The Mint Julep: From Persia, With Love

RUN OF SHOW

Turning our attention back to the Mint Julep, I want to give you a quick table of contents for this foundations episode.

• We’re gonna skip over the featured cocktail because there’ll be a few recipes we dig into later in the show.

• That means we’ll begin by trying to define what a julep is, where it comes from, and where mint enters into the equation.

• Next, we’ll place its formulation in contrast to other drinks that were popular during its heyday – that time being the late 1700s to mid-1800s.

• After that we’ll talk about its connection with the Kentucky Derby, which leads to a few fun equestrian mixological digressions.

• And we’ll wrap with some tips for preparing mint Juleps in the year 2021 in time for the Kentucky Derby or whatever other excuse you might have for making them.

With that, let’s dive right in.

HISTORY OF THE JULEP

One of the things we like to say about cocktails is that they’re an “American Invention.” Which is on-brand for us, since we came to America, looked at the people who were already here, and said, “thanks, this looks like it’s ours.” So, in the interest of accuracy, I’m always very interested in making sure we’re clear about what we mean when we reference a certain cocktail or cocktail family, and the julep is no different. We want to understand not only what we interpret as a julep TODAY, but also where it may have come from.

The word “julep” was actually in use for many centuries prior to the founding of the United States. In fact. Its earliest form, according to linguists, is the Persian gul-āb (meaning rose water), which then migrated to Spain as julāb during the Arab conquest. You can see how it’s only a hop, skip, and a jump from there to arrive at our contemporary pronunciation of the word “julep”.

But this begs the question: what does rose water have to do with anything?

Well, it references one of the most common applications of the original Muslim julep, which is just a sugar syrup infused with some sort of herb or fruit. Just like in certain parts of the American South, the word “coke” can be used to refer to soft drinks in general, my reading is that the Persian gul-āb is a reference to the original or preeminent julep flavoring, which was rose water.

See, juleps were used medicinally to treat any number of maladies that (at the time) were attributed to an imbalance in humors. We didn’t have germ theory when these Muslim chemists and medics were formulating their potions. So when you went to the physician and said that you had a stomach ache, for example, you weren’t given pepto bismol or antacids. Instead, you may have been prescribed a julep infused with a particular herb or fruit that was purported to help with your particular malady. If there’s one takeaway here, it should be that the placebo effect is statistically significant.

As the Arab political influence in Europe waned in the 15 and 1600s, a number of their scientific and cultural influences remained. This is when we see the julep spread across Europe as an accepted health tonic that had the distinct benefit of being sweet, unlike some of the less palatable, bitter brews in vogue during and after the high renaissance. So this we know: at the time of the founding of the first American colonies, the term “julep” was already in our vocabulary…but where did the booze come from?

We don’t exactly know, but we do know that it’s we Americans who were responsible for putting it in there. In Chapter 6 of his book, Imbibe!, David Wondrich explains that in 1770, [quote]

“It was [considered] medicine…when Peter Thompson, a surgeon, was prescribing juleps compounded with things like egg yolks, ‘Chymical Oil of Cinnamon,’ and ‘Salt of Wormwood.’

Yet in Virginia […] in 1784, John Ferdinand Smyth, a Briton traveling in Virginia remarked that upon arising the man of the lower or middling class ‘drinks a julap, made of rum, water, and sugar, but very strong’; now to call this […] a julep is like calling a morning bong-hit ‘glaucoma medicine.’ (This was the same kind of winking sophistry that allowed American drinkers to dub a morning Cocktail ‘taking your bitters.’)”

“Winking sophistry” is an interesting way of saying that if our founding fathers could find a way to put alcohol where it otherwise didn’t belong, they’d go ahead and do it. So despite there being an existing, medically useful definition of the word julep, it was quickly eclipsed in the newly independent United States by a more bibulous denotation.

It’s like in The Office when Andy Bernard says “Beer me [that water].” Colonial Americans were walking around saying “rum me that julep!”

And it’s also clear that from the very beginning, mint was a favored garnish. Lots of sources from Wondrich’s research and beyond confirm that mint was viewed as a healthful plant and flavoring and was therefore a great excuse to have booze with your breakfast. In his book, Spirits, Sugar, Water, Bitters, Derek Brown quotes another Englishman – Captain Frederick Marryat – who wrote in 1840 [quote]:

“They say that you may always know the grave of a Virginian as from the quantity of Julep he has drunk mint invariably springs up where he has been buried.” [End quote]

Later on, American whiskey would replace rum and imported Cognac as the favored base spirit in the julep, especially as the nation expanded westward and grain-based spirits were more locally available than rum in most places. Just sort of makes sense, geographically speaking.

