Dear friends, it is Meyer lemon season, and I am in a quandary. Three pounds of these beauties sit in my fridge tonight, waiting for me to do something with them. I have one sitting on a plate on top of the pile of books next to my writing space, smooth, golden and warm. I pick it up, cradle it in my hand, pierce a bit of the zest with my thumbnail and inhale. There it is, that lemony hit that makes me merrier than Christmas, but there is something else, too, something that only today I learned was thymol, a flavor note found in tangerines. The skin of the fruit is thinner than that of our familiar large-crop lemons, and softer, so soft that I find myself picking it up, rolling it from hand to hand, stroking it with my thumb, feeling the little muscles in my hand relax. I had much the same reaction at the market when I found them; as I bagged them, I found myself holding them in hand, a split second longer than necessary, until I realized that the produce guys were looking at me strangely.
I love Meyer lemons, the way I love Seville oranges in January, rhubarb in May, tomatoes and nectarines in August, fresh chestnuts in November. They are fleeting, these sweet little guys, and in the next day or so, I plan to capture that sweetness as well as I possibly can, in the kitchen and on the page.
But how? The lovely and talented Snowball has suggested a lemon curd tart, while the lovely and talented Steve has suggested that Meyer lemons might substitute nicely for the limes in my cardamom tea cake. There is the flourless lemon and almond cake from Michele Urvater and David Liederman that I love so well. There is Meyer lemon granita, Meyer lemon sorbet and Meyer lemon ice cream, variations on a theme. There is Shaker lemon pie, featuring lemon slices so thin as to be see-through. (I am a fool for Shaker lemon pie, but whenever I feed this pie to a crowd, there are always at least two people who are weirded out by the idea of eating a whole slice of lemon, zest, pith and all, and they end up sucking the fruit off the membranes and leaving a little pile of lemon skins on their plate, so maybe I'll give Shaker lemon pie a miss.) There is lemon curd, lightened or not. I always shy away from Meyer lemon curd, thinking that the fruit is too sweet to make a really assertive curd. Then I pop my nail into the zest again, breathe in the fragrance again, and I realize that I am a dope for ever doubting.
The outcome of all this foofaraw, and the continued story of Why Meyer Lemons are So Damn Neat, will follow in the next day or so. In the meantime, i'll take suggestions, any and all. The season will be with us for a while.