National Treasure — Cervecería Malafama in Montevideo, Uruguay

Outside Cervecería Malafama, daily life plays out in Uruguay’s capital. A woman stands scolding her children with a pinched-fingers “che vuoi?” gesture while kissing them relentlessly. People of all walks of life walk past, carrying thermoses of hot water and gourds filled to the brim with yerba mate. The city streets are alive with aromas of firewood, palo santo, and tobacco smoke. Nearby, people pass in and out of grand art nouveau buildings, small bookstores, and bustling cafes. The rhythmic claps of reggaeton ringing out of a 1950s Studebaker pierce the urban soundscape before fading away. 

Against the backdrop of this singular urban hubbub, siblings Mauricio, Florencia, Francisco, and Guillermo Sánchez André established Cervecería Malafama, an award-winning brewpub in downtown Montevideo that is now the country’s fourth-largest craft brewery. It hides in an unassuming warehouse building on Maldonado Street, a one-way artery that connects Downtown to the neighborhoods of Palermo and Parque Rodó. Its weathered, blue-and-white facade and metal shutters hark back to the building’s past function as a garage, and belie a well-cared-for interior. 

In the building’s front lies an open kitchen with a large brick pizza oven. Next to it are taps and a menu board, flanked by portraits of national heroes holding pints of beer. Wooden tables and stools are stacked, cleaned and ready for the late-night crowds to arrive. Faint sunlight beams down through the skylights, illuminating the stainless-steel fermentation tanks and a Uruguayan flag hanging from the rafters. 

Here, I find co-owner Guillermo Sánchez André hard at work, running between tasks and orchestrating business on his phone. Before making beer, he explains between calls, the four siblings all worked together in the restaurant industry. The oldest, Mauricio, started his career as a polo player; with the money he saved, he opened the successful restaurant Chivipizza—serving pizza and Uruguay’s national sandwich, chivito—with his brother Francisco. Today, they share responsibilities between four businesses and several other endeavors.

Beer entered the picture early, thanks to the fact that the siblings spent their youth traveling and living abroad. While in the United States, they took inspiration from breweries like Grimm Artisanal Ales in Brooklyn, 2nd Shift Brewing in St. Louis, and Tripping Animals Brewing Co. in Miami. In Copenhagen, they found their way to Brus, a brewery, bar, and bottle shop run by To Øl. 

With a growing desire to learn the craft themselves, Mauricio and Francisco got together with their friends at Cerveza Boar, one of Uruguay’s first independent breweries, to learn. “They were the only brewery which did something different at the time, so it inspired us to take a jump and do it ourselves,” Sánchez André says. “They opened their doors for us so we could start trying.” 

THE FIRST HURDLE

Seeing an opportunity in the general void of quality craft beer in their country, the siblings gathered investments from their family and created a business plan, each taking a different role. Mauricio, an experienced business owner, signed up for sales. Florencia, an accomplished academic with plenty of business acumen, took administration. Francisco, a surfer and motocross rider, ventured into production. Guillermo, an athlete and skateboarder, jumped into marketing and design. 

The majority of Uruguay’s craft breweries are self-funded: As of 2019, only around 25% have accessed bank loans. Because production materials can be hard to find, the Sánchez André siblings ordered their brew kit from U.S. supplier ABE Equipment and scheduled it to be sent to the port of Montevideo. But only a few months before the scheduled shipment was supposed to arrive, the location they thought they had secured fell through. They were left with a fortune in state-of-the-art equipment about to be unloaded into the busy port with nowhere to go.

“The building was an incredible search in a desperate moment since we had all the equipment arriving in a month and no building to put the equipment in,” says Sánchez André. “We found a warehouse that was in an ideal location, but not even one neighbor knew who owned it. Our mother went to try to find the owner. She ended up putting a note under the door of a house next door that looked abandoned. It ended up being the owner of the warehouse.”

With the warehouse secured, plans for the buildout progressed. Once the brew kit was installed, the siblings started brewing, and experimenting with their food menu. Sánchez André laughs about it now. Without their mother’s help in finding the owner, he stresses, their venture into craft beer might not have succeeded. 

“The building was an incredible search in a desperate moment since we had all the equipment arriving in a month and no building to put the equipment in. We found a warehouse that was in an ideal location, but not even one neighbor knew who owned it. Our mother went to try to find the owner. She ended up putting a note under the door of a house next door that looked abandoned. It ended up being the owner of the warehouse.”

Brewing beer and running a business with your family requires, as Sánchez André puts it, a lot of respect for your siblings. “Growing up together in different parts of the world was a great experience. You learn to play, discuss, rearrange, discover, and protect each other since when you establish yourself in another country, your family is all you have,” he says.