This gives us roughly what we would view today as a classic Mint Julep: A dram of American whiskey, a good dose of sugar, some water (ideally frozen), and as much mint as you can fit in there. If you’re familiar with the formal definition of a cocktail, you’ll notice that the julep is missing bitters and is therefore not a true cocktail, but resembles that category of proto-cocktails that we call “slings” and “toddies.” This not only puts it in its proper category but helps to explain why it predates the cocktail – in essence – a julep is just a little simpler. The bitters are conspicuously absent, and if you were to order this drink prepared at a bar or tavern, it would likely be “tossed” rather than stirred or shaken.

In its best form, the mint julep is a less fussy cocktail that places an emphasis on cooling – through shaved ice and an abundance of mint – rather than sophistication of preparation or ingredients. So it turns out that, despite its foreign origins, the julep is a very American libation indeed.

The last thing we need to cover in the “origins” segment of this episode is the somehow ongoing dispute between the states of Virginia and Kentucky as to which Commonwealth can claim the drink as its own. Of course, this is a useless, stupid debate. From what I can tell, Virginia’s claim to the julep is that its constituents drank a lot of them back in the day, which is your standard “enthusiasm for ownership” argument. Real sophisticated. And Kentucky, on the other hand, seems to be under the impression that a Mint Julep can only be made with Kentucky Bourbon, which is a fallacy so glaring that it almost has me sympathizing with Virginia for multiple reasons. So, if you happen to encounter someone who seems to have a serious stake in this nationalistic debate, my recommendation would be to nod politely, seem sympathetic to their point of view, and then ask them if they’ll make you another drink. Definitely don’t bring up the fact that Julep is a Persian invention.

You can start to see here a distinction that would ultimately become the yawning rift between the temperance movement and those who favored strong drink. But for our purposes, it demonstrates how America managed to democratize the otherwise aristocratic sport of horse racing. Of course, the people who owned and bred the horses were insanely wealthy, but that didn’t prohibit anyone with what he considered a bit of inside information from placing a small bet that could really pay off. This popular appeal is what drew thousands of people to the tracks for races like the Kentucky Derby, Preakness and Belmont Stakes – the three races that today make up the Triple Crown.

Although it was pre-dated by the Belmont Stakes by 8 years and the Preakness by 2 years, the Kentucky Derby has come to dominate the American consciousness when it comes to horse racing – and of course, mint juleps. Founded by Merriweather Lewis Clark Jr. – yeah I’m not making that up…it’s explorer William Clark’s grandson…the Kentucky Derby ran its first race in 1875, which was a time in American history when cocktails were all the rage.

It took place at Churchill Downs – the racetrack of the Louisville Jockey Club which was organized by Clark a few years earlier – and continues to be held in the same location to this day. And if you were a Kentuckian in 1875, you’d probably be extremely bullish on your local whiskey that had been receiving a lot of attention due to the complete absence of Brandy imports caused by the phyloxera plague that had ravaged France in the two preceding decades.

You knew I was gonna bring this back to Phyloxera. It always. Comes. Back. To Phyloxera.

Anyway, legend has it that mint was planted at Churchill Downs when it was first built specifically so that Juleps could be served at races, so at least in some sense, the drink was appreciated and planned for by the folks who organized the event. It makes sense, then, that the mint julep would go on to become the official drink of the Kentucky Derby, with commemorative silver julep cups being designed and sold each year since 1939.

These silver cups are an important reference to the aristocratic lineage of horse racing, but they also serve an interesting ergonomic purpose that we’ll discuss in just a few moments.

Before we do that, though, I can’t let the other two legs of the triple crown go unappreciated for the mixological masterpieces that they have selected as their official drinks. I hope you can sense the sarcasm in my voice.

Let’s start with the least egregious of the two (I THINK it’s the least egregious…), which is the Black Eyed Susan, official cocktail of the Preakness, held at Pimlico Race Course in Baltimore, MD.

The good thing about the Black Eyed Susan is that I can’t find an official recipe for it. And normally that would be a bad thing, but most recipes make this look like a confusing, hamfisted riff on a Long Island Iced Tea. Here’s the recipe for the 2019 version of the drink (yeah, that’s right, it’s so bad they have to change it every year):

• 1 part Maker’s Mark

• 1 part DeKuyper Cocktail Peachtree (I don’t know what this is, but I bet it doesn’t taste like tree)

• 1 part Effen Vodka

• 2 parts orange juice

• 2 parts sour mix

Shake all ingredients over ice and strain into a glass over crushed ice. Garnish with an orange and cherry.

