In a crust or a cup, tart citrus invites us to revel in the expanding days of the growing season.
I remember selling zucchini in Acacia Park in downtown Colorado Springs when I was a kid, but I don’t recall ever having a lemonade stand.
The little girl who used to live next door did. For a few summers, she — and then she and her sister, and other times she and her sister and some friends — would set up a table at the end of their driveway, mix some Country Time into a pitcher of water and then sell a little cup for 50 cents. Sometimes they added ice.
Once, they ran out of paper cups; and to keep their virtual doors open, they got some plastic drinkware from the kitchen. That day, when I handed over my change, they made me drink the whole glass in their driveway because they didn’t want me walking off with their dishes. I thought it was kind of a flaw in their business plan, but they opened up again the next day in spite of that.
I bought lemons last summer.
All summer they were big and cheap, and almost every time I went to the grocery store, when I saw that big pile of yellow, I convinced myself I needed lemonade. Not, you know, the powdered drink mix, like you might buy at a driveway stand. Not even the frozen kind that’s pink and pulpy and cold before you even add the ice. I was after the kind they sell at county fairs and ball parks, the kind that’s good because you add elbow grease and sugar, just enough sugar and a little extra elbow grease.
So I would pick out six of the biggest, prettiest lemons I could find; explain to the girl running the register, when she asked what I was making, that I was going to squeeze summer into a pitcher, and then I took them home and turned lemons into lemonade.
I sort of like the way the lemon juice runs down your hand and between your fingers if you aren’t quite paying attention and the way the sides of your throat pucker when you put your tongue on your fingers to lick away the stickiness.
This summer, so far, the lemons in the grocery store have been small, sparse, expensive, impacted by the drought across the American west and southwest. There are some signs that the availability of the fruit could increase as summer rains ease drought in Argentina, a major citrus exporter to the U.S., but that is yet to be determined. Such is the way of agriculture.
Ralph Waldo Emerson once said: “I expand and live in the warm days like corn and melon.”
In Colorado, we live in the warm days of summer like Olathe Sweet sweet corn, Palisade peaches and Rocky Ford watermelon.
When I was a kid, at picnics and barbecues and summer potlucks, I thought I didn’t like watermelon. It seemed like it was too soft, mostly water, not very sweet, and the seeds, after enjoying the fun of spitting a few, were mostly just annoying. But then, I went to college.
The first week I was at CSU, 18 and unsure, the College of Agriculture had a get-together for incoming freshmen.
I was an agricultural-journalism major, which meant I was in-between, but I got a job working in the Dean of Agriculture’s Office, so I was pretty sure I should be there. It was fun, like big crowded parties are when you don’t know anyone. But what I remember, all these years later, was the watermelon. It was just harvested from the CSU Arkansas Valley Research Center in Rocky Ford, which specializes in melons. The flesh was firmer than that of melons typically bought in the grocery stores and bright, deep pink, like pressing hard on a “Radical Red” crayon. And it was sweet. I have never, before or since, had watermelon that sweet — sweet like a mystery, sweet like a first kiss, sweet like a piece of candy.
(An interesting aside, the first fellow-student I met at CSU — likely an attendee of that welcome party — went on to get a Ph.D. in plant physiology and is now a senior scientist and vegetable crop Extension specialist at the Arkansas Valley Research Center.)
There are times in the summer when all I want to eat is tomatoes and peaches and corn on the cob, the butter and salt dripping down my hands. (Plus a piece of beef grilled over a flame and a hand-squeezed lemonade.) I’m ready for those days.
Despite a couple late spring storms and some unusually hot days at the beginning of June, according to reports, the Colorado peach crop is on pace to fill the roadside stands and festivals, and the corn emerging around Larimer County (not Olathe Sweet) is likely to be knee-high by the Fourth of July. The fields, barely turned just moments ago, are green and expanding.
The growth is noticeable, exciting, the anticipation great.
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If you have never made your own fresh-squeezed , let me give you the low-down: Mix the juice of six lemons with about a cup of sugar and a pitcher of water. That’s it. Although here are some tips to make it a little bit better: roll the lemons on the counter, pressing on them with the heel of your hand. (This, according to people who know stuff, like Rachael Ray, gets the fruit juices flowing.) Use the pulp. (The juicer I have — a simple mustard-colored plastic juicer that fits right on top of the pitcher, strains out the pulp. I try to remove all the seeds and then add the pulp to the lemonade.) Some lemon zest adds a hit of tartness and pop of color to your beverage. Zest the lemon before you juice it. And remember that you can make the lemonade sweeter if you don’t add enough sugar, but you can’t make it more tart if you put too much sugar in it. So be a little judicious with the sugar — less than a full cup — to begin with. Add a little more, a little at a time, until it is just sweet enough or just tart enough, depending on your own taste buds.
The Pie
Lemonade. Lemon drops. Lemon cookies. Lemon Coconut Squares. Lemon Meringue Pie. If you have a taste for something tart, there are lots of things you can make with lemons (and lots of things you can buy, mmm-mm, San Pellegrino Limonata). This pie, Lemon Buttermilk, is sure to sate your craving. Like other old-fashioned recipes, such as Vinegar Pie and Chess Pie, it is quick and easy. With the light taste of lemon, it is easily dressed up with powdered sugar and whipped cream.
The Recipe
Lemon Buttermilk pie
1 tablespoon flour, plus more for rolling out the crust
1 single pie crust (recipe below)
2/3 cup buttermilk
½ cup granulated sugar
2 tablespoons light brown sugar
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons lemon zest
¼ cup lemon juice
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/8 teaspoon salt
Powdered sugar for dusting
Preheat oven to 350. On a floured surface, roll dough to an 11-inch circle. Transfer to a 9-inch tart pan (preferably one with a removable bottom). Press dough into corners, fold overhang into the pan and press firmly into the pan’s flutes. Freeze for 15 minutes.
Cover crust with parchment paper, leaving an overhang and fill with pie weights (or dried beans or coins). Bake on a rimmed baking sheet until the edges are golden brown, 30 to 35 minutes. Remove parchment and weights. Bake for another 10 minutes or so, until the bottom is a light golden brown.
Whisk together flour, buttermilk, sugar, brown sugar, eggs, lemon zest and lemon juice, butter and salt. Carefully pour into the warm tart crust, filling to within ¼ inch of the top. Bake until filling is set, 50 to 60 minutes. Cool on a rack, at least 2 hours.
Remove from pan and dust with powdered sugar.
BUTTERY ALL-PURPOSE CRUST (ONE CRUST)
1¼ cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoons salt
1 tablespoons granulated sugar
¾ sticks cold unsalted butter, cut into 1-inch pieces
1/8 cup (2 tablespoons) cold vegetable shortening
1/8 cup (2 tablespoons) cold vodka
3 tablespoons cold water, plus extra as needed
In a large bowl, mix together the flour, salt and sugar until thoroughly combined. Add the butter and shortening and cut together with a pastry cutter until the mixture forms small pea-sized crumbs.
Pour the vodka over the mixture, a tablespoon at a time, using a rubber spatula. Add the water and press the dough together to form one large ball. If the dough seems dry or does not hold together, add extra water a tablespoon at a time until all the ingredients come together. (Be careful not to work the dough too much to prevent the crust from being tough.)
Press the dough into a 1-inch disk, wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least an hour — or up to two days — before rolling out.
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