As Sánchez André goes out for another round of calls, I take in the aroma of fresh wort, and walk among the tall fermentation tanks and stacks of oak barrels. A delivery person comes in and grabs Sánchez André’s attention. After talking to his staff for a moment, he turns his attention back to me, smiles, and continues telling Malafama’s story. 

“We’re the first craft brewery in Uruguay to sell our beer in cans,” he says. Malafama’s cans and bottles—emblazoned with quirky artwork, historical puns, and comically drawn figures from Uruguay’s history—have become almost as popular for their labels as their contents. 

I stare up at a tower of aluminum cans, malt bags, and hops. According to data from a study on Uruguay’s craft beer industry in 2019, Uruguay was the world’s ninth-largest producer of malt. Because of this, most breweries can find local malt easily, although Sánchez André says Malafama prefers to use imported malt to get more distinct flavor profiles that helps it stand out from its competitors.  

Unlike malt and yeast, hops‌ are difficult to find locally, as they do not grow well in Uruguay’s subtropical climate. According to the same 2019 study, around 60% of the nation’s craft breweries had trouble accessing hops. Because of import costs, they become a precious and scarce resource, especially in a country where the overwhelming majority of craft beer sales are for IPAs. 

Pointing to the endless bags and cans stacked on the wall, Sánchez André describes the scarcity of brewing ingredients that not only are of good quality but are affordable, too. Products like cans and labels can take months to be delivered in Uruguay. They had to wait almost eight months for their first pallet of cans to come in, he tells me. Next to high business taxes, access to quality resources seems to be the greatest challenge for craft brewers in Uruguay. 

REIFYING THE PAST AS AN IMAGE OF THE FUTURE

A burned imprint of Malafama’s logo, a profile illustration of a Charrúa man, stands out on a wooden barrel. As Sánchez André explains, it connects deeply to his family’s past. “Our grandmother always told us stories about our ancestor, the poet Juan Zorrilla de San Martín,” he says. “When we were looking for a name and a logo, she showed us a poem he wrote named ‘Tabaré.’”

Uruguay’s history is, like the rest of North and South America, full of brutality inflicted on its Indigenous communities. Over centuries, many of Uruguay’s Indigenous people were either murdered or driven from their homes under the guise of their bad reputation, or “malafama” in Spanish. Today, only a small percentage of Uruguay’s population reports having Indigenous ancestry. 

Right at the prosperous turn of the 20th century, Juan Zorrilla de San Martín’s “Tabaré” hit the shelves. This epic poem chronicled the tragic love affair between a Spanish woman and a Charrúa man. The poem would eventually be regarded as a national treasure. 

“Inside that book was a drawing made by pencil with a […] Charrúa man inside. Immediately we decided that this was the logo,” says Sánchez André. The team chose the name and image to honor Uruguay’s lost Indigenous heritage.

Going against the grain has helped Malafama stand out among its competition. In a land where industrial Lagers compete with tannic Tannat wines and honey grappa, most breweries stick to Honey Ales, Lagers, and IPAs. Many locals say that one reason for the IPA’s surging popularity is thanks to the Uruguayan taste for bitter yerba mate. But Malafama goes beyond local flavor expectations, sometimes way beyond; in Sánchez André’s eyes, it is an experimental brewery. 

“We’re constantly tweaking our recipes in order to make each batch better,” he says. “From the water profile to the yeast, we try our best to control every possible variable that influences the final product.” Malafama produces an evolving range of beer styles: fruited Sours, Hazy IPAs, Lagers inspired by the siblings’ travels to Europe, and thick Imperial Stouts.

Rompecabezas, meaning jigsaw puzzle in Spanish, is a cloudy Imperial IPA that’s a particular hit with customers. Although the costs and logistics of importing hops into Uruguay are high, Sánchez André stresses their importance. “Hops are the protagonists in our IPAs,” he says. “We’re trying new hop varieties and looking for ways to source the best hops in the market. Although we love using common hops such as Citra and Mosaic, we also try to look for different profiles using different hops in our hazy beers—sometimes they’re controversial, such as Sabro.” (With its strong coconut profile, Sabro is a polarizing hop.)

Lagers are also a key focus for Malafama. Since 2019, the team has been producing them using time-tested methods, including natural carbonation and long lagering periods. “Although we follow traditional methods, we look for profiles that adapt to what we like the most. For example, we brew our Pilsner using 100% Czech Saaz [hops], but we actually make it lighter and less bitter than traditional Czech Pilsners.”

