For awhile there, Meyer lemons ranked as one of those items that featured in all the food magazines and cookbooks, but not on the shelves of stores outside major cities. So when the slightly orange-tinted lemons started popping up here a few years ago, I bought them like crazy, often without really knowing what to do.  I’m still guilty of that impulse buying, out of some sense that I need gourmet-foodie cred – I should be someone who swoons over Meyer lemons, right?  A Meyer lemon can be used in any way a standard lemon can really, the taste is just a little sweeter and not quite as tart or acidic.  I love to use Meyer lemons for making preserved lemons, the staple of Moroccan cooking, because the thinner skins soak up the salt and brine beautifully.  But my go to recipe when I go Meyer lemon crazy at the store is simple curd.  Its not hard to make, and homemade curd is so much better, with no chemical aftertaste or weird consistency.  And Meyer lemons make a not-to-tart curd that is perfect spread directly on toast or English muffins.  Lemon curd of any variety makes an amazing filling for cakes, is tasty swirled into Greek yogurt and served with berries.  Try crushing up some meringue cookies and stir them together with lemon curd and whipped cream for lemon meringue pie in a bowl.  Sandwich lemon curd between homemade ginger cookies or butter cookies for a special treat, or stir a dollop into your favorite bought vanilla ice cream.  And of course, a pretty jar of lemon curd makes a lovely hostess gift.

Meyer Lemon Curd

You can use the same recipe with regular lemons.

6 large eggs

¾ cup sugar

1 Tablespoon finely grated lemon zest (from 1 lemon)

¾ cup freshly squeezed lemon juice (from about 4 lemons)

8 Tablespoons (1 stick) butter, cut into small pieces

Place a wire mesh strainer over a medium bowl and set aside close to the stovetop. In a medium, heavy saucepan, whisk together the eggs, sugar and lemon zest.  Whisk in the lemon juice and add the butter pieces.  Place over medium heat and stir constantly (it’s best to switch to a heatproof spatula here to be able to scrape the sides and reach the edges of the pan).  Continue cooking until the curd is thickened, about 6- 8 minutes.  Scrape the curd immediately into the strainer set over the bowl.  Push the curd through the strainer to remove any cooked egg or lumps.  Place a piece of plastic wrap directly on top of the surface of the curd and refrigerate until cold, at least two hours.  Transfer to an airtight container.  The curd will keep refrigerated up to a week.

Makes 2 ½ cups

I love figs.  Fresh and dried, black, brown or green.  But I admit I am not that creative with their use.  I snap them up when I see them, but often can’t seem to move past wrapping them in prosciutto or roasting them draped with bacon.  But eventually, one batch of figs ended up, after much thought, candied.  I was, if I may say, quite pleased with the result.  Sweet, treacly, syrupy figs that are great on their own, but also make an amazing accompaniment to good vanilla ice cream, or tangy Greek yogurt.  And candied figs are a stunning partner on a plate of salty, rich, creamy cheeses, maybe with a few walnuts on the platter as well.

about 10 – 12 fresh black figs

2 cups sugar

2 ½ cups water

Wipe the figs with a damp paper towel to clean. In a medium saucepan, the size to hold the figs in one layer covered by the liquid, stir together the sugar and 2 cups water.  Bring to a low boil, reduce heat to a simmer and stir until the sugar has dissolved.  Drop in the figs, bring back to a low boil, then reduce to the heat to medium-low, cover the pan, and simmer the figs for 1 ½ hours, stirring occasionally.  Remove the figs from the heat and leave overnight in the covered pan.  The sugar syrup may crystallize, which is fine.

The next day, add the remaining ½ cup water and bring the figs in syrup back up to a simmer, stirring occasionally, for 20 minutes. Add more water if needed to keep the syrup a loose, maple syrup consistency.  Remove from the heat to cool, before placing in a jar, covered with the syrup. Figs will keep tightly sealed up to a week.  If the syrup crystallizes, heat over low heat with a splash of water to thin.

My father calls my house a kitchen with a bedroom.  He’s basically right.  I spent over six months renovating to have the big kitchen of my dreams.  I even planted a small garden, though I have a black thumb and a streak of laziness. 

