I will be honest: I'm not sure how I feel about this installment. Maybe it's because preserved lemons aren't something that you enjoy out-of-hand — they're a condiment, and thus really only come into their own when combined with something more substantial. It's like a recipe for ketchup (which, admittedly, I've also already discussed), and as such, using this as one of the recipes almost feels like cheating; it's not really a dish, which is what the title of this series suggests I am promising. Also, I'm posting about it before I can even confirm that the preserved lemons are a success, and that seems a little risky. These things take at least three weeks to ferment; what if, at the end of the process, it turns out that I made some horrible mistake and the lemons become sentient and attempt a hostile coup? That's clearly something I should warn you all about, lest you make the same mistakes; I can always update as time goes on, but by then, it might be too late. And I certainly don't want this humble blog to be Patient Zero, infecting you with binary zombie lemon disease, resulting in some terrible dystopian futureworld.
However, I finally decided to do a little write-up, because 80 dishes is a lot and I shouldn't be too picky and should fill up the recipes slots with whatever is available, and besides, the possibility of my creating a new life form seems negligible (though I am not good at statistics, so don't ask to see my data on this matter). Also, preserved lemons are an integral part of North African cooking, something I will almost certainly need for other dishes, and I like the idea of attempting to make all parts of the food I discuss be as from-scratch as possible (one of the many benefits of my privileged life of leisure as the trophy wife of a...grad student?). Also also, preserved lemons seem pricey, and regular lemons are dirt cheap during the Arizona citrus season (which is coming to a close), and this seems like a nice, relatively inexpensive way to keep a little bit of the phx winter with me as the blazing summer months approach.
OK, so, to begin, gather ye lemons while ye may, along with a cinnamon stick, a bay leaf, a few whole cloves, kosher salt, and a suitable jar. As you can see, I am using an old sauerkraut jar, because we (I) are essentially packrats who do not part with anything that could potentially be used as part of a grand storage scheme.
You should always be sure to sterilize your jar before use, because even though the vast quantities of salt should be enough to keep any critters at bay, you don't want to risk contamination with any food that you'll be leaving to sit out for weeks. I filled the jar with boiling water, covered the jar lid (sitting next to the jar in the plastic dish) with additional boiling water, and let them both sit while I prepared the lemons; this admittedly seems like a half-assed sterilization method, but it's worked for me so far. (You can also use a dishwasher, or submerge everything in boiling water, or use a low heat setting on your oven [though I would be careful of this last option if the jar lids are not fully metallic]). Once the jar seems acceptably germ-free, drain and dry, and then add the spices.
On to the lemons. First, slice off the ends of the lemon.
Next, you want to slice the lemons into wedges, but leave the base intact.
The lemon should be cut into six wedges, then gently pulled apart to facilitate salting. For six or seven lemons, you'll want about 1/2 cup salt (sea or kosher seem to be the preferred varieties; I used kosher salt that may very well have made the trip out when we moved cross-country).
Rub the salt into the wedges, covering as much of the flesh as possible. Once sufficiently salted, add the lemons to your jar, pushing and squeezing them to extract the juice and pack as many in as possible. Juice any extra lemons and use the juice (or bottled lemon juice) to cover the jarred lemons. Any leftover salt can also be added now. Use the rind from one of the juiced lemons to help push down the lemons (they should all be completely submerged), then screw on the lid.
And there you have it. Pop these bad boys into a cool, dark place and let the salts and acids do their thing. The lemons should be ready to go in three to four weeks; in the meantime, you'll want to give the jar a good shake every day or so to help re-dissolve any salts that precipitate out.
Expect to see these little balls of sunshine-in-a-jar in a near(ish) future post, at which point I will let you know how they've turned out. That, or my fears will be realized and I will be welcoming our new citrus overlords; just in case, I would like to point out now that, as a trusted blog personality, I can be helpful in rounding up others to toil in their underground sugar caves.
However, I finally decided to do a little write-up, because 80 dishes is a lot and I shouldn't be too picky and should fill up the recipes slots with whatever is available, and besides, the possibility of my creating a new life form seems negligible (though I am not good at statistics, so don't ask to see my data on this matter). Also, preserved lemons are an integral part of North African cooking, something I will almost certainly need for other dishes, and I like the idea of attempting to make all parts of the food I discuss be as from-scratch as possible (one of the many benefits of my privileged life of leisure as the trophy wife of a...grad student?). Also also, preserved lemons seem pricey, and regular lemons are dirt cheap during the Arizona citrus season (which is coming to a close), and this seems like a nice, relatively inexpensive way to keep a little bit of the phx winter with me as the blazing summer months approach.
OK, so, to begin, gather ye lemons while ye may, along with a cinnamon stick, a bay leaf, a few whole cloves, kosher salt, and a suitable jar. As you can see, I am using an old sauerkraut jar, because we (I) are essentially packrats who do not part with anything that could potentially be used as part of a grand storage scheme.
 |
| If any of the Frank's people are reading, I am open to endorsement deals. |
You should always be sure to sterilize your jar before use, because even though the vast quantities of salt should be enough to keep any critters at bay, you don't want to risk contamination with any food that you'll be leaving to sit out for weeks. I filled the jar with boiling water, covered the jar lid (sitting next to the jar in the plastic dish) with additional boiling water, and let them both sit while I prepared the lemons; this admittedly seems like a half-assed sterilization method, but it's worked for me so far. (You can also use a dishwasher, or submerge everything in boiling water, or use a low heat setting on your oven [though I would be careful of this last option if the jar lids are not fully metallic]). Once the jar seems acceptably germ-free, drain and dry, and then add the spices.
On to the lemons. First, slice off the ends of the lemon.
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| Cutco people! I will totally shill for you if you send me a new knife block |
Next, you want to slice the lemons into wedges, but leave the base intact.
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| Like this. |
The lemon should be cut into six wedges, then gently pulled apart to facilitate salting. For six or seven lemons, you'll want about 1/2 cup salt (sea or kosher seem to be the preferred varieties; I used kosher salt that may very well have made the trip out when we moved cross-country).
 |
| Pre-salting. Tip: Do NOT salt the lemons if you have a paper cut. Ouch. |
Rub the salt into the wedges, covering as much of the flesh as possible. Once sufficiently salted, add the lemons to your jar, pushing and squeezing them to extract the juice and pack as many in as possible. Juice any extra lemons and use the juice (or bottled lemon juice) to cover the jarred lemons. Any leftover salt can also be added now. Use the rind from one of the juiced lemons to help push down the lemons (they should all be completely submerged), then screw on the lid.
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| Ready for the pantry, or perhaps the citrus rebellion. |
And there you have it. Pop these bad boys into a cool, dark place and let the salts and acids do their thing. The lemons should be ready to go in three to four weeks; in the meantime, you'll want to give the jar a good shake every day or so to help re-dissolve any salts that precipitate out.
Expect to see these little balls of sunshine-in-a-jar in a near(ish) future post, at which point I will let you know how they've turned out. That, or my fears will be realized and I will be welcoming our new citrus overlords; just in case, I would like to point out now that, as a trusted blog personality, I can be helpful in rounding up others to toil in their underground sugar caves.
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