Meyer Lemons

It’s citrus season, you may have noticed. That would be especially glorious if we lived in sunny California – all those juicy oranges and grapefruits would be, literally, growing in our backyards.

Up here in these parts it means we get a few weeks of enhanced perusing in the fruit of our supermarkets. And during these long months of depravity from fresh, local produce, that can provide a little excitement as we take pleasure in the small things, imported though they may be – fleshy red grapefruits and sweet blood oranges, for starters. Last winter, I made a more exciting discovery, though, when I came across Meyer lemons – a rare find around here – at my local grocery store. I snatched up a bag, well aware that little gems like these tend to disappear from the shelves just as quickly as they pop up. Just spotted them again the other day, so act quickly.

Legend has it that Meyers were discovered in China and brought to the U.S. 100 years ago by American agricultural researcher Frank Meyer. According to The San Francisco Ferry Plaza Farmers’ Market Cookbook, a sturdy little volume I rely on as my produce bible, Meyer lemons are believed to be a cross between a lemon and a mandarin orange. They feel rounder, smoother and spongier than the traditional lemon, and they have a less acidic, more floral flavour.

Many a time I’ve come across a recipe calling for Meyer lemons and had to settle for the boring standards instead. So I was feeling a little giddy when I got them into my crisper and started thinking about the possibilities. Cookbooks and a bit of Googling provided some inspiration – too much, perhaps. Tempting as it was to make an over-the-top lemon cake or some wee, buttery lemon cookies, I couldn’t think of anyone I know who wouldn’t kill me if I presented them with baking during this, the holiday detox season (thus leaving me to consume it all on my own – also unwise).

Would it be a creamy risotto? A vinaigrette to dress some peppery arugula? A gremolata to sprinkle over grilled steak? Meyer lemon and vanilla bean marmalade?

I quickly concluded that whatever I concocted, it would have to make maximum use of the whole lemon – rind and juice. And so ultimately I decided on preserving them. Instant gratification, no, but lovely down the line – minced up and added to hummus; tossed into pasta with some Italian parsley, tuna and capers; added to some kind of heady Moroccan stew. Or the ultimate addition to a Bloody Caesar. Indeed, they’ll be the gift that keeps on giving.

Most recipes I found were much the same, with a few variations. One suggested blanching the lemons in boiling water for five minutes before cutting; another didn’t. I went with the latter – easier – from the San Francisco book.

A mere three ingredients were involved – my Meyers, some coarse sea salt and a little extra virgin olive oil. Should have bought more lemons, though, as I only had eight. So I was forced to halve the recipe.

I cut four well-washed lemons into eighths, tossed them in a bowl with ½ cup of salt and squished them into a jar. Then I juiced an equal number of lemons, poured the liquid into the jar so it covered the wedges completely, capped it and stuck it in the fridge. Simple. From there, it was only a matter of agitating the jar every day or two for a week to distribute the salt, and then topping the jar with a little olive oil to keep things preserved. These will keep up to six months (even longer, really) in the fridge. You can double or triple the above proportions if you’ve got more lemons. Makes a nice gift, so the more you can get your hands on, the better. And if you can't find Meyers, this will work with regular lemons, too.

If you're looking for something sweeter, here's a recipe from the latest issue of Bon Appetit magazine that makes good use of both the juice and rind -- little individual desserts for eight people that can be made a day ahead. Again, regular lemons can be substituted.

Meyer Lemon Custard Cakes

3/4 cup plus 2 tbsp sugar, divided

1/4 cup all purpose flour

pinch of salt

1-1/3 cups whole milk

2 large eggs, separated

1/3 cup fresh Meyer lemon juice

2 tbsp finely grated Meyer lemon peel

1 eight ounce container chilled creme fraiche

Preheat oven to 350. Butter eight 3/4-cup ramekins or custard cups. Whisk 1/2 cup plus two tablespoons sugar, flour and pinch of salt in medium bowl to blend. Combine milk, egg yolks, lemon juice and lemon peel in large bowl; whisk until blended. Add flour mixture to yolk mixture and whisk custard until blended. Using electric mixer, beat egg whites in another large bowl until soft peaks form. Gradually add remaining 1/4 cup sugar to whites and beat until stiff but not dry. Fold 1/4 of whites into custard. Fold remaining whites into custard in two additions (custard will be slightly runny).

Divide custard equally among ramekins. Place ramekins in large roasting pan and pour enough hot water into pan to come halfway up sides of ramekins. Bake custard cakes until golden brown and set on top (cakes will be slightly soft in centre), about 27 minutes. Chill uncovered until cold (at least four hours), then cover and keep refrigerated. 

Using electric mixer, beat creme fraiche in medium bowl until softly whipped. Run small knife around each custard cake to loosen. Invert each cake onto plate and place dollop of creme fraiche top or alongside cakes and serve.