Mint Julep in Shelbyville Kentucky

I loved horses but my ’63 Lincoln Continental and I avoided the craziness of Louisville and the annual Kentucky Derby. I found myself in Shelbyville, which was 30 mile away and I was sure to find a way to bet on the ponies from afar. My job more than paid the bills but who didn’t dream of one-day dream of hitting a jackpot. I drove slowly down Main Street and as I expected, nearly every watering hole was crowded. I saw a spot on the street big enough to park my car, in front of the Brass Shoe. The windows of the establishment were foggy but there wasn’t a crowd pouring out the door, so it looked perfect. I was searching for a spot to sip a mint julep and watch the race.

I pulled open the door on which a brass horseshoe hung and sat at the bar shaped as – what else, a horseshoe.

“I’m sure to sound like a broken record today; I’ll have a mint julep.”

“Do you favor any particular bourbon?” The diminutive bartender asked. I guessed immediately that he had been a jockey at some point.

“I’ll have whatever the guy at the corner table is having. He’s got a crowd growing around him and I guess he’s got some betting action happening.”

“He get’s the best bourbon – always. I’m Van and you are….not a cop, I hope.” He tittered.

“I’m not an officer of law Van. I’m Cecil.”

Van sized me up to see if I was telling the truth and he nodded his head. Our gambling friend was watching me. I could see that his table had a vantage point that allowed him to view everyone who walked in the door. Van seemed to be working with him to make sure I wasn’t a detective from the gambling commission or anything close. Plated silver cups sat above the bar on a glass shelf that he probably used a lot of at Derby time. He packed it with crushed ice and from a chalice, he poured a bit of syrup mixed with mint leaves, into the glass. Van climbed up on a stool he had behind the bar and pulled down a bottle of bourbon. A person of average stature would have no problem reaching the top shelf but Van was probably used to making accommodations for his height. He poured at least three ounces of bourbon over the ice that resembled clear pea gravel. Van picked a fresh sprig of mint out of a bowl full of them and put it on top. He whipped a swizzle stick with a horse on top in the glass and placed it in front of me on the bar.

“Can I run a tab for ya Cecil?”

“Might as well. Horses are still in the paddock. What time does our friend over there stop taking bets?”

“You’re out of luck if you plan of putting money down with Mickey. He doesn’t let newcomers in on his action.”

“He seems comfortable doing what he’s doing. He been at this a long time; am I right?”

“No, just a few months here at the Brass Shoe. He’s been outside of Frankfort for 15 years and it’s a place he’d rather not go back. How’s the drink by the way?”

“Best mint julep I’ve ever had.” I said.

“It’s basically a cup of bourbon.”

“That’s it then Van. This is the best bourbon I’ve ever had. I’ve wanted to ask from the moment I sat down; are those your silks framed and hanging above the bar?”

“Sure are. I rode in the Derby one time and it was on Mickey’s horse. Things fell apart after that year and I never rode a pony in the Derby or anywhere else of note, again. Mickey and I are still friends and we look out for one another. Can’t say that we both wish things were different but they’re not and we try to enjoy life as it is.”

We watched the horses shoot out of the gate. Mickey raised his fist in victory at the end. He must have had a good day.

“It was good talking to you Van. My next stop is Frankfort and maybe I’ll stop at the place Mickey frequented. If they sell this bourbon, I’ll be sure to pop in.”

Van laughed. “I don’t think the state prison serves bourbon Cecil.”

I signed my credit card receipt and smiled. As I walked out, I remembered a race fixing scandal involving a man named Mick Palmer. He must have started going by Mickey. I was glad he served his time and that what he was doing would no longer pollute the sport. I nodded my head as I walked out of the Brass Shoe, glad that I stopped in because Mickey had excellent taste in bourbon.