......Habanero. Bird's Eye, Scotch Bonnet, Datil custard on the stove for my grandson's breakfast muesli.
Thought you were raising him up to appreciate spicy foods? Won't get nowhere serving that whoosie porridge.
Shoa 'nough you got branches down theah.
A branch is merely a small stream. There are no hard and fast rules, but, generally speaking, when a stream first splits they're called forks. When a fork splits it's a branch---or, in some places, a run. So you could have something like the Wolfe Branch of the North Fork, of Wanderlust Creek.
What makes Kentucky branch water special is that it's naturally filtered through limestone---the same pure, filtered water used to make bourbon in the first place.
Do you really want to make mint juleps? Kind of a waste of good sippin' whisky, if you ask me. But here ya go.
To be genuine, you want to use a silver julep cup, cuz the frosting on the outside is an integral part of the tradition. I don't imagine they're readily available in J-burg, so any glass will do.
Make some simple syrup, using one part each of water and sugar. Put 2-3 tablespoons of the cooled syrup in the bottom of the cup, along with, oh, half-dozen mint leaves. Muddle the syrup and leaves until the leaves are bruised and releasing their oils. Fill the cup halfway with crushed ice. Pour in two ounces of good bourbon (which, in some circles, is a redundent phrase). Stir the mixture until condensation coats the outside of the cup. Garnish, if you want, with additional mint leaves.
Ideally you'll drink this through a straw that's cut about an inch longer than the cup or glass you are using. This forces you to appreciate the aroma of the mint/bourbon mixture, cuz your nose is all but forced into the cup as you drink.
In the best of all possible worlds, a julep would taste as good as it smells. In the real world it doesn't. Don't say you weren't warned.