Tepache – Fermented Pineapple Drink.
My cousin Marco tried to make tepache last summer. ¡Ay Dios mío! The kitchen smelled like a pineapple exploded in a brewery for a week.
So, people been fermenting things since, well, forever. Like, before they even had refrigerators (can you imagine?). Tepache—that’s te-PAH-cheh, for those who wanna sound fancy—is one of those things. It’s an ancient drink from pre-Hispanic Mexico. We’re talking way back when the Aztecs were building empires and somebody said, “Hey, I wonder what happens if I leave this pineapple in water for a few days…” which is honestly how most good ideas start, right? Made from the rind of the pineapple, piloncillo (unrefined cane sugar), spices, and water, it was originally a light alcoholic beverage. Now? Usually it’s low-alcohol, bubbly, and refreshing. Abuelita says it cleanses the soul. I think she just likes it because it tastes like sunshine.
We weren’t allowed to have soda growing up, can you believe it? My mom was all about sugar being the devil. But tepache? That was different. Abuelita made it every summer, and we'd fight over the first glass. It was…a whole thing. She used to say, "It’s good for your tummy!" Which, okay, maybe the fermentation helped? Or maybe it was just the sugar rush. Either way, we didn’t question it. Especially not with her glaring at us.
The first time I tried to make it myself, after she showed me, I messed it up bad. It came out tasting like vinegar. Like, really vinegar. Abuelita almost cried. “You disrespect the pineapple!” she wailed. Tía Mildred, bless her heart, just cackled. "Looks like someone needs more practice," she said, then proceeded to lecture me on the proper reverence one must show to fruit. Seriously.
My cousin Sofia thought it would be funny to add chili powder to hers. It wasn't. Let's just say there were tears. And a lot of milk drinking. Then there was that time Marco (yes, the same Marco who almost gassed us all) tried to carbonate it with a soda stream. ¡No! The lid went flying, and pineapple juice rained down on everyone. He swore he saw a small pineapple imp laughing at him from inside the fridge. I personally think it was just the tequila talking.
Abuelita is very particular about her piloncillo. She gets it from this little Mexican market three towns over. She says the stuff from the supermarket doesn't have the same flavor. Probably true. Everything tastes better when you drive an hour to get it, right? One year, my Tío Ricardo volunteered to go, had a few beers along the way, and came back with enough piloncillo for a small country. We had tepache coming out of our ears that summer. He claims he also bought a miniature donkey. No one believes him.
Tía Mildred always added a cinnamon stick, but not just any cinnamon stick. It had to be “the good stuff”–the kind that smells like Christmas morning. She’d sniff each one before adding it to the jar, muttering about quality control. "You can't rush perfection, mija," she'd say, even if she was making a fermented drink. She’s a character, that one. Always has been. Once, she tried to convince everyone she could communicate with houseplants. It involved a lot of whispering and dramatic hand gestures.
I remember being maybe seven or eight, and sneaking into the kitchen while Abuelita was making tepache. I wanted to see the magic happen. She caught me, of course, and instead of scolding me, she let me help. She showed me how to carefully scrape the pineapple rind, explaining all the little details. It felt important. Like I was learning a secret family tradition.
Last week, my husband Carlos asked what I was doing, watching me struggle to get the foam off of a batch. "Making Abuelita's medicine," I told him. He raised an eyebrow. “Sounds…potent.” Honestly, it does. It’s a little bit of sunshine, a little bit of history, and a whole lot of love—and maybe a tiny bit of potential chaos.
And Tía Mildred? She just calls it "pineapple happiness." Which, honestly, isn't wrong.
Recipe
Ingredients 🌽🥘
- 1 large pineapple (about 3 lbs), preferably organic
- 1 ½ cups piloncillo (Mexican unrefined cane sugar) – you can substitute dark brown sugar, but it won’t be quite the same.
- 8 cups filtered water
- 1 cinnamon stick (the good stuff, like Tía Mildred would say!)
- 4 whole cloves
- ¼ teaspoon dried hibiscus flowers (optional, for extra flavor and color)
Tools 🔪🥄
- Large glass jar (at least 1 gallon capacity)
- Sharp knife or vegetable peeler
- Wooden spoon or spatula
- Fine-mesh strainer
- Bottles for storage (glass is best!)
Steps
- First, carefully peel the pineapple, reserving the rind. Don't worry about getting every last bit of fruit off—a little is okay! Just try to leave most of the spiky bits behind. We don't want a prickly surprise.
- Chop the pineapple flesh and enjoy! It’s the chef's perk. But don’t throw away the core, it has so much flavour.
- Roughly chop the pineapple rind and place it in the large glass jar. Add the piloncillo, cinnamon stick, cloves, and hibiscus flowers (if using).
- Pour in the water, making sure everything is submerged. Give it a good stir with your wooden spoon. This is where the magic starts.
- Cover the jar loosely with cheesecloth or a lid that isn’t airtight. You need some air circulation for fermentation! Let it sit at room temperature for 3–5 days, stirring once a day. ¡Andale!, get stirring!
- After 3 days, start tasting it. It should be bubbly and slightly sweet-tart. If it’s too sweet, let it ferment longer. If it tastes like vinegar, you went too far. (Don't tell Abuelita).
- Once it’s reached your desired level of fermentation, strain the tepache through a fine-mesh strainer, discarding the solids.
- Bottle the tepache and refrigerate. The fermentation process will slow down in the fridge, but it will still continue to develop flavor.
Make-Ahead / Storage
- Tepache will keep in the refrigerator for up to 1 week.
- The fermentation process continues even in the fridge, so the flavor will change over time.
- Don't store in airtight containers, as pressure can build up and cause them to explode. (Marco learned this the hard way.)
- For a longer storage life, freeze in ice cube trays for cocktails.
Side Dish Pairing
- Tostadas topped with ceviche – the bright acidity cuts through the sweetness of the tepache perfectly.
- Spicy mango salsa with cinnamon tortilla chips – because pineapple and chili are a match made in heaven.
Tía Mildred siempre decía, "A little fermentation never hurt anyone… unless they mess it up!"
