Mi Amor

In the sun-scorched heart of the Southwest, where the desert whispers secrets through the wind and the agave stands tall against the horizon, Mi Amor Margarita was born.  It is a tale that begins with Carmen—a woman whose spirit dances between legend and memory, her face now immortalized as the sugar skull on every can.

Carmen was no ordinary soul.  In the 1920s, she roamed the borderlands of New Mexico and Texas, a free-spirited curandera—a healer—who knew the land’s rhythms like her own heartbeat.  With her jet-black hair tied back and eyes that sparkled like the Rio Grande under moonlight, she was a fixture at dusty cantinas and vibrant fiestas.  Each spring, she would make a pilgrimage to Tularosa, New Mexico, drawn to its sacred White Sands and the ancient mesquite groves where she gathered rare herbs for her remedies.  There, under the shadow of the Sacramento Mountains, she felt the desert’s pulse strongest, blending its whispers into her craft.  Carmen had a gift: she could coax magic from the agave plant, fermenting its sweet aguamiel into a wine that warmed the soul and loosened the tongue.  She would mix it with tart limes from her garden and a touch of wild honey, serving it in clay cups to travelers, ranchers, and dreamers.  They called it “Carmen’s Elixir,” a drink that turned strangers into friends under the starry desert sky.

Her sugar skull image—painted with bold flowers and intricate swirls—came from the Día de los Muertos celebrations she loved.  Carmen believed the dead never truly left us; they lingered in the laughter, the music, and the clink of glasses.  She would decorate her face with calavera designs, a tribute to her ancestors, and share her elixir as an offering to life’s fleeting beauty.  “Mi amor,” she would say, raising a cup, “is in every sip—bold, real, and free.”

Fast forward to today.  Carmen’s story found me like a whisper on the wind.  I grew up hearing tales of her from my grandma, who swore she had tasted Carmen’s brew at a wedding in Santa Fe.  Those stories stuck with me—the Southwest’s wild heart, the agave’s earthy soul, the way a drink could spark connection.  Years later, wandering the canteen across the New Mexico, I stumbled on an old recipe scratched into a leather journal at a roadside market in Ruidoso.  It was hers—agave wine, lime, a hint of sweetness.  I knew I had to bring it back, but for a new generation and to revitalize her spirit.

Mi Amor Margarita is that revival—a wine-based RTD that captures Carmen’s spirit in every can.  We start with fermented Blue Agave wine, grown in the same arid soils she knew, blended with real lime and a modern twist.  At 8% ABV, it’s bold enough to honor her legacy, smooth enough to sip under today’s desert sun.  The sugar skull on our cans?  That is Carmen—her fierce beauty and untamed heart, watching over every batch.  

I founded Mi Amor to share her magic, to turn every moment into a celebration of life, love, and the Southwest’s enduring allure, and the essence of the Tularosa Valley.  From 300 convenience and grocery stores today, to a $1.2 billion dream by 2030, we are carrying her torch—one vibrant sip at a time.