I recall that first summer in my new kitchen as my “prairie house wife days.” Oddly, I had this idea in my head that I was someone who “put things by”.  Making jams and pickles and preserves and having a whole shelf in my new pantry full of glowing little jars of homemade treats, whipping out fresh dill pickles (cucumbers, I had hoped, from my own garden) for hamburger diners, spreading biscuits with my own preserves.  I attempted to grow the ingredients myself (a failure except for herbs, at which I am kind of a whiz).  I made regular visits to the farmer’s market and some roadside stands.  I read every classic community cookbook from my grandmother’s collection, many from the 30s and 40s.  I studied the Ball Guide to Canning and Preserving.  I looked up guidelines from the agricultural extension service online.  I bought cases of jars, a jar lifter, funnel, a big canning pot and went to work.

Pickles.  I somehow arrived at the conclusion that pickles are the ultimate canning project.  So I purchased just the right cucumbers.  I faithfully followed the recipes and rules from the Ball Guide, step-by-step, ingredient-by ingredient.  I sliced, I boiled, I mixed, I canned, I sealed, I hot water-bathed.  Finally, a cool shelf in my pantry was stocked with Mason jars full of bright green, gleaming testaments to my hard work, just waiting for their unveiling at the appointed time.  Everyday, I admired my handiwork, so pleased with my industriousness.  And then the time came.  According to my guide book, the pickles were sufficiently pickled for eating.  I proudly presented a jar to my father, a noted pickle-lover, waiting for his verdict.

After an appropriate interval of several days, my father reluctantly issued his opinion.  Not very good.  He was polite and sweet and politic, but as honest as a parent should be.  My pickles were not very good.  Not the right texture, not very much flavor.  Obviously, I was disappointed.  “But Daddy, I did everything right, just like the recipe.  Can they really be that bad.”  Yes, they were.  And then he asked me: “PC, do you even like pickles?”

Hmmm.  I had to admit to myself, and of course to him, that no, I don’t particularly like pickles.  This is not something that occurred to me before I embarked on this mission.  Why, I will never know.  I had spent hours and dollars fulfilling this nonsensical image of myself as a prairie house wife (I live no where near a prairie by the way), “putting things by.” The failed pickles were disposed of, the jars washed and used to hold flowers, the pantry shelf eventually filled with canned goods.  My prairie housewife days were over.

Some years later, one friend complemented another on the great pickles she’d made.  I immediately jumped on her. “How do you make pickles? I’ve always wanted to do that but failed miserably!!”  My generous friend explained that she just used her grandmother’s old method that’s in tons of old-fashioned community cookbooks.  It uses already made commercial pickles and they are stored in the fridge.  I had to try, and with a little research, her vague guidelines and a lot of faith, I came up with my own super-simple version.  My Dad loves them; they are a hit with all my friends.  Hey, I even like them.  So as I enjoy a new summer in my house, having seven years later completed a patio renovation complete with super-grill and outdoor dining room.  I am ready to grill up some burgers, served with a bowl of homemade pickles on the side.

 Sweet Garlic Refrigerator Pickles

This recipe starts with a gallon jar of pickles, which divides up into many smaller jars (4 quarts, or a combination of smaller sizes.)  I start the summer with a gallon jar, because the cleaned and dishwashered pickle jar is absolutely the best vessel for mixing iced tea.  You can also use a quart jar of pickles, which will make three pint jars, and adjust the sugar accordingly.

 1 (1 gallon) jar of whole kosher dill pickles (not pre-sliced)

1 (4 pound) bag of granulated sugar

2 heads of garlic, cloves separated and peeled

Several shakes of good hot sauce

 Pour the pickles in a large colander and drain of all the liquid.  Rinse out the jar, but do not clean with soap and water.  Slice the pickles into ¼ inch pieces.  I find doing this by hand the best method, though it takes some time.  The pickles are a bit too soft for a mandoline or food processor.

Layer the sliced pickles with the garlic cloves and sugar and a few good shakes of hot sauce, covering each layer of pickles with sugar.  Top up the jar with sugar as close to the top as you can.  Screw on the lid and set aside in a cool place away from direct light.  The sugar will dissolve and make a syrup in the jar.  Over the next few days, carefully shake the jar to dissolve any sugar that accumulates at the bottom, and add more sugar.  Continue to do this for four or five days, until the syrup covers the pickles and you can’t add anymore.  You may not use the whole 4 pound bag of sugar.

When the pickles are covered in syrup, pour the whole contents of the jar into a large bowl.  Discard the garlic cloves. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the pickle slices to very clean Mason jars, pressing down lightly and shaking to distribute the slices evenly. Fill the jars with pickle slices just to the rim under the screw-on threads.  When all your jars are full, evenly divide the syrup over each jar of pickles.  It may not completely cover the pickles, but that’s okay.  Place the lids on the jars, screw on the bands and refrigerate.  Store in the fridge up to six months unopened, two weeks after they have been opened.