food, and other musings: Sum-sum-summertime

This would be the perfect post for a certain well-known and hackneyed title, but you are too good for that. If you're willing to indulge me in a small game of Mad Libs, though, I'll give you a pretty good hint: when [noun] gives you [plural citrus fruit], make [summer beverage made from plural citrus fruit]! Though this oft used phrase could have philosophical relevance to my life of late, as I told you I am in no mood for chirpy optimism. Let's keep things literal, shall we?

A few weeks B.C. (that's Before the Crisis) my friend T. gave me some Meyer lemons from their tree. I covet that tree, and she knows it, so whenever I come over to watch O. and L. (Hi kids!) she tries to hook me up. I never have any idea what I'm going to do with them and, as odd as it is for someone who loves to bake, I have never once made a dessert from T.'s lemons. I blame it on the despair of infinity: there are so many choices, I debate and debate and procrastinate and procrastinate until the lemons look like they might simply dissolve in a puddle if someone slams the front door too hard. So I end up juicing them for drinks.

This time around was no different, but since we've mostly given up the sauce these days, on a particularly gray, cold and rainy afternoon I found myself making lemonade. And do you know what? It cleared some of the cobwebs from my head and brought a bit of sunshine into an otherwise wanting day. Chirp, chirp, chirp.

Classic Summertime Lemonade
Serves 6

There are two keys to making great lemonade: (1) proper proportions and (2) sugar syrup. The first is more or less to taste, but a good place to start is 6:1:1 It's all cups and it's water:sugar:lemon juice. If you have fewer lemons (like I did) reduce your proportions accordingly. If you like tart lemonade, reduce the sugar. You get the idea. As for the syrup, it's no harder really than stirring and stirring till the sugar dissolves in water, and it guarantees that the sugar won't ever fall out of suspension and silt the bottom of the pitcher. Give it a shot and see if I'm wrong. I used Meyer lemons here, which are a bit less tart then the usual variety, but I didn't adjust the sugar downward and it turned out very much to my liking. I also spiked it with a bit of fresh gingerroot, just enough to give it a barely noticeable kick. (Fresh mint would be lovely, too.) Finally, if you're really a lemon lover, zest the lemons before squeezing them and save the rind to flavor risottos or muffins or butter. I was lazy and threw them right in the garbage, but I regretted it. Yes indeed.

6 cups cold water
1 cup sugar
1-inch piece of gingerroot, peeled and sliced (optional)
1 cup fresh lemon juice and pulp (about 6-8 Meyer lemons)

Bring water, sugar and ginger (if using) to a boil. Remove from heat, add lemon juice and pulp and let sit until cool. Strain if you like to remove the pulp and ginger (I left mine in). Store in a pretty glass pitcher in the fridge and feel what it would have been like to be a Southern gentlewoman on a hot, humid summer day in the 1950's. (One who was very progressive and believed in racial equality, mind you. Unlike lemons, not everything about the South is worth preserving.)