If you walk into a Mexican household during a birthday party or a random Sunday afternoon, you’re almost guaranteed to hear someone yelling. It’s not an argument. It's usually a frantic shout of "¡Buenas!" followed by a table full of people groaning in mock despair. They’re playing the Loteria game.
Most outsiders call it "Mexican Bingo." That’s a fair starting point, sure, but it’s also kinda like calling a Ferrari "just a car." While the mechanics feel familiar—matching items on a card to win a prize—the soul of the game is rooted in centuries of art, history, and a very specific type of cultural humor that you just don't find in a sterile suburban bingo hall.
It’s a game of luck. It's a game of speed. But mostly, it’s a visual dictionary of Mexican identity.
What is Loteria game and where did it actually come from?
Most people assume Loteria is purely Mexican. Honestly, it didn't even start there. The game actually has Italian roots, tracing back to the 15th-century "Lo Giuoco del Lotto d’Italia." From Italy, it drifted into Spain, and eventually, Spanish settlers brought it to Mexico in the late 1700s.
Initially, it was a hobby for the elites. The wealthy played with hand-painted tin sheets. It wasn't until the late 19th century that it became a game for the masses. This shift happened largely because of a French businessman named Don Clemente Jacques. If that name sounds familiar, it’s because his brand still dominates the canned jalapeño and salsa aisles today.
In 1887, Jacques began printing the version of the Loteria game we recognize now. He used the game as a way to market his products, but he also accidentally created a standardized iconographic language for an entire nation. His "Don Clemente Gallo" edition is the gold standard. When you think of the sun (El Sol), the ladder (La Escalera), or the little devil (El Diablito), you’re thinking of his specific illustrations.
How you play (And why the beans matter)
The setup is deceptively simple. You have a tabla, which is a 4x4 grid of images. A caller, known as the gritón (the shouter), pulls cards from a deck and announces them. If you have the image on your board, you mark it.
You don't use plastic chips. That feels wrong.
In a real Loteria game, you use pinto beans. Sometimes chickpeas. Maybe small stones if you’re playing outside. There is a tactile satisfaction to sliding a dried bean onto a colorful card that a plastic marker just can’t replicate.
Winning isn't always about a straight line, either. While "four in a row" (horizontal, vertical, or diagonal) is the standard, many families play "blackout" where you have to fill the whole card, or "the four corners," or even a 2x2 square in the middle. The gritón usually decides the rules before the first card is flipped.
The art of the "Grito"
This is where the game gets interesting. An expert caller doesn't just read the name on the card. That’s boring. They use refranes—short riddles or rhymes—to tease the audience.
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Instead of saying "The Umbrella" (La Sombrilla), they might say, "For the sun and for the rain."
Instead of "The Drunk" (El Borracho), they might joke, "He drinks to forget, but forgets to drink."
This creates a layer of mental agility. You have to know the imagery well enough to recognize the riddle before the caller even says the name. It turns a game of pure chance into something that feels almost like a pub quiz mixed with a comedy set. It's fast. It's loud. It's incredibly competitive.
The 54 icons: A window into a culture
There are 54 cards in a standard deck. They aren't random. They represent a cross-section of Mexican life, folklore, and even some uncomfortable stereotypes that have sparked modern debates.
Take La Catrina or La Calavera. These aren't just spooky skeletons; they are nods to Jose Guadalupe Posada’s social satire and the Day of the Dead. Then you have the natural world: El Alacrán (The Scorpion), La Rosa (The Rose), and El Árbol (The Tree).
There's also some weirdness. El Negrito and La Sirena (The Mermaid) reflect historical and mythological influences that have existed in Mexico for hundreds of years. Some of the cards feel like they belong in a tarot deck, like La Luna (The Moon) or La Estrella (The Star). Others are just everyday objects: La Campana (The Bell), La Bota (The Boot), or El Cazo (The Saucepan).
Why the Loteria game is exploding in 2026
You’ve probably noticed Loteria imagery everywhere lately. It’s on t-shirts at Target, it’s in high-end art galleries, and it’s all over social media. Why? Because it’s the ultimate "retro" aesthetic. The bold lines and primary colors of the Jacques deck are timeless.
