Three Cocktails and an Egg Salad Sandwich: It's Kentucky Derby Weekend!
My weekend plan? It's right there in the subject line. Riders up, friends, it's Friday.
Friends, it’s the first Friday in May.
You know what that means? That means that tomorrow is the first Saturday in May, which is the most special time of the year around these parts. It’s time for the Kentucky Derby—and time for my annual pitch that you should throw a Kentucky Derby party.
(Stop me if you’ve heard this from me before.)
I happen to believe that the first Saturday in May is the perfect occasion for a party, even if you don’t care one bit about horse racing. Functionally speaking, the Kentucky Derby is basically just another New Year’s Eve. Really! Think about it: it’s a once-a-year event that encourages people to dress in their finest, most festive clothes. We serve fancy beverages and dine on finger foods, social, get a little loud, make merry in general… and it all builds up to one almost-an-afterthought thing at the end of the event that only lasts a couple minutes.
The only difference is that it happens in late afternoon in springtime instead of the middle of the dang night in winter.
I love the Kentucky Derby, even though I acknowledge there’s plenty that’s problematic about the event. It’s a genuine holiday season here in Louisville, and it’s one that my wife and I were celebrating even before we moved here a decade ago.
(Our first joint-hosting efforts as a couple were throwing Derby parties in our small New York City apartments; see dog picture for reference.)
Today, I’m in full Derby mode, and I’m going above and beyond my usual Friday offerings for the occasion—I’ve got three cocktails, an extra-fancy version of a classic sandwich, and much more on tap!
Riders up, friends. It’s post time.
(Today’s newsletter is almost certainly too long for email, but if you click through to the website, it’ll all be there.)
Win, Place, Show
Derby time means switching up my usual order; the drinks come first today.
(That’s drinks, plural. I simply couldn’t limit myself to one cocktail on the menu this week.)
Now, the iconic drink of the Kentucky Derby is, of course, the Mint Julep. Olympic swimming pools’ worth of that time-tested concoction will be poured at Churchill Downs and parties around the city this week. If I’m being completely honest, though? I’ve always been a bit lukewarm on juleps myself. This pains me, because I’m someone who usually loves any food or drink that is tied to a specific day or event. (Just ask my wife how many times she’s had to deal with me stinking up the house with sauerkraut on New Year’s Day.)
The Mint Julep, it means well, but… it’s just not the most sophisticated drink.
It’s got an air of high society to it, of course. All those ostentatiously-dressed people sipping on them this week stand as testament to that. Ultimately, though, it’s just bourbon, sugar and mint—a blunt, 19th-century dandy’s attempt to pretend drinking a glass of nearly-straight whiskey is fancy.
Me? I’m not a 19th-century dandy.
I’m a 21st-century dandy, and I have access to a far wider range of spirits than the colonels of the past. For my first drink this week, I set out to embrace the true spirit of the Kentucky Derby: flagrant excess and conspicuous consumption. I wanted to shoehorn as much luxury into one cocktail as I could while making something cohesive and delicious.
There’s a lot going on in this one, so I’ll explain my process as I go.
Million Dollar Baby
1-1/2 ounces Rittenhouse Bottled-in-Bond Rye
I love rye in a cocktail—it’s bolder and spicier than bourbon, and stands up well when you’ve got a lot of other things going on. It’s my preferred whiskey for a Manhattan, and while I often favor Old Overholt for mixing, I went with Rittenhouse, a favorite of bartenders.
1/2 ounce Smith & Cross Rum
I’m newly-enamored with this big, funky rum, having featured it just last week with a Kingston Negroni. A little goes a long way—I first tried a 1:1 split with the rye and it overwhelmed. At 3:1, it plays nicely without bullying.
1/2 ounce Amaro Nonino
After building the spirit base of the cocktail, I wanted an herbal note—here, I’m shooting for an interaction similar to that of the classic Vieux Carre cocktail. While that drink uses bourbon, brandy and Bénédictine, I’m pairing my two brown liquors here with the pleasantly bitter and floral Nonino.
1/4 ounce Bigallet China-China
This is where I’m getting really in the weeds—I could’ve used sweet vermouth to round things out here, but opted instead for this intensely-citrusy French bittersweet liquor for the final punch.
1/3 ounce 2:1 Demerara Sugar Syrup (2 parts Demerara sugar to 1 part water)
Just enough sweetness to cut the edge.
2 dashes Angostura Bitters
2 Luxardo cherries
Orange Peel
Stir the rye, rum, liqueurs, syrup and bitters with ice; strain into a Nick and Nora glass, and garnish with cherries and orange peel.
This was, as I’d hoped, very good.
It was also very strong, as nearly-every ingredient is a full-proof spirit. It’s a drink worthy of Millionaire’s Row, or at least acting like you belong up there.
Scott, that looks nice, but I’m not going to buy four new bottles to make that.
I get that, but you had to let me cook.