Malafama also produces heavy and robust Imperial Stouts, some of which feature added ingredients like coconut, vanilla beans, and milk sugar. This being wine country, barrels are easy to come by, and after taking inspiration from breweries in the United States, the team at Malafama fell in love with barrel-aging their beers. “We have barrel-aged almost everything we produce, just to try out how it will work out. We do not have the best conditions for it in our warehouse, but we manage to get some great products,” says Sánchez André.

Malafama purchases most of its barrels from wineries, but every so often, the team is able to secure one from the government distillery, which is closing down. “We get a call every once in a while when they are emptying barrels and we have been able to get our hands on some very nice and very bad rum [and whiskey] barrels,” laughs Sánchez André. Today, they barrel-age mixed- and spontaneous-fermentation beers, Stouts, and Lagers. “We really like how our Lagers evolve in the barrel. We will be doing way more of this.”

Unlike most breweries in Uruguay, Malafama also produces Kettle Sours, which contain fruit from a nearby farm and uncommon ingredients like ice cream, dulce de leche, and marshmallows. Wine grapes also appear on their list of ingredients. One of these specials is called Tiemblan los Tiranos de Haber Excitado Nuestro Enojo (The Tyrants Tremble Having Excited Our Anger—the name is taken from a quote by José Gervasio Artigas, a Uruguayan national hero). It’s a barrel-aged Sour blended with grape juice that has gone through a carbonic maceration process. 

“Most of our production is experimental and one-off beers,” says Sánchez André. Recently, the team has been working with Karina Medina of the University of the Republic of Uruguay to identify and isolate wild yeasts. These have been turning the flavor profile of some of their beers to green apple or apple jam, he says, noting that they’re looking forward to seeing how those flavors come out during barrel fermentation.

SAMPLING THE COMPETITION

A few blocks up the street from Malafama is the popular Mercado Ferrando. Businessmen in sweaters walk in carrying their yerba mates. There are trendy cafes, a wine store, and small food vendors serving everything from Hungarian goulash to vegetarian tikka masala. In the back is Orientales la Patria y la Birra. 

OPB, as it’s known, is one of the city’s best places for craft beer. Here a long counter separates a revolving lineup of local beers. Friends Álvaro De León and Javier Rocha started OPB back in 2016 with the mission of advancing Uruguayan craft beer and promoting local breweries. 

“To talk about the future, you have to look back at the past. From my perspective, we have a conservative palate. For 150 years, practically the only beer we consumed was industrial Lager. There was nothing else,” says De León.

The craft beer revolution came late to Uruguay. Several brewers tried to establish themselves in the late ’90s and early 2000s, but ultimately failed. According to De León, beer beyond industrial Lager remained a novelty until about 2015, when entrepreneurs and microbreweries started to enter the market. Suddenly, new varieties of beer like IPAs, Scottish Ales, and Stouts started becoming popular. Today, people have more resources and drive to try something new.

“To talk about the future, you have to look back at the past. From my perspective, we have a conservative palate. For 150 years, practically the only beer we consumed was industrial Lager. There was nothing else.”

Some breweries were quick to capitalize on the new craft revolution. Many, according to De León, grew too quickly, producing high-quality beer but expanding too fast for their audience to catch up with them, leading to more supply than demand. Malafama, he says, found the right balance. “I think Malafama achieved a very impeccable product with a commercial and aesthetic sense. In order to achieve something that sets you apart, you have to be creative to accompany the product with a matching aesthetic. Not to mention the product has to be delicious.”

Thanks to this creativity, Malafama overcame its second major hurdle: the pandemic. Before 2020, most of Uruguay’s craft breweries tied their sales to restaurants and bars. Many more only served their beer on tap at their own brewpubs. After the pandemic began, even Uruguay’s relatively loose restrictions hit hospitality venues hard. After restrictions began lifting, many breweries couldn’t bounce back.  

Malafama was lucky to have an established brand, a skilled leadership team, a large space, and a canning and bottling facility. Thanks to those advantages, Sánchez André says, Malafama was able to emerge from the pandemic stronger than ever. “In the end, we believe COVID really helped us rearrange and tighten up our costs,” he says.

Later, I open Malafama’s barrel-aged Imperial Stout, Con Libertad ni Ofendo ni Temo (With Freedom I Neither Offend Nor Fear), named after another Artigas quote. The naturally carbonated, bottle-fermented beer has an almost savory aroma, balanced with notes of chocolate. Fittingly, it won a gold medal in the wood and barrel-aged category at the 2022 Uruguayan Beer Cup. 

Beers like it were impossible to find in Uruguay merely a decade ago, Pablo Pereiro tells me. He is the founder of the Uruguayan Beer Cup, the Brewing Center, the School of Beers, and a BJCP International Judge. His career spans the length of Uruguay’s craft beer boom.

