in his work Souvenirs de l’Amérique Espagnole. Chili-Pérou-Brésil clearly recreate the spatial and human dimension of the port of Callao in the mid-19th century. It feels as though we were walking past the old Matriz Church, along the narrow pier that had existed since colonial times, and over the cobblestone streets lit by whale-oil lamps, casting a “yellowish and flickering” glow. We can hear the murmur of the sea, mixing with barking dogs—disturbed by the unfamiliar presence of a foreigner—and with the boisterous joy of the lively middle-class port fiestas.
Radiguet, a tireless traveler, lived in Peru from late 1841 until the summer of 1845. During those three and a half years, while awaiting orders to continue his journey to the Marquesas Islands, he wandered daily through the port streets, traveling between Lima and Callao, where he stayed at the Marine Hotel. This inn was located in what is now Plaza Grau, at the entrance of the second block of Constitución Street (known at the time as Dañino’s arcade), next to the Ríos passage.
The Marine Hotel was known during Radiguet’s time as the “seafarers’ inn,” as nearly all the seamen arriving at Peru’s main port stayed there: captains of sailing ships heading to Guayaquil and Panama; pilots and boatswains of schooners and small vessels—men who knew the secrets of the currents and how to tame the wind. They all filled their ships’ holds with Peruvian goods.
At night, as the breeze rocked the ships, the revelry and drunkenness brought the men together, often leading to intense brawls. Amidst the drinks and the thrill of being on solid ground, a chorus of languages from around the world tried to communicate—or simply to shout out their feelings.
On one of his many outings through the port, Radiguet witnessed a criollo celebration: “The orchestra—if one can call the instrumental force that set the dancers in rhythmic motion an orchestra—consisted of two guitars, strumming all strings at once; a table beaten with fists like a drum; and a chorus of discordant voices. The scene featured a Black man and a Zamba woman. The man, bare-chested, seemed proud of his torso, where the play of his muscles could be seen beneath smooth, dark skin—like stones polished by the sea. The woman wore a richly decorated skirt, in shades of red and orange. She had let her blue wool shawl fall to better perform her pantomime, and her sleeveless blouse barely stayed on her shoulders, held only by a loosely tied ribbon. We had reached the climax of a resbalosa, or so it seemed—the dance being performed. A pause followed, during which the singers and dancers asked for the silvery liquor of Pisco, a boost of energy and fresh inspiration.”
Radiguet’s testimony brings the scene back to life—its people, objects, and aromas: the voluptuousness of the dance, the calculated coyness with which grace and flirtation were expressed, the measured sensuality of the moves, the colors of the skin and clothing, the strumming of guitars, the clapping and cheering—all heightened by the flavor and depth added by Pisco.
Years later, Ricardo Palma recalled scenes of daily life in Lima, where Pisco brandy made conversations more pleasant and gatherings warmer. In his tradition “The Month of December in Old Lima,” he wrote that no religious festival in the city ended without a raucous jarana: “After ten o’clock at night, when the formal guests had left, the real fun began. The jarana in full swing. Couples danced before the altar—the ondú, paspié, pieza inglesa, and other fashionable society dances of the time.” Later, as the midnight bells rang, “the voluptuous zamacueca would begin, rich with harp and cajón.”
These rites of life and joy repeated with every religious celebration. But when Christmas approached, the revelry grew even grander. Festivities began around December 15 and continued until the great celebration of the Nativity, when everyone attended Midnight Mass (Misa de Gallo) and then returned home, where a lavish dinner was served—tamal being an obligatory dish. The conversation flowed like mischievous streamers among the groups, along with wine and sherry, and—when desired, as often requested—a “delightful Málaga” or the boisterous quitapesares, which was none other than true Pisco or Motocachi brandy. Next, “a criollo orchestra, with singers and songs of the day, would perform all the popular tunes,” including a famous stanza that began:
Santa Rosa de Lima,
How can you allow
A tax to be placed
On our beloved brandy?
Pisco spiced up the chatter and warmed the closeness—“it softened trust,” as the elders used to say.
Maximilien René Radiguet. Souvenirs de l’Amérique Espagnole. Chile-Pérou-Brésil. Paris: M. Levy Fréres, 1856. A Spanish version of the section on Peru was published under the title Lima y la sociedad peruana. Lima: Biblioteca Nacional, 1971.
Excerpt from: CRÓNICAS Y RELACIONES QUE SE REFIEREN AL ORIGEN Y VIRTUDES DEL PISCO, BEBIDA TRADICIONAL Y PATRIMONIO DEL PERÚ, Banco Latino, Lima, Perú, 1990.
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