Mojito Magic

The first mojito I ever had was on the deck of one of the big fancy hotels on Old Town Square. I think it cost about $8 -- a fortune by Prague standards because the location was, if not a "tourist trap," then at least a tourist-centric destination.

But it was worth it. It was so hot that day -- far hotter than the day of our wedding later that week -- and the mojito was perfect. It was crisp and cool without being a gin and tonic, which had long been my default hot-weather (or post-sunburn) cocktail.

Of course, mojitos are terribly trendy (unless they're already passe -- who can tell anymore?), but I hadn't thought much about them post-Prague until M came home from the store one day with a funny mojito tale. It seems that someone at the store got the idea that mojitos would be necessary after work. The crew had assembled all the ingrediants -- white run, club soda, ice, sugar, limes -- with the exception of fresh mint.

M decided that finding it would be his personal challenge, and ran around all over the West Bank that evening looking for fresh mint. The co-op near the store seemed like it would have been a sure thing, but they were out. All he managed to find were some dried mint leaves in a jar. Mojitos with dried mint flakes? Sounds awful, doesn't it?


Look at these dried mint leaves. Can you imagine putting these in mojitos? M and the boys tried it; I'm glad I wasn't there to partake.

When he mentioned the story again recently, three things crossed my mind:

• "I'm a gardener! M should never have to be without fresh mint!"
• "Hm. It is really hot out -- a mojito sounds great."
• "Whoo hoo! An excuse to go to the nursery!"

So off we went to purchase and plant mint.

Before you react ("No! Not mint!"), I have done enough gardening research to know how invasive it is. This is container mint only. Of course, that didn't stop everyone at the Minnehaha Nursery (Mother Earth had closed for the evening) from warning me about it. OK, it was only two people, but still, they evidently felt is was their duties to share their respective cautionary tales about how mint had taken over their plot of land. I assured them, this is container mint only.

(On the car ride home, M asked, "Total strangers stopping to give gardening advice? Is that normal?" Well, at least in my experience, it is. )

Despite being tempted to get one of every kind of mint (I just love that there are naturally occuring mints that taste and smell like chocolate or pineapple), we bought one peppermint and one orange mint. That night, we picked and "muddled" a few leaves to make blender mojitos, substituting crushed ice for the club soda. I'm sure that's probably a sacrilege, and that I'd be burned for heresy in Cuba, but it was so so so so cool on a hot Saturday night.

Then the next evening, our friend Peter stopped by, having heard about our mojito-making, so I gathered a few more leaves for another batch, sipped in the shade on the patio. It was lots of fun, but I have to be a little careful: after two nights of cocktailing, I'm hoping my baby mint plants aren't too stressed. That said, it's not a bad problem to have -- it gives me an excuse to go back for the pineapple mint!