I assume that means each drink comes with a whole orange that you can peel and eat, and a fresh cherry to wash it down.

You have to guess, though, that at some point there was a modicum of logic that went into the making of this cocktail. It’s named after the blanket of black eyed susans that gets draped over the horse that wins the race, so at least the concept hits the mark.

According to the Baltimore Sun:

The drink was first served at the 1973 Preakness by the Harry M. Stevens Co., the longtime caterers at Pimlico Race Course. It’s said the team worked hard to make the drink have a pale yellow color, something that doesn’t remain today.

Ah, yes – a pale yellow color – the most elusive of ALL the colors in cocktail world to achieve. We certainly wouldn’t want it to be a dark golden color like a real Black Eyed Susan. No, that would be too “on the nose.”

Listen, at least we can speculate that there’s some lost recipe for the Black Eyed Susan that’s not as terrible as the one I just read for you. But that, I think, is about the only good thing we can say about the Black Eyed Susan cocktail. Caveat Emptor.

Now, the Belmont Stakes’ original cocktail is so bad that nobody’s willing to say when it became the official cocktail. It, like the Black Eyed Susan, refers to the blanket of flowers draped over the winning horse…which, can we admit is a little much?…anyway, it’s called the White Carnation, and here’s the recipe:

• 2 oz vodka (Starting off strong)

• ½ ounce peach schnapps (sounds like the ‘70s)

• two ounces orange juice (definitely the ‘70s)

• two ounces soda water (or enough to fill the glass)

• splash of cream (aaarrgh! God! Why?!)

• orange wheel (garnish)

Now, I don’t know why this, to me, sounds worse than the Black Eyed Susan, but there’s something about making a perfectly objectionable sweet vodka drink and then saying: you know what this needs? Heavy Cream…that really triggers me.

Right? Because you know somebody came up with the bones of this drink, and then got feedback from the board (I’m assuming there’s a board somewhere) saying it has to be white because of the white carnations. And someone’s response to that feedback was to just dump some heavy cream on top and call it a day. And then people had to drink it! People. Had. To DRINK it. For like, years! Probably decades! That’s both horrifying and amazing.

Anyway, in 1997, the official drink was changed to the Belmont Breeze, which was developed by New York Bartender and “King Cocktail” himself, Dale DeGroff.

The recipe for this cocktail has gestures to both the Black Eyed Susan and the Mint Julep and is as follows:

• 1½ ounces bourbon whiskey (or rye whiskey)

• ½ ounce sherry (medium dry)

• ½ ounce lemon juice (fresh)

• ½ ounce simple syrup

• splash of orange juice

• splash of cranberry juice

• five mint leaves

• mint sprig (garnish)

• orange peel or slice (garnish)

When the New York Times reviewed both the outgoing and incoming official cocktails, they weren’t exactly complimentary of either, claiming that the Belmont Breeze was [quote] “a significant improvement over the nigh undrinkable White Carnation” despite the fact that it “tastes like a refined trashcan punch.”

Even Dale DeGroff doesn’t hit a homerun every time.

Finally in 2011, the official cocktail of the Belmont Stakes was changed to its current form, the Belmont Jewel – a cocktail that actually makes a little bit of sense.

The recipe for the Belmont Jewel is:

• 1½ ounces bourbon whiskey

• two ounces lemonade

• one ounce pomegranate juice

You shake these ingredients over ice, strain into a rocks glass over more ice, and garnish with a lemon wedge or cherry (garnish).

And now, as we turn our attention back to the Mint Julep, I’d like to take a moment of silence for the many years of painful toil that it took the fine people at the Belmont Stakes to realize that their official cocktail should be…a whiskey sour.

MAKING THE PERFECT MINT JULEP

Now that we know a little bit more about the history, context, and tradition that underpin the mint julep, let’s talk about the important points of craft that can really take your creation to the next level.

As I was conducting some historical research for other aspects of this episode, I came across a letter that seems to exist on some family history blog – I kid you not. It’s listed as a reference on Wikipedia. So I was skimming through this letter that’s completely out of context, but I happened to fall in love with its description of how to make a perfect mint julep. So despite the fact that I don’t know or even really care about who wrote this, I’ll present it to you here.

