JULEP'D

I am well aware of the danger. The mint julep is a drink essentially comprised of nothing but bourbon sweetned with a simple syrup imbued with the ghost of English mint. If you decant it correctly, it tastes like sweet tea. And it goes down just as easily. Churchill Downs uses Early Times as its branded tipple. I have no problem with The Times, but am partial to Wild Turkey, Four Roses, and - in the good ol' daze - Blanton's. Green's erected a charming flatiron display of Four Roses. I'm a sucker for presentation; I left with the bottle.

Margaret has mint taking over the corners of her backyard, so she promptly handed over several handfuls. One cup sugar, one cup water. To the boil. Once the sugar melts away and the mixture thickens, it's time to add the mint. I let it sit for a minute and then poured the mixture through a china cap, straining all the liquid out of the mint leaves I can. This is really the key to a fragrant syrup. Otherwise, it tastes like table sugar. Yuck.

So everyone chose a horse, and since my horse, "I Want Revenge!," was scratched in the a.m. I had to re-choose. Flippantly, I picked "Chocolate Candy," even though I don't possess a semblance of a sweet tooth. I flirted with the eventual winner, since I like shooting birds - figuartively and literally. No matter. Once the silver cups were frosted over with ice, bourbon and syrup, and everyone stopped complaining about how "too strong" they were and drew dopey grins across their jaws that stretched beyond the GA state line, "Mind that Bird" came 13 horses back to whip the leader circle. Like a scalded dog he ran. And suddenly the Four Roses bottle was depleted. Complaints about "too strong" were silent. Everyone was too busy trying to sit on the wall. And I got up nearly eight hours later to go turkey hunting. When's my action figure simulacra coming out?

Photo: "Tooooo Strong;" Collection of Stewart Voegtlin

CHAMP CHOPS

OK, Motherscratchers. I have one thing to say: There's no beating my chops. A short brine and then it's into heavily seasoned flour and to the pan of drippings. I've been trying to determine what seals the deal here. Is it the spice mixture? Probably the Colmans... Or is it the piquant cayenne? The brine is a sure thing. It's consistently fantastic. Could it be the lipid I choose to fry in? The drippings?

I'm guessing it's the combination of all three: The trifecta. Brining, seasoning, frying. It's all part and parcel to what a great pork chop consists in. If you've not brined a thick-cut chop, dredged it in flour seasoned with ludicrous amounts of salt, pepper, cayenne, and colman's mustard powder, and then fried it golden brown in drippings, you haven't lived. Today could be the first day of the rest of your life.

There's the question of accompaniment. Beer is always necessary. Maybe a bowl of salsa verde. But there needs to be something on the plate to keep the pork company. I'm finding celeriac always has the umphf I'm looking for. Once cut into matchsticks and tossed in lemon juice, mayonnaise, and strong mustard, it's ready for the plate.

Where's the ribbon? The hardware? A band of French ladies with the yellow jersey ready to slip its fitted contours over this sweating, steaming hunk of pig? This chop, friends, is the champ.