I was at the Farmers' Market the other day, eyeing some especially good-looking Lisbon lemons Twin Girls Farms had on offer.
"Do you have any Meyer lemons?" somebody asked.
"Sorry, no," came the reply.
And she passed right over those Lisbons.
Now, I think Meyer lemons are out of this world. Some people have Meyer lemon trees in their very own backyards. Lucky ducks. I have a fruit tree, too, with figs so beautiful they could make you cry, so full you know they will burst any minute. But those figs, like the tree that is their very own display rack, belong to my landlord, and I wouldn't dream of touching them.
Because once upon a time I had a (fill in adjective here) neighbor who was growing something I have blocked out of memory. (I was growing black peppermint and perpendicular carrots* at the time, since you asked, and rosemary that is now approximately the size of those items so popular during the month of December.)
I mentioned to my neighbor, in passing, that I had tasted a strawberry or whatever it was and he should feel free to have some mint and rosemary and perhaps a perpendicular carrot, too, and next thing you know Mr. Wonderful had written in red, on a piece of wood that he had thoughtfully nailed to the garden wall, a note informing me that he had taken something of mine from the garden in restitution, and then I believe he shared with me and whomever else happened to be reading the garden wall at the time some actions he was considering.
Fortunately, our paths never crossed after that because a) he was on another floor; and b) I avoided him like the plague. And then one day he moved to another state and I could go into the backyard again.**
Praise the Lord.
At any rate: I was tempted to ask the nice lady shopping at the Farmers' Market if she had ever heard of oranges or mandarins (which we in New Jersey always called "tangerines," but I digress). Because I wanted to tell her what I realized sometime last year: a lemon--say, one of those fine Lisbon lemons that was languishing right in front of her very eyes) + an orange or an orange relative = (pretty much) 1 Meyer lemon.
I kept my mouth shut.
Reminded me of the times I've been at Whole Foods and they've had one of their fabulous half- or whole salmon sales. We're talking beautiful fish here. And someone comes up to the counter and asks for the $49/lb. salmon filet. And I ask what they're planning to do with the fish.
They are putting a sauce on it.
This is a bit like putting a raincoat on a tuxedo and not removing it for the entire evening. (The raincoat. If you are in the habit of taking off your tuxedo in the middle of the festivities, I cannot help you.)
But as my mother likes to say, "As long as they're happy."
While I am at the fish counter I do (gently) lobby for people to split the half- or whole salmon with me, though. That's a lotta salmon.
And now, back to Pesach.
Maroo-Cashew Charoset:
¼ cup Maroo raisins (or pour boiling water over Thompson raisins and plump for about 10 minutes)
2-3 dates (at least one Medjool and one Deglet, which is a bit dryer)
3 kumquats
2 tablespoons raw cashews
1 blood orange
1 lemon
1 slice ginger root, peeled and minced; or a pinch of ground ginger
Sesame seeds (unless you’re off kitniyot*** this week)
Preheat oven to 250 degrees. Plump raisins, if not Maroo. Place cashews on cookie sheet and toast (or dry roast them in a cast iron skillet), then chop. Chop dates into small pieces. Slice kumquats in half and remove seeds, chop without removing rind, and add to dates and raisins. Cut blood orange and lemon in half. (Reserve the unused half of each.) Juice the half-blood orange and half-lemon, then remove the zest from them. Add the toasted cashews and zest to the fruit mixture, along with the fresh or ground ginger. Now add the blood orange and lemon juice, toss, and taste. If needed, juice the remaining blood orange and lemon and add to the charoset. Toast sesame seeds, place atop charoset, and serve.
*There is nothing like growing your own carrots to give you enormous respect for the well-formed versions found at the Farmers' Markets and the store.
**I've had lots of neighbors in the 20-plus years I've lived here. Many have become friends. Some have been memorable: a couple that seemed to be practicing modern dance--until the police came; the woman who audibly enjoyed her boyfriend. But Mr. Wonderful does stand out. Rumor has it he is now in the South. I imagine him living in Flannery O'Connor's old neighborhood.
***What’s “kitniyot”? Among other things, sesame seeds. Honey, you could always look it up, you know.
Wait. What do you mean "Listen to Jim"?
I asked my friend Jim at the Farmers' Market if he thought it was funny when people would tell him their orders each time, week after week, given that they usually ordered the same exact thing.
He said, "You really want to know what I think?"
"Yeah," I said.
Somebody else might have looked around to see if anybody else could hear him. Not Jim. He just smiled and said, "People are weird about food."
©2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.
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