With partly cloudy skies, a fresh breeze and a muggy sixty degrees, it's spring in Northeast Ohio — and with spring comes the making of fresh lemonade. I squeeze the stuff from the designs of Plain Dealer Food Editor Joe Crea, who both identified and solved my minor culinary dilemma. Short and sweet, it is this: lemonade in the modern age has become a relative term, with little commercial distinction between highly processed counterfeits and powdered laboratory nightmares. I grew up on Kool-Aid brand drinks, which naturally included its Lemonade and Pink Lemonade. What came of one cup sugar, six cups water and the pouch was as close to lemonade as flavored antacid but for a child the taste was smooth, sweet and damn near citric enough. I loved it — even more so when I grew old enough to mix it myself and used the full cup of sugar my mother always (perhaps wisely) skimped on. This was a rare treat, and a product I stuck with for years. By contrast, Country Time lemonade and Crystal Light fail miserably in the bid to reproduce the taste of fresh fruit juice from sweetened granules. Lemony calcium deposits? Funny-tasting beverage? No thanks. If we're going there, I'll steer orange and drink Tang to support the Sixties spirit of NASA with daily Vitamin C all in one toss.
Frozen lemonade — from Minute Maid and the bunch — is better but usually far too tangy and a smidgen on the bitter side. A tall, cool drink for summer afternoons should not function as a stand-in decongestant. Bottled, lemonade tends towards the unappealing taste of preservatives. Restaurant lemonade is usually a bad situation; not too keen on dehydrating myself with soda if I don't need to, I'll opt for non-carbonated beverage. Wagering on the outside chance that the stock lemonade is passable, lemonade might be the order. More often than not, I regret it. Is there an industry standard requiring restaurant lemonade syrup to be among the most sour, biting, unpleasant non-toxic liquids to pour in a paper cup? USDA, where are you? Or is this your work? No, don't tell me. I'll stick to root beer.
Skip to the summer of 1998. My mother clipped Joe Crea's column from the paper. We read. We sympathized. We followed his directions. Masterful. I chilled the lemonade from the article entitled "Perfect Pitcher of Real Lemonade" for some auditioning later that evening. A college friend of my sister's, who was moving in town for his newly acquired job as assistant band director at the high school, stopped by our house for one reason or another.
"Would you like some lemonade?" I asked.
"Sure," he answered. I poured him a glass. He took a sip and his eyes bugged out before he started with "Wow! This is good." Split-second pause. "I mean, not that I thought it'd be bad, but —" he took a second draught, nodding slowly. "This is good." And it was good.
I cook like the Edge plays guitar: simple and effective. Lots of delay (ba-dum!). Whatever preparation time this recipe requires is offset by its ease. There are three elements to this lemonade: pitcher water, syrup and lemon juice.
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
1/2 cup water (for syrup)
6 or 7 fat, juicy lemons
6 cups water (for pitcher)1. Set two lemons aside. Slice remaining lemons in half and juice. Collect 1 1/2 cups of lemon juice. Set aside.
2. Strip sequestered lemons with zester or knife, cutting thin slices of skin with as little of the white pith as possible. Set aside. Slice and juice lemons.
3. Pour 1 1/2 cups sugar and 1/2 cup of water into saucepan. Bring to boil on high burner heat; stir, cover, reduce heat and let simmer for no longer than five minutes.
4. Pour zest into sugar syrup and stir for three minutes. Remove from heat.
5. Pour lemon juice and 6 cups water into pitcher. Strain syrup into pitcher, using spoon to squeeze syrup from zest. Stir thoroughly and chill.
You'll like it; trust me. A couple of glasses of today's product have been my companions while typing. Sure to be many more glasses and pitchers. And just think: the whole summer's in front of us. Take it in style.