There’s no substitute for fresh lemons.
Where I grew up in California we always had a lemon tree in the yard. After I moved to Oregon, we ended every visit to my in-laws in LA by loading the station wagon with home-grown lemons that we’d squeeze and freeze when we got home to Medford. There’s always been an abundance of lemons in my life. Until this year.
This is an Ethiopian lemon:
You might think it’s a lime. It might in fact be a lime, because Amharic doesn’t distinguish between the two (or so I have been told). It smells and tastes more like a lemon. But it is definitely the wrong color. And it is very small, and on the dry side. The climate here just isn’t right for citrus fruit.
So you can imagine how happy I was to find myself in Sorrento, land of lemons. I brought back a big bag of them. Until my Italian supply runs out, we’ll feast on egg and lemon soup, lemon quinoa, maybe even a lemon meringue pie.
Bet you can guess which one of these oranges is from Sorrento.