My Dear General Connor,

Your letter requesting my formula for mixing mint juleps leaves me in the same position in which Captain Barber found himself when asked how he was able to carve the image of an elephant from a block of wood. He replied that it was a simple process consisting merely of whittling off the part that didn’t look like an elephant.

The preparation of the quintessence of gentlemanly beverages can be described only in like terms. A mint julep is not the product of a FORMULA. It is a CEREMONY and must be performed by a gentleman possessing a true sense of the artistic, a deep reverence for the ingredients and a proper appreciation of the occasion. It is a rite that must not be entrusted to a novice, a statistician, nor a Yankee. It is a heritage of the old South, an emblem of hospitality and a vehicle in which noble minds can travel together upon the flower-strewn paths of happy and congenial thought.

So far as the mere mechanics of the operation are concerned, the procedure, stripped of its ceremonial embellishments, can be described as follows:

Go to a spring where cool, crystal-clear water bubbles from under a bank of dew-washed ferns. In a consecrated vessel, dip up a little water at the source. Follow the stream through its banks of green moss and wildflowers until it broadens and trickles through beds of mint growing in aromatic profusion and waving softly in the summer breezes. Gather the sweetest and tenderest shoots and gently carry them home. Go to the sideboard and select a decanter of Kentucky Bourbon, distilled by a master hand, mellowed with age yet still vigorous and inspiring. An ancestral sugar bowl, a row of silver goblets, some spoons and some ice and you are ready to start.

In a canvas bag, pound twice as much ice as you think you will need. Make it fine as snow, keep it dry and do not allow it to degenerate into slush.

In each goblet, put a slightly heaping teaspoonful of granulated sugar, barely cover this with spring water and slightly bruise one mint leaf into this, leaving the spoon in the goblet. Then pour elixir from the decanter until the goblets are about one-fourth full. Fill the goblets with snowy ice, sprinkling in a small amount of sugar as you fill. Wipe the outsides of the goblets dry and embellish copiously with mint.

Then comes the important and delicate operation of frosting. By proper manipulation of the spoon, the ingredients are circulated and blended until Nature, wishing to take a further hand and add another of its beautiful phenomena, encrusts the whole in a glittering coat of white frost. Thus harmoniously blended by the deft touches of a skilled hand, you have a beverage eminently appropriate for honorable men and beautiful women.

When all is ready, assemble your guests on the porch or in the garden, where the aroma of the juleps will rise Heavenward and make the birds sing. Propose a worthy toast, raise the goblet to your lips, bury your nose in the mint, inhale a deep breath of its fragrance and sip the nectar of the gods.

Being overcome by thirst, I can write no further.

Sincerely,

S.B. Buckner, Jr.

BREAKING DOWN THE MINT JULEP TECHNIQUE

Aside from the beautiful writing, this letter does bring up some important mechanical nuances that I’d like to elaborate on.

Mint Julep Ingredients

You don’t need to source your water from a cool, fern-lined stream or wild forage your mint. BUT, using nice spring water or filtered water for your ice isn’t a bad move when it comprises so much of the drink, and growing your own mint is pretty easy, so why not fresh pick it if you have the option?

Also, be aware that mint does have varietals: peppermint, spearmint, chocolate mint, mountain mint, and mint-adjacents like lemon balm. There’s lots of stuff out there, so try and be familiar with the aroma and flavor that you’re going for in your end cocktail. In most cases, this is going to be spearmint, which is what’s sold at most grocery stores.

When sourcing your bourbon, go with what you like, aim for something bonded (that is, over 100 proof), and stay away from the top shelf. You’re going to be sweetening and diluting extensively here, so I’d recommend something like an Evan Williams Bottled in Bond if you can get it.

For sugar, the mint julep is one cocktail where you want it to be white and boring. It’s there as a taste, not as a flavor, so all your sugar has to bring to the game is sweetness.

Mint Julep Technique

Now, after the letter instructs you to do your mise en place (i.e. arranging your tools and ingredients), it has a few other tips I really like.

First, it acknowledges that the hallmark of a great mint julep is finely crushed – nigh powderized – ice. For this, you really need a Lewis Bag and Mallet, and I wish I could say we stocked those on our eCommerce store, but it’s just not one of those high-demand items, so we’re holding off for now. But anyway, if you want to be authentic, that’s the way to go. And the author’s directive to crush twice as much as you think you need is also smart. This is because the smaller your particles are, the less space there is between them, meaning that it takes more to fill a standard space than it would if the pieces were larger.

This also has thermodynamic implications, which we’ll get to in a moment.

