Drinks With Doug

Derby Denouement

Sunday's weather: cloudless sky though it's less blue and more slate, fresh breeze from the west and perfect 75 degrees.
Sunday's drink: well, yesterday's actually; a Mint Julep, heavy on both the mint and julep
Sunday's ingredient: limes! Good heavens I have so many limes in this house. I need lime recipes, people!

The first Sunday of May invariably is a slow day. That's as it follows the hubbub and excitement of the first Saturday, which of course is the running of the Kentucky Derby. Today's no exception.

134 years they've been running the Derby down in Louisville. 7 years C has been throwing a Derby party. (All good traditions have to start with small numbers.) No doubt he's actually been doing a Derby-do for longer, but 2002 marks the year he had both the house to hold people, and the gambling account to take their money. Both are good things.

As Derby Day's grew in number they also grew in size. 2007 was probably the peak with about 75 or 80 people in and out the door. Even with three floors of entertainment, juleps, TVs to watch the race and gaming options, that's a lot of people. Parties that large need three things: a good guest list, a brigade of friends to help, and - during the party itself - the ability to talk to four people at the same time. The friends have been key: in years past they have saved our bacon: making juleps, moving food out of the kitchen, greeting at the door, supplying the bourbon, handling wagers, unclogging the clots of people that form in the tightest places, making desserts, keeping the riff-raff away. But the parties have required a great deal of work - printing programs, coordinating food prep, staffing the...uh, gaming entertainments. Managing the money. Keeping your cool. They have been big parties.

A funny thing happens at big parties. I'm thinking back to Tammy's pre-WHCA dinner garden brunch last weekend...and to david's comment. When you're the host, people naturally want to see you: say hello, shake a hand, thank you for the invite, trade a pleasant comment or two. And when you have 80 people all trying to get just one minute with you, well you begin to feel a little special. You can see it in people's eyes - as they follow you from task to task, watching to see who else may be in line, calculating the right moment to strike. You become a little more desired, a little more important. At least then and there. (Thinking back to Tammy's party, I get that a little more. But there of course it isn't just the host people are circling around, it's big fish that swim in and out. They, too, can see the looks in other's eyes, and they begin to feel ... well, a little special. Or more special, in their case.)

I'll admit I missed a little of that yesterday. But what I got in its place was an ideal number and range of friends and zero stress. People didn't need to yell to be heard, everyone had just as much time with anyone else as they wished, no-one was in demand and thus no-one was demanding. We opened the door at 4 and that was it. Like the gates opening at Churchill, it just goes of its own motion.

We didn't have the gaming options (thank you U.S. Congress) as in years past, and of course there was the heart-breaking end for Eight Belles which, thankfully, I didn't see. (By the way, check Sally Jenkins' take on what's really going on here; I think it's not said enough.) But cleanup was done by midnight, everyone left with a smile - at least I think they did - and you would never know any different this morning. Except for all the new bourbon. Thanks, guys. Now I need to start finding bourbon drinks.

Well we all have sacrifices to make, I guess. So here it is, 3pm Sunday afternoon. Soon I'll take STG out for a little run of her own outside. Go buy some eggs, make find a lime bar recipe. Listen to the birds and the children and the brunch-crowd and the power-saws of DIYerselfers. Wag a finger at myself for not hitting the gym.

And lay on the couch and let the memories of another Derby Day past slowly simmer and settle back somewhere into my brain. Thanks for the company, the pies, the booze and the fun. Let's do it again next year.

Except next year, how about I pick the winning horse for a change?