Lemon Tree, Very Pretty

Anyone remember that Peter Paul and Mary song, about the sweet flowers and the fruit that was impossible to eat? I guess it was a metaphor for something or another, who knows? We all sang it, feeling we were so "tropical mon," and then they made a stupid furniture polish commercial about it, and it spoiled everything.

Well, in any event, they didn't have MEYER lemons. I don't really remember when those of us outside of Northern California first became aware of them. These guys are not "impossible to eat." I've h eard them called dessert lemons, and while I wouldn't go that far, I have been seen in my kitchen, cutting them into "smiles" and eating the pulp right out of the rind. But I told you, I'm strange.

Like with all citrus fruit, quality counts. If you have good meyer lemons, they will inspire you like few things in the kitchen do, and maybe even more than many magazines.

Guy and I are very fortunate. We get our meyers, and just about all of our citrus fruit, from our friends Kim, Sandra and Eric, from their Rising C Ranch. You can find them at ripetoyou.com.

Now, why are we buying citrus fruits on line? You can get them EVERYWHERE, anytime you want.

And that's the problem. Citrus has a season too, but we've gotten out of that everywhere, because we get it from Spain, from China, and who knows where else. And you know what? It has spoiled what citrus tastes like for all of us.

Guy and I first noticed this on a t rip to SF, while we were touring a Farmers Market and tasting, and saying "why isn't it this good in NY?" A while later, in a newsletter, we got the answer.

So much citrus available in NY is weeks, maybe months old. OF COURSE the quality is going to go down. The newsletter (which, by the way, deteriorated markedly shortly after that), recommended some places to try GOOD citrus. So we ordered some. And the ones we got from Rising C stood head and shoulders above the others.

We then did something, that not enough people do today: we sent a thank you note.

Now, people really don't get this. If you want the right to complain, you have an obligation to praise. And if you do, know what happens? You may make friends the way we did.

I'm cutting through a lot of history here, but let's just say if there aren't enough of a variety to go around, I get some. And if the quality isn't what the gang feels is good enough, they don't send it to me. And I get figs. And grapes. And pomegranates. And persimmons. And I get praise all around from the people I cook for.

Now, I also wanna dispel some stereotypes about farmers. They are NOT hayseeds, they are NOT stupid, and they don't walk around in overalls and straw hats. I would bet you that most farmers have better educations than most anyone. And not just "I learned it in the field." Talk to Eric about molecular biology, he'll one up you on just about anything. Talk to Sandra about agricultural practices. You'll learn. Talk to Kim about just about anything, and maybe, just MAYBE she'll share what she knows . But you better treat her nice. Because if you don't, well, I'd say you'll answer to me, but Kim can take care of herself.

In future posts, I'll explain some of their many nicknames. Kim is "The Citrus bombshell," Sandra is "The artichoke empress," and Eric is "The Farm Stud". Meet Kim and E ric and it will make sense. Sandra does NOT look like an artichoke. Far from it. But she sends me some, every year (and FIGS), that make me despair of living in NY and make me want to move there RIGHT NOW.

So, where's the recipe? Here it comes. Meyer lemon sorbet. When I get my shipments from the folks, the first thing I do is pile them on the table, and just admire them. Citrus season is winter. When it's dark, when fruit is brown and dark. And then these bright yellows and oranges come in.

Who says there isn't a sacred plan?

So, here's the recipe, with a comment. The recipe comes from a very, VERY trusted sourcebook for me, but it says it makes a quart. It calls for 3/4 cup of lemon juice, 4 cups of water, and a cup of sugar.

HUH? Now, I don't mind having lots of this stuff around, but don't they proofread in Berkeley (where the recipe is from). PULEEZE.

I made one change. The recipe calls for thin strips of peel in the sorbet. It makes a good flavor, but I got tired of pulling "Lemon floss" out of my teeth. So instead, what I do is, when the base is cooling, I leave the lemon peel halves in, to add more flavor. It's easy, but you do need an ice cream maker.

Squeeze enough meyer lemons to get 3/4 cup of juice. Then, heat a cup of sugar with a cup of water, to make a simple syrup. Add that to the lemon juice and then add three more cups of water, and as many lemon halves as you can fit in your container. Let that sit until everything cools down to room temperature, take them out, and let your ice cream maker loose on it.

You may have to run it in two batches, and what's wrong with that?

We're having fish for dinner tomorrow night, and is there any better way to end a fish meal than with some cooling, light, LOW FAT lemon sorbet? And you'd be AMAZED how much people love you for this stuff. And how many other things you can do with it. Pour some champagne over it, or some vodka (for a "sgroppino), but the best thing of all to do is to spoon out the remnants in the ice cream maker, get very sticky lips, and feel noble about how you made the perfect low fat dessert.

And of course, if you have one or two left, make smiles and shove em down.

Peter, Paul and Mary were wrong. It IS possible to eat the fruit