When Life Hands You Sorrento Lemons…

I promised you a post about limoncello, oh, four months ago? And while I fully intended to write it the next day, my brain had other plans—not writing it, for example. My brain has since repented and would like to extend its sincerest apologies for making you wait so long. Without further ado, I give you…

How to make limoncello, crema di limoncello, and multiple weeks’ worth of messes in 11 easy steps!

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Act I

Step 1: Make an impromptu getaway to the Amalfi Coast just when their luscious football-sized lemons are in season. Buy sixteen. Take immature pictures with them and try very hard not to think about whose college fund you just spent on a bag of fruit.

Step 2: Gather your supplies. You will need one large jar, two vegetable peelers, two 750-ml. bottles of pure grain alcohol, and a willing spouse (preferably your own).

Step 3: Wash and peel all sixteen lemons, putting the peels into the jar and coercing your spouse into juicing the naked leftovers. Assure him that carpal tunnel syndrome is only temporary.

Word of wisdom: Do not sample the lemons.

Step 4: Pour the alcohol into the jar making sure to completely submerge the lemon peels. Try very hard not to think about who else’s college fund you just spent on two bottles of fermented cereal.

Word of wisdom: Do not sample the alcohol.
Additional word of wisdom: While chugging aloe vera gel in an attempt to soothe your blistered taste buds, do not leave the open bottle of alcohol on your pretty red sofa.

Step 5: Let the peels steep (brew? distil? get hammered?) in a dark place for a few weeks while you make thirty batches of lemonade with the juice and your spouse works off his carpal tunnel.

Act II

Step 6: For the limoncello, measure 3 cups of sugar and 5 cups of water into a large saucepan. Resist the temptation to stick your face in the bag and make up for years of sugar deprivation all at once.

Step 7: For the crema di limoncello, measure 5 cups of sugar and 8 cups of milk into a different saucepan. On second thought, use a pot. (A bathtub would work as well.) Add some vanilla when no one’s looking.

Step 8: Stir both mixtures over low heat until the sugar dissolves. Stand very close to your spouse while stirring to increase the chances of accidentally making out.

Step 9: Retrieve your jar of alcoholic lemon peels from the attic. Strain out the peels (which will have lost their yellow luster, pliability, and wills to live) and divide the alcohol equally between two large bowls.

Step 10: Add the water syrup to one bowl and the milk syrup to the other. Ooh and ahh over the pretty shades of yellow. Resist the temptation to stick your face in the bowls and make up for two pregnancies of alcohol deprivation all at once.

Step 11: Funnel the finished limoncello and crema di limoncello into bottles. Realize you failed to buy enough bottles, say goodbye to all respect you just earned as a liquor maker, and use jars as back-up. Resort to shot glasses if you must.  Make space in your freezer for at least one bottle and think happy thoughts about summer.

Word of wisdom: DO siphon off the tops of the too-full bottles (solely for the sake of clean countertops, of course).

 

Act III

One sweltering afternoon in August—the calendar says September, but it is obviously delusional—pull that bottle from the back of your freezer and pour some of the elixir into a delicate long-stemmed glass. Sip it slowly and let springtime shiver down your spine. (Ooh, alliteration!) Feel each of your taste buds tingling in its own lemony orbit. Close your eyes and breathe in the softness of April’s milk-and-sugar sunlight. Savor the hum of well-being in the air… and start planning next year’s trip to Sorrento.