But it’s also about reclaiming identity. For many Mexican-Americans and members of the diaspora, the Loteria game is a tether to a home they might not visit often. It’s a piece of childhood.
We’re also seeing a massive wave of "Millennial Loteria" and "Gen Z Loteria" decks. These creators are swapping out the old icons for modern ones. Instead of La Corona (The Crown), you might see La Selfie. Instead of El Borracho, you might see La Cruda (The Hangover). It’s a way of keeping the game alive by making it reflect the world we actually live in today.
Beyond the kitchen table: Education and therapy
Believe it or not, Loteria is a legitimate educational tool.
Teachers use it to help students learn Spanish vocabulary because the visual-auditory connection is so strong. You see the image, you hear the word, you mark the bean. It’s active learning.
In some senior centers, specifically within the Hispanic community, Loteria is used as a cognitive exercise. It keeps the mind sharp. It forces the player to process information quickly and stay engaged with the group. It’s "brain training" that happens to involve the chance of winning a few pesos or a bag of candy.
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Common misconceptions to clear up
A lot of people think Loteria is a gambling game. Well, it can be. In fairs (ferias) across Mexico, people play for money, and the stakes can get surprisingly high. But at its heart, it’s a family game. The "bet" is usually five cents a card, or maybe just bragging rights.
Another mistake is thinking there’s only one version. While the Don Clemente version is the most famous, there are hundreds of regional variations. Some use different numbering. Some have entirely different icons based on local legends.
Also, it’s not just for kids. In fact, some of the refranes used by callers at adult parties can get pretty "blue." The double entendres (albures) are a huge part of Mexican verbal culture, and Loteria is the perfect playground for that kind of wordplay.
How to host your own Loteria night
If you want to play, don't overthink it. You can buy a deck online for about five dollars.
- Get the snacks right. You need something easy to eat with one hand while the other hand is busy with beans. Chips and salsa are the minimum requirement.
- Find a good "Gritón." This person needs energy. They need to be able to talk fast and keep the crowd moving. If they can make up rhymes on the fly, even better.
- The prizes. Don't just play for nothing. Even if it's just a "get out of washing dishes" card or a specific candy bar, having something on the line makes the "Buenas!" shout much more satisfying.
- The Beans. Seriously, use pinto beans. It’s non-negotiable for the authentic experience.
Actionable steps for beginners
If you’re new to the Loteria game, start by familiarizing yourself with the first ten cards of the standard deck. Learn the Spanish names and the common riddles associated with them. This builds your "visual vocabulary" so you aren't hunting for a picture while everyone else is already marking their boards.
Next, look for digital versions if you can't find a physical deck. There are plenty of apps and even Google Doodle archives that let you play solo to get the rhythm down. The rhythm is everything. If you fall behind the caller, you’re done.
Finally, consider the art. Many people buy two decks—one to play with and one to use for craft projects or home decor. The cards make incredible coasters or framed mini-prints. It’s a way to bring a piece of Mexican history into your space without it feeling like a dusty museum piece.
The game isn't going anywhere. It has survived wars, revolutions, and the digital age. It’s a testament to the power of simple, beautiful design and the universal human need to sit around a table and hope for a little bit of luck.
Making the game your own
The beauty of Loteria is its flexibility. You don't have to be Mexican to appreciate the mechanics, but you should respect the history. If you're playing in a diverse group, use it as a starting point to talk about the symbols. Ask why the "Cactus" is so prominent or what the "Hand" represents.
Most importantly, don't be afraid to be loud. The Loteria game is not a quiet, contemplative experience. It’s a celebration. If you aren't laughing or arguing over whether a bean actually landed on the line, you probably aren't doing it right.
Pick up a deck, grab a handful of beans, and wait for that first card to flip. Just remember to yell "Buenas!" the second you get that fourth bean in a row. If you hesitate, someone else will beat you to it, and in Loteria, second place is just the first person to lose.
Quick Start Guide:
- Keywords to know: Tabla (Board), Baraja (Deck), Frijoles (Beans), Gritón (Caller).
- The Winning Shout: Always "¡Buenas!" or "¡Loteria!"
- The Classic Deck: Look for "Don Clemente Gallo" for the original 1887 artwork.
- Modern Twist: Search for "Loteria kitsch" or "Millennial Loteria" for updated cultural icons.