“I started as a homebrewer in 2012. Then, I took several courses, first in homebrewing, then more professionally in Argentina—here in Uruguay, at that time there was nothing, neither the sale of supplies, nor equipment, less in education,” says Pereiro. 

Peirero would go on to pass the BJCP exam in 2013 and study beer at the University of Alicante in Spain while simultaneously starting to judge beer competitions in Brazil and Argentina. In Chicago, he took the Master of Beer Styles and Evaluation course with Randy Mosher and Ray Daniels at the Siebel Institute. In 2016, he launched the Uruguayan Beer Cup, a small competition at the time, which has since grown into the country’s premier beer contest.

“Malafama has good investment that helps make this possible,” he says. “Plus, both Francisco and the guys who work with him are quite demanding of their product, and quite creative.”

For Sánchez André, Malafama simply aims to be a high-quality brand that resonates with Uruguayans.

“Malafama is an example of growth by learning, of seeking knowledge, continuous improvement, and of seeking continuous consumer satisfaction,” says Richard Ausán, a sommelier, bartender, and BJCP judge. “Excellent equipment, excellent raw materials, and continually seeking to improve.” 

Ausán’s personal journey into good beer reflects the experience of his country. His involvement began in rural Uruguay, where he helped his uncle sell beverages in his corner store. 

“Over time, I became a bartender, then a sommelier, and out of that passion for drinks, I became very interested in beers while working in an Irish-style pub,” he says. “Soon after, I was taking an Online Beer Technology course at Siebel, then became a BJCP Judge, then a Certified Cicerone and Beer Specialist. I never stopped studying and training.” 

Ausán is hard to win over. Although he doesn’t name any breweries in particular, his critique is honest and direct, and his concern for craft beer in Uruguay pressing. Initially, he says, he wasn’t impressed by beers from Malafama. “I tried some, and they seemed unbalanced to me and I didn’t know what direction the brewery was going for,” he says. “It confused me a bit.”

That criticism didn’t last long. A few months later, the siblings called Ausán to see if he could carry out a tasting with their beers. He agreed. 

“They have improved exponentially,” he says. “They continued studying, traveling to other breweries, making beers with other colleagues, and doing beer pairings in their brewpub with their own beers and those of colleagues in the region.” 

It is, he says, a very tight ship. 

“Whenever I visit the [brewery], the neatness is so surprising that it doesn’t seem that beer is being brewed. The equipment is always impeccable. They brew different styles, they work with barrels, with wild yeasts, their special beers come out in bottles, something that I applaud with all my might. I am a fan of Imperial Stouts, Barley Wine, and Old Ale. Those beers need a bottle!”

A TYPICAL FRIDAY NIGHT

Winter in Montevideo is in full swing, and Malafama is ready for the weekend. It’s Friday night, just a few minutes after its doors open. Already customers pour in, taking seats at the bar. Thunder suddenly cracks overhead and everyone crowds into the brewpub. 

Amidst the chaos and clamor of the crowds, Francisco Sánchez André comes over to talk. Like his brother, he is busy, engaged in tasks, dragged between calls, meetings, and customers. In between recounting stories of his family’s business and Uruguay’s surf regions, he is helping his busy staff pour beers and take orders. 

“They have improved exponentially. They continued studying, traveling to other breweries, making beers with other colleagues, and doing beer pairings in their brewpub with their own beers and those of colleagues in the region.”

Rain begins pelting the roof. A staff member comes and whispers something to Francisco: The roof has sprung a small leak. He races off to fix the problem.

For a moment, his sister Florencia Sánchez André comes over to say hello. Like her brothers, she regularly jumps between roles. Her brother talks about her incredible leadership and that without each other, none of this would work. Between the brewpub and their popular restaurants, the siblings opened a fast-growing pizza restaurant named Dos Orientales, which has lately demanded much of their time.

A few of Malafama’s Stouts go down easily, and Francisco hangs out intermittently throughout the evening. The woodfired oven pumps out pizzas and piping-hot fondues for the hordes of customers now filling the tables. The atmosphere is fun, loud, and chaotic—just what a good brewpub should be. 

As the siblings prepare for the busy evening and say goodbye, the rhythm of the jovial Friday night rush takes over. Malafama feels like something special. A successful brewpub run by a motivated team of siblings who are trying to change craft beer in their country from the inside out.  

In our earlier conversation, Richard Ausán summed up Malafama’s approach best. 

“From their logo, the paintings in the brewpub, the lonja—animal skin used in the drums of Uruguayan Candombe—of the bar. It is a brewpub with a national identity, taking care of the details of its image, presentation and, especially, the quality of the product.”

Words by Matthew Dursum
Photos by Samantha Demangate