“THE MINT JULEP” at The Thirsty Crow

The most common sight at Silverlake’s Thirsty Crow Bar has to be a revolving door of hipsters grumbling about “stupid hipsters” going in, and giggling dribbly customers coming out.  I’m of the school of practice what you preach.  If you say you hate hipsters, don’t use hipster products: don’t hunt for deals at Amoeba Music, don’t get your tea at Intelligentsia, don’t reference faded pop culture on your t-shirts, and don’t don’t don’t drink at the Thirsty Crow.

I am a Friend of Dorothy when it comes to hipsters.  I embrace it, I tell you!

Thirsty Crow sports drinks in mason jars and low, bare filament lighting, which makes it look like a themed waiting line at Disneyland.  That’s something that has really pierced and wreaked bloody havoc on our popular culture: Disneyland.  The cycle went like this: real thing existed, Disney recreated a plastic replica of it for his park, real thing passes out of existence, kids grow up knowing its plastic replica, grown kids of Disney see the real thing and remark how Disney-esque it is.

Speaking of Disneyland and drinking, my first exposure to a Mint Julep was from the non-alcoholic soda dispensers in New Orleans Square.  Many times you could find Adam Sass refilling the sugary minty green liquid into his cup, my hand tremoring from an impending diabetic coma, my only concern obtaining more of that mysterious liquid while simultaneously keeping my Haunted Mansion FastPass dry as it overflows.

So apparentlyyyyyyyy, a real Mint Julep tastes nothing like a green version of that Swedish IKEA juice.  Apparently, it’s made with bourbon and mint.  “Bullroar and bunk!”, I bellowed, lost in my confusion, at the Crow barmaiden.  I drank it down.  My tongue and brain rapidly tried to sort out the warring sensations of adult tastiness and a sudden paradigm shift for what an actual Mint Julep consists of, all these years after New Orleans Square.

Like most things that hope to survive the Oregon Trail’s journey from childhood to adulthood, it was forced to change its DNA from sweet to bitter.  The adult in me begun to abhor the foolish sweetness of the childhood memory, followed by an immediate warming to the sensible and pragmatic bittersweet flavor of the new adult memory.  “A Mint Julep’s true nature is bittersweet,” my adult brain told me.  This is growing up.

I'll have another.

Powered By DT Author Box

Written by Adam Sass

Adam Sass

ADAM SASS is a journalist and copy editor for Mediaplanet, which prints in USA Today. His short story appeared in the anthology STARLING SCI-FI: NEW TALES OF THE BEYOND and was nominated for Best Science Fiction Story by Writer’s Digest. He lives in New York City with his husband and two dachshunds.

Keep up with Adam’s pop culture blogging at GeeksOut.org and on his (over)active Twitter: @TheAdamSass.