Pick a Lemon
Back in high school in New York the family was coming up with ideas for a college I might go to. It had to be art school, only because my fate was sealed at a young age since painting was always what I loved, and probably what saved my sanity in that family.
Dad had a friend who taught at the university in Santa Barbara, California, which at the time had a creative college that had a good reputation. He decided to plan a family trip out to the west coast to visit the school and stay with these friends he'd known for years. I was all of 16, and the whole thing sounded exciting and a little scary, since I've never been a good traveller, even back then when everything was fresh and I was filled with energy.
So, we flew out to LA, dad, me and my sister, and rented a car to drive up the coast. Of course it was beautiful! It was winter in NY, grey and cold, and everything on this coast was shiny and bright. We got to our destination, and these friends lived in a ranch style house....rambling and big...mid-century modern....which now I find so fabulous, but at the time it all seemed deeply suburban, and extremely foreign. It didn't match the idea I had of myself living in a garret with a tub in the kitchen.
Many years later I lived in that very place I had envisioned, and it was nothing like the romantic bohemian life I'd planned. It was depressing and impossible and even had a resident rat whose aim in life was to torture me every night with scratching noises and remnants of food found in the morning half-chewed. So there we were in paradise and it just didn't seem quite right. The week we spent there I was struck by a few things. Lots of blondes at that school...beautiful young people, like something out of Village of the Damned. Lots of swimming pools and parties with people laying about not talking much. Oh! And an actual earthquake with aftershocks that came in the night and woke me with terror. Nobody there paid much attention.
Who were these people? Dad's friends had a back yard with fruit trees, and each morning the wife would go and pick oranges for juice, or grapefruit, and lemons for lemonade later in the day. I couldn't get over it. I thought these things all came in bags. I didn't go to that school in that pretty place, but chose another prestigious art school in Rhode Island that suited me better, with grey cold winters, and bare trees.
I moved out to LA after art school, for no other reason than following a boyfriend who I was crazy about (emphasis on 'crazy'). I've lived here for more years than New York, and still find it strange and bright, but I stay for the fruit.
Preserved Lemon Compote
Preserved lemon is an ingredient you find in North African dishes, and it's truly magic, and extremely versatile. This is what you do:
Take a bunch of lemons, say 5, and quarter them, sprinkle salt on all sides, plenty of salt, and stuff them into a jar, filling the jar with lemon juice to cover them, and placing a lid on top. Leave them out for about 10 days, and then refrigerate. This stuff keeps for months.
For the compote:
5 chunks of preserved lemon, rind only, chopped fine
8 green olives, also chopped fine
2 garlic cloves, minced
2 tablespoons olive oil
¼ cup fresh lemon juice
A pinch of sugar
Place these ingredients in a small non-reactive pot and cook on low heat, stirring, for about 15 minutes. The idea is to marry all the flavors and soften everything. Cool, and add about 1 tablespoon of chopped fresh mint.
This is great on simple grilled chicken, or really anything. Even mix it in with acorn squash for a vegetarian dish that will knock your socks off!