The Dinner Files

It might be possible for me to care less about horse racing, but I’m not sure. It’s not even a lack of care, it’s more an utter and complete ignorance that quite naturally manifests as a lack of interest. Even the crown of crowns – the Kentucky Derby – leaves me shrugging my shoulders and thinking that I’d rather take a walk. But then I remember mint juleps. Yummy delectable refreshing intoxicating mint juleps.

I was once in West Virginia (for a food writing conference at the justly famed Greenbrier Resort) and ordered a mint julep. The bartender very kindly asked me if I was certain that I knew what that was. Yes, I assured him, I did indeed. “Miss,” he said gently, “it’s a strong drink.”

He had clearly had more than one Yankee girl order what sounded like a sweet and fluffy drink only to send it back after one powerful, boozy sip. And, in fairness to his assumptions about me, I am most definitely a Northerner and I was wearing a rather sweet and fluffy dress. The kind of creamy feminine concoction that might make a person think that I like my drinks sweet and fluffy.

Nothing, of course, could be further from the truth. I like my drinks strong. Balanced, but boozy. Which was why I’d never had a mint julep before, precisely because I had thought they were sweet and fluffy. Word among the food writers at the conference, however, was that the bar was serving up some ass-kicking drinks, mint juleps in particular.

“It’s okay,” I told him, lying, “I’ve had them before.”

“You’ve had one here?” He asked.

“Yes,” I lied again, “they’re the best.” He nodded as he flashed me a smile and got to work. Out came the silver cup, in went the mint leaves and the muddling began. And then the muddling kept happening. And then he muddled that mint some more. I learned pretty much everything I know about muddling watching that man muddle, and the key is this: muddle way more than you think you need to. If you keep working at it those mint leaves will, eventually, give up all the minty-ness they have inside them to the drink.

Of course, some people prefer mint juleps made with sort of vaguely bruised mint leaves. And that’s cool. Whatever. To each their own, right? For that you just pour yourself a glass of bourbon on the rocks, scrunch up a mint leaf or two and throw them in. For a real cocktail, though, you’re going to need to work a bit. Don’t worry, I promise you’ll find it totally and completely worth the effort as soon as you take the first sip. And after a a few more sips you’ll quite happily forget all about the muddling because what happens after the muddling is this: you pour in a large amount of bourbon.

Then, if you’re a bartender at the Greenbrier, you add a large sprig of fresh mint and a faint dusting of powdered sugar and the whole thing which, remember, is served in a tall silver cup, looks about as sweet and fluffy and innocent as a drink could look. I’d never seen anything quite like it. He slid it across the bar and watched as I raised it to my lips and took a sip. Then I nodded as I flashed him a smile and got to work.

So whether you’re chomping at the bit to see who wins the Derby (sorry, but was I really supposed to resist?) or, like me, you would have to check, double-check, and triple-check when the race is because you can’t believe your luck that in randomly deciding to feature a State of the Week on your local foods website, Kentucky would fall during the week of the Kentucky Derby, I highly recommend you work a mint julep into your weekend. If you you are so fortunate to have silver or pewter cups, put them to good use. Can you see just that bit of frost that developed on the glass I used? Well, imagine what happens in a metal cup. That’s right: what happens is lots and lots of frost. It looks gorgeous and helps cool you down as the bourbon is heating you up. Specifics listed in this Mint Julep Recipe.