The Mint Julep

Summer's here in North America, and depending on where you happen to be, the smothering wet blanket of heat and humidity can be almost completely inescapable. There's always the option of living a vampiric half-life under the artificial chill of air conditioning, but it's not healthy. Remove a human being from the weather, and you've removed them from Mother Earth.

That, and air conditioners are expensive. And heavy.

And so, if you're strapped in for a long hot summer somewhere where it's often above 90 degrees — like Memphis, or New Orleans, or Atlanta, or Boston, or Milwaukee, or just about anywhere except for San Francisco, which maintains a constant 60 degrees with fog for 365 days a year — you've got to learn how to cope.

The best coping methods don't necessarily involve spreading ice cubes around on your torso, or camping out in front of huge box fans, or soaking your head in a cold tub of water. Those methods are for the short term, and they smack of desperation.

Once your torso is dry, you're hotter than ever — and bitter that relief is gone. That, and you've tired yourself out by moving.

The solution is to embrace the heat. Become one with the heat. Lounge, fiercely.

Champion loungers don't chill on their own. They have friends to pass the time with. They have porches that they can stretch their legs on. They have grills, to barbecue food with. And they have a nice cold drink.

Whether you're drinking a lemonade, or a Coke, or an ice water, your beverage will cool you down, and make you feel like life's all right. But each carries its own message.

Freshly squeezed lemonade reflects a certain childish innocence, and a healthy appreciation for summer's charms. Coca-Cola, laced with caffeine, sugar and American imperialism, is the perfect patriotic accompaniment to a summer meal. Ice water... well, this isn't the forum to reflect on people who drink ice water.

People who drink ice water have problems. They know who they are, and let's leave it at that.

Reader Email "As a loyal Kentuckian, I feel the need to correct an error..." More ›

But a mint julep is a delicious subcategory unto itself.

The big picture is this: A mint julep is like the perfect human experience, chilled and poured into a cup. Except it's mintier.

It starts fierce and abrasive. You wonder what you've gotten into. You're confused, but intrigued. You fight your way in. You begin to pick up on the nuances: the vivid smell of mint. The crushed ice. The slowly weakening flavor of bourbon. Finally, the drink swoons onto your palette, a sweet, minty angel dancing in the service of God and Jack Daniels.

The lesson of the julep: Dessert comes last. Always take the good news last ... always take hard work first ... and you'll spend a lot more time with a sweet aftertaste in your mouth.

More concretely, however, a mint julep is like most great things: It's complicated, and it's simple. It's complicated, because you've got to get your portions and presentation right. It's simple, because there are four ingredients: sugar, water, bourbon and mint.

First, you make a few tablespoons of simple syrup. One part sugar, one part water. Crush a couple mint leaves in the syrup, and let it sit. Chill. Roast a hot dog.

Come back to the kitchen, and appreciate the syrup. It's the alpha and omega of your mint julep.

Pour a spoonful of syrup into the bottom of a short glass. Tear up a mint leaf, and crush it against the side and bottom the glass, mashing it around in the syrup a bit.

Now, crush the hell out of some ice. You'll need more ice cubes than you think — an 8 oz. glass needs at least six cubes.

Quick, pour the crushed ice into the glass. Good.

Now, take five or six sprigs of mint, and stick them down into the ice. The sprigs should be even in length, and protrude above the rim of the glass so that your nose gets lost in a mint garden every time you tip the glass for a sip.

Now add the bourbon. Oh, yeah. You'll probably see something like 4 oz. of the stuff tumble down into the ice and greenery. Good.

Top the bourbon off with another spoonful of the simple syrup.

If it's hot enough, the crushed ice may fog the sides of your glass. Appreciate what you've made. It's beautiful.