Fine—let’s talk mint juleps. They can be good, and if you’re throwing a Derby party, it only feels right to have them. Just don’t waste your time muddling for each drink—the results are iffy, and it’s gross to get little bits of mint leaf in a sip.
To make a good mint julep, you should pre-batch a mint syrup, and this method from cocktail guru Jeffrey Morgenthaler is the way to do it.
Mint Julep
2 ounces relatively-inexpensive bourbon
I used Evan Williams Bottled-in-Bond, but I also like Wild Turkey 101. Woodford Reserve is what they use at the track, and I like Woodford, but it’s a step up in price. A nice $20 bourbon is where you want to land here.
1/2 ounce Heavy Mint Syrup (below)
sprig of mint
ample crushed ice
Heavy Mint Syrup (from Jeffrey Morgenthaler)
- 2 cups sugar
- 1 cup water
- 8 sprigs mint
Bring a pot of water to a boil, and have a bowl of ice water ready. Dunk 6-8 sprigs of mint into the boiling water for 15 seconds to blanch, then immediately transfer them to the ice water and soak for a minute. Pat dry, then add them to a blender with a 2:1 simple syrup. Blend them together, then run the gloopy green mess through a fine-mesh strainer. Now you’ve got a bright-green minty syrup that’ll make a dozen or more juleps, no muddling needed!
Add the bourbon and syrup to an ice-filled shaker; shake and strain into a glass filled to the rim with crushed ice. (You could be lazy and mix it right in the glass, too.) Garnish with mint, because when you buy mint, you buy a ton.
Traditionally this would be in a metal julep cup, which works to keep it colder. I have one, but it doesn’t show off the finished product nearly as well as a glass like the collectible ones they have at the track. Our cabinet is full of an assortment of these from the decade-plus we’ve lived in Louisville—the kids use them for water at dinner—but this called for one from my birth year that I found at a thrift shop.
Now, that’s two fine drinks there, but I’m not done. I need balance.
On any cocktail menu, you need something light to offset the dark—a cat to the dog, a fox to the hound, a gallant to the goofus. A natural choice would be to go with the Oaks Lily, the signature cocktail of today’s Kentucky Oaks race, but I don’t respect vodka and I get headaches from too much juice in a drink.
Instead, I’m going with the Sunflower, a drink that’s sophisticated without being too fussy. Developed by bartender Sam Ross as a variation on the classic and far-less-pleasantly-named Corpse Reviver No. 2, it combines gin and lemon juice with St-Germain elderflower liqueur and orange liqueur.
Even if you’re not a big home-bar person, those are all bottles that you can get good use out of. Heck, St-Germain was practically my gateway drug to mixology; it’s wonderful. The drink calls for an absinthe wash on the glass, and while I loved that, you could get away without doing it and I wouldn’t tell.
Sunflower
- 3/4 ounce gin
- 3/4 ounce St-Germain elderflower liqueur
- 3/4 ounce orange liqueur (I prefer Pierre Ferrand Dry Curaçao)
- 3/4 ounce fresh lemon juice
- a splash of absinthe (optional, but delightful)
Pour a small amount of absinthe into a coupe or Nick and Nora glass, and swirl it around to coat before dumping out. Chill the glass briefly in the freezer while preparing the rest. Shake the gin, St-Germain, orange liqueur and lemon juice with ice, then strain into the chilled glass. Garnish with a strip of lemon zest.
This was lovely, and despite my obvious predilection for brown liquors, it might’ve been my favorite of the three. It’s crisp, tart and just-sweet-enough, a perfect drink for feeling fancy on a spring Saturday afternoon.
Isn’t that all I’ve been trying to do all along?
Now, properly hydrated, it’s time to make a sandwich.
If You Willett, It Is No Dream
I’ve been obsessing over a sandwich lately.
This is not uncommon for me, mind you. Perhaps more than any other food, a good sandwich evokes passion in me. It inspires me. A couple years ago, I went so far as to pen an homage to the most important sandwiches in my life so far:
Scott Hines
But I hadn’t had the Willett egg salad sandwich yet.
Since 2019, the Willett bourbon distillery in Bardstown, Kentucky has been serving an elevated take on the diner classic at their bar, and it’s earned legions of devoted fans. It even has an Instagram account dedicated to it, @theeggsaladsandwichatwillett.
I’ve looked longingly at it for over a year now, but a friend’s visit a few weeks ago compelled me to actually make the hour’s drive down to Bardstown.
I had a delightful afternoon there—a couple of terrific cocktails that I let the bartender decide for me, but the highlight was, indeed, the sandwich. It’s a marvel—a smoky, rich egg salad stuffed into toasted brioche, sliced in half, slathered with egg yolk jam and then dusted with shredded cheese, chives and flaky sea salt. I had to balance my desire to savor it with my instinct to inhale it; it was terrific.
Of course, I was going to have to recreate it at home, too.
