Accidental Doubling

A year and a half ago (or could it be two?), it was summer- a rare hot night. After a festive dinner at a friend’s house their neighbor Bob stopped in. Wine was flowing and the neighbor Bob went home to get some of his [get this] homemade limoncello. It’s not that I’m Italian like Bob (though I do very much like Italy), it’s not that I have an especially strong affinity to the potent, syrupy citrus digestif but I am in love with the idea of this special, boozy something meant to be shared. It represented to me long, savored, summer meals with friends that feel like family. So, I chatted poor Bob’s ear off about it for the rest of the evening.
Still feeling the buzz of excitement the next morning (well, something was buzzing in my head anyway), I began to research limoncello recipes and save the miniature glass bottles that I envisioned would hold my sunshine yellow deliciousness when it was ready. That’s the other thing I learned from Bob: making limoncello takes a really long time. The longer the better. I liked it even more: it took a winter time fruit (lemon) zest paired with vodka to marry in a cool place for 45 days, add simple syrup, wait another 45 days. Then, just in time for summer, strain, bottle and throw in the freezer. So, essentially, it’s a process that transforms winter into summer without heat or an oven or a blender… just with time. Which, as always is the only thing that can bring the seasons forth.
With all this enthusiasm, how could I wait? Well, I waited… and the project lost steam. I recycled the glass bottles… I lost focus.
Then, about a month ago I saw neighbor Bob! Immediately my limoncello questions began flowing again (poor Bob). What was his secret ingredient? Were Meyer lemons really better? He reminded me of the importance of using organic, unwaxed fruit. That was easy, I could picture the face of the farmer at the market who would have just such a thing. Next question: How many lemons do I need?
Bob: A lot.
Me: How many is a lot? A box?
Bob: Yes, a box.
Me: A big box?
Bob: Yes, a big box.
Okay, I didn’t want to jinx my momentum with research or intention as I had the time before- it was time for action! I went right to the farmer on Saturday and made my request for “a really big box of Meyer lemons”.
Farmer: How big of a box?
Me: Well… a big one. Maybe the size of this crate here.
Farmer: A case?
Me: A case, yes, of course. A case! I’ll take one of those for next week.
Farmer: [writing diligently] Great! One 25 lb. case coming up!
Me: [to self] 25 lbs!?!
Home from the market searching recipes lead me to this one. This guy spares no detail and has obviously made a lot of limoncello (he has a spreadsheet listing different batches, their variables and outcomes). I like it. If you go to his recipe, you will see it calls for 17 lemons. Seventeen and I have 25 pounds! It turns out that 25 pounds is actually a quadruple recipe, in case you were wondering.
Fortunately reinforcements were on their way in the form of my mother coming to visit. We picked up the lemons (which, thankfully was a smaller box than I had pictured), raided the vodka section at BevMo for 100 proof bottles (eight of them) and went to town washing and drying the fruit. Then… zesting. We took our zesters and lemons outside in the sunshine to sit while zesting chatting away like two old Italian women. We lamented the one sub-standard zester, complained of elbow pain, scrutinized any hint of pith attached to the lemons (apparently the limoncello kiss of death is pith!). Her zests with the microplane were tiny and potently colored, soft with oils. Mine were large, curly and fanciful made with a potato peeler.


We opened the vodka, did some mathematical equations to determine how much zest went into each portion (in the future I will buy one large container to put everything in). Stuffing zest into the mouths of vodka bottles is, in fact, time consuming and messy. So far we only have one variable which was the size of the zest, hers vs. mine but I have some other surprise variables to introduce into the next step.
It’s underway now, the bottles have been capped and put under the stairs awaiting their seasonal transformation. Outside though, I can already feel it happening… zest breaking down and giving its color to the alcohol, motherhood giving way to friendship.

Oh, and if anyone is in need of a few gallons of lemon juice.  Let me know.
Also, some people prefer the spelling lemoncello, any input on authenticity would be appreciated… until I can get the lowdown from neighbor Bob.