Baltimoreans’ mint patches are springing to life, a harbinger of the mint julep season which is upon us with the 150th running Saturday of the Kentucky Derby at Churchill Downs, followed several weeks later by the 149th Preakness Stakes at Pimlico Race Course.

That being said, for many Marylanders the venerable Maryland Hunt Cup, which raced across the Worthington Valley Saturday, is not a mere dress rehearsal, but the actual observance of Opening Day and the happy marriage of crushed mint, simple syrup, rye or bourbon and LOTS of crushed ice stuffed into an ancestral silver julep cup from Kirk or Stieff, the once legendary Baltimore silver manufacturers.

While generals Grant and Lee may have buried the sword at Virginia’s Appomattox Court House in 1865, the War of the Juleps continues to this day as the great liquid battle between Maryland rye and Kentucky bourbon, and which should be employed in a julep.

And there are numerous codicils to the julep making process. Should the mint be muddled or allowed to ooze its fragrant juices? Should the ice be crushed, shaved or beaten in a bar rag into snow?

Irvin Cobb, the noted humorist, once wrote: “The true Southern mint julep … tastes like a bolt of concentrated lightning. The novice’s first idea is that he has been electrocuted or at least been hit on the head with a maul.”

The origins of the sainted drink date to the times of the Persians, who claim to have invented it.

The Crusaders said they brought it to Europe, and Col. Henry Jowles, born in London in 1690, insisted he brought the minty elixir to Calvert County, whose citizens take bows for making a notable and lasting addition to the nation’s drinking habits.

A mint julep pictured in 1980. (Staff)

But the question that begs the mind is how did the Persians obtain Maryland rye or Kentucky bourbon?

During antebellum days, brandy was often used as the liquor of choice in a julep, while today gin has made its way into the julep world creating something called the Major Bailey, which no traditional julep lover would countenance no matter how many winning tickets they had at Pimlico.

Former Baltimore Sun colleague and longtime friend, Rob Kasper, who wrote the “Happy Eater” column in the paper for years, spent a few years as a newspaper vagabond in Louisville, where he fell under the perpetual spell of the Kentucky bourbon julep.

His “receipt,” as they used to call it in parts of the South, calls for six to eight mint leaves which are crushed with a wooden muddler (it looks like a miniature Louisville Slugger bat) in the bottom of the julep cup or tall glass.

To this is added two tablespoons — not a typo — of powdered sugar and a dash of club soda. Muddle again and then pack the “cup” with crushed ice — not ice cubes — and then fill to the top, in his case, with good old Bluegrass State bourbon.

Decorate with a sprig of mint and a straw to which you can remove the flavorful mixture from the depths below.

Now, my take is a lump of sugar, a tablespoon of water which is reduced to a simple syrup and muddled with no less than four mint leaves.

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Pack the vehicle with crushed ice and fill it to the rim with Maryland rye — while there are other excellent choices available, rye it must be.

Follow with Kasper’s decorating instructions and you have a perfect julep.

But back to Cobb, who wrote, “Any guy who’d put rye in a mint julep and crush the leaves, would put scorpions in a baby’s bed.”

After stopping at the long since demolished Baltimore’s Guy’s Hotel in 1842, Charles Dickens wrote a letter to The Sun: “I am truly obliged to you for the beautiful and delicious mint julep you have so kindly sent me. I have tasted it, but reserve further proceedings until the arrival of Washington Irving, whom I expect to dine with me, tete-a-tete, and who will help me drink to your health.”

Another noted 19th century traveler, Captain Maryat, remarked in his diary while touring the South on the mint julep: “The mint julep is with the thermometer at 100 degrees, one of the most delightful and insinuating potions that was ever invented. The julep may be drunk with equal satisfaction when the thermometer is as low as 70 degrees.”

An unsigned 1935 editorial in The Evening Sun, probably written by H.L. Mencken, described the julep this way: “When the julep is properly mixed by an expert, it is one of the most seductive of dull-care chasers. Instead of being wild and untamed, it is full of suave blandishments, like the caress of a lovely woman.”