Next, our writer describes the step that almost perfectly mirrors a good old fashioned or mojito – the muddling of sugar and water with an aromatic compound (in this case, a single mint leaf). Now, I’ll go out on a limb and say, stick a few mint leaves in there if you want. If you grow it in your own garden, mint is essentially free, so don’t skimp if you don’t have to. This muddling with sugar and water does two things: it activates the essential oils in the mint leaf and helps the sugar to start dissolving before the deep freeze of the ice inhibits that process. Both these things make for a more pleasant and balanced drink.

Really the only part of the instructions I don’t like in this case is where the writer says to sprinkle some sugar in as you add the ice to your silver julep cups. To me, this seems like unnecessary theatre, but hey – if it sounds fun to you, go for it.

You’ll notice that after he adds the ice, he wipes down the outside of the cups so that any frosting that occurs won’t so much melt on the guests hands as it will cool them and instantly evaporate. This is a hospitable gesture in that it prevents wet hands. It’s the little things, you know?

Then we’ve got the stirring of each drink in its vessel, waiting for that frost on the outside as a signal of proper chill and dilution. The interesting thing about crushed ice is that it’s going to chill your drink WAY faster than cubed ice, and the metal julep cup is going to allow the guest to enjoy the cold in a more conductive and visceral way than if they were holding a glass vessel. It’s a whole thermodynamic experience.

The only thing I’d change about this last step is to put the mint bouquet in the cup after stirring because I can’t picture a version of the cocktail that wouldn’t come out completely chaotic otherwise.

Those, in effect, are the steps you need to take to make a good mint julep. It’s not overly complicated, but there are quality markers to try and hit along the way.

MINT JULEP HACKS AND RIFFS

The last thing I want to leave you with are a few more contemporary spins on tackling the mint julep that might make your life easier, faster, or just a little more scalable in case you’re planning on hosting a larger style party in the future.

• Riff No. 1 – Consider infusing your bourbon with mint. This is roughly as simple as it sounds. I’d recommend, if you’re considering this, using a wide-mouth half-gallon mason jar because the key here is making sure the mint leaves don’t get too bruised. As soon as you start mashing these things up, you release the bitter flavors in the leaf (which is why you’ll see bartenders “smack” or “express” mint garnishes, rather than tear or muddle them in many cases.). So, if you’d like to try infusion IN ADDITION TO or as a substitute for mint in your next julep project, we’d love to hear your findings. Please take notes on infusion times, mint type, and bourbon proof. (Oh, and PS – don’t use dried mint. IT DOES NOT TASTE REMOTELY THE SAME. We know. We’ve tried.)

• Riff No.2 – Infuse your syrup with mint. This is going to break a rule that we just made in riff number 1 about breaking the mint leaves. But if (AND ONLY IF) you’re making a single, large round of juleps that you expect will be consumed within half an hour, then it’s feasible. The way I’d go about this is to make a simple syrup, chill it down, then right before I mix my drinks, throw a bunch of mint in there and blitz it up super fine in a blender or food processor. The upside? Lots of fresh mint flavor. The downside? Little tiny mint shreds everywhere. In your teeth, on your glassware, EVERYWHERE. So, great if you’re impatient and need to make a single-serving flight for a non-picky crowd, but not so great if you’re the one doing the dishes.

• Riff No. 3 – use mint tea. Again, let’s be clear – dried mint doesn’t taste like fresh mint, BUT it does complement it nicely. So what if you were to throw some mint tea bags into your simple syrup right before you take it off the heat and let them steep for about a half hour before straining? The will add more depth to your drink and a slightly different mint profile than you might otherwise achieve.

• Riff No. 4 – mess with the garnish the mint bouquet garnish of a mint julep is where half the sensory magic happens. What if you could get your hands on something like lemon balm or fresh lemongrass? What if you snuck a leaf or two of basil or – God Forbid – cilantro into your garnish? Listen, when you’re hosting people, there’s no harm in making them your sensory guinea pigs – just so long as you make sure that your experiments don’t cause anyone to have an allergic reaction.

That about does it for this Bar Cart Foundations episode on the legendary mint julep. I hope you learned something even if you were already very familiar with one of Persia’s greatest gifts to US drinking culture. This should give you plenty of time to plan for this year’s Kentucky Derby (which, by the way, will be held on Saturday, May1, 2021), so please message us on Instagram or email podcast@modernbarcart.com if you have any follow-up questions, and we hope you’ll tag us to share what you cook up for this year’s running of the ponies.

Cheers!