Prospect's food columnist runs through the joys of bourbon at brunch and day long sugar highsby Wendell Steavenson / June 19, 2014 / Leave a comment
“Kentucky Derby weekend is about never slowing down.” © Velo Steve
There is no finer place to find yourself on the first weekend in May than Kentucky. I landed in a throng of giant hat boxes bumping through the arrivals hall at Louisville airport. Spring was green all over and the dogwood was in bloom. My taxi drove through stone gateposts and up a long curving drive to a grand and columned mansion and deposited me in the middle of a cocktail party. A banjo trio were playing in one corner; the assembled guests murmured a soft and tinkling sound, like pearls clicking gently against champagne flutes. A waiter appeared with a silver tray of frosted silver goblets. “Mint julep ma’am?”
This was my introduction to the Kentucky Derby. It was a most marvellous and swellegant weekend. My host was an old friend of mine, Molly, the daughter of a newspaper proprietor and a member of the Louisville great and good—or, as she put it wryly, “the same six families who have been going to each other’s parties for generations.” For two days I was swept up in a happy swirl of ice cream colours and candy-striped seersucker.