In Season: Eating Well in Winter

Despite what you think, true winter in the Pacific Northwest, at least as far as most of the country is concerned, is a fleeting thing. Yes, we may have a few freezes and snowstorms, but not like New England where snowplows—what are those, you might ask?—pile up banks of the stuff that last well into spring. And thank goodness we don't have the hurricanes, tornadoes and extreme flooding that many areas experience on a regular basis.

My six-foot-tall mother-in-law next to a snowbank in northern Maine.

Of course, with the unknowns brought on by climate change (and our denial of it), all of that could change in the future.

But this year, at least according to produce guy and self-described Fruit Monkey, Josh Alsberg of Rubinette Produce, we can look forward to spring things like nettles, wild mushrooms and fiddleheads, plus herbs like sorrel and chervil, to start appearing as early as March, a mere eight weeks away.

Until then? "Roots and citrus!" says Alsberg.

Beets, yes, but don't waste those greens!

By which he means colorful varieties of beets—red, gold and stripey Chioggia—as well as the knobby Gilfeather turnip, a half-rutabaga, half-turnip hybrid that is a favorite of local chefs, tracing its lineage to Gilfeather Farm in Wardsboro, Vermont. Rutabagas, turnips, celery root and storage potatoes will also be appearing on farmers' market tables over the next few weeks, as will onions, kohlrabi and locally grown white and purple daikon. Winter radishes will also be available, like the watermelon radishes from Black Locust Farm and black radishes from several farms, including Sauvie Island Organics.

There are plenty of seasonal greens available, too. Think mustard greens, cabbages, beet greens, kale, collards, local chicories and gorgeous, deep red heads of radicchio. Gathering Together Farm and Groundwork Organics are growing Kalettes, purple-green, rapini-like florets that are a hybrid of kale and brussels sprouts, with a flavor that shines when roasted or stir-fried.

On the citrus front, I have big bowls of tangerines and Meyer lemons sitting on my counter right now, as fragrant as any store-bought potpourri or essential oils (and not as toxic to pets) and they're edible, to boot! The Meyer lemons will be used for my yearly batch of preserved lemons, to be parceled out in savory dishes, relishes and salads over the next few months, and if I can manage to spare a few, maybe some lemon sorbet.

Alsberg is in hog heaven right now, gleeful at the prospect of citrus season. Several varieties of mandarin oranges and tangerines are beginning to appear, varieties like Shasta Gold, Murcott, Pixies and the teensy Kishu, with blood oranges, navel oranges and Cara Cara navel oranges rolling in now. He's also starting to see a rainbow of grapefruit on distributors' lists, and said that word on the street is that the white grapefruit called Mellow Gold is super juicy and sweeter than most. Pomegranates and kumquats have been in stores since Christmas, and we should be seeing local kiwis making an appearance soon.

Kabocha squash is a personal fave.

Winter squash is starting to clear out of his lists, but he said local growers should have plenty of kabocha, Kuri, butternut and acorn squash through mid-February. After that, though, he warns that the squash you see in stores will be from Mexico. "Enjoy them now" is his mantra. Look for recipes in my Squash Chronicles series.

Rubinette Produce is a vendor inside Providore Fine Foods, an advertiser on this blog. Josh gives his advice quarterly on what's coming in from local farms and what we can expect to see on store shelves.

Meyer Lemon Relish Makes Cauliflower Sing

I adore Meyer lemons and try to use them as much as possible when they're in season. This year I made preserved lemons, the better to enjoy them long after they've disappeared from store shelves. Contributor Jim Dixon of Real Good Food chops them into a relish that he can serve with grilled fish or mix with any number of blanched vegetables and salad greens. Thanks, Jim! 

It wasn't that long ago (okay, maybe it was 20 years) that the only way to get a Meyer lemon was knowing someone in California with a tree in their backyard. The citrus, thought to be a cross of lemon and tangerine, actually arrived from Asia in the early 1900s. Less acidic and puckery than the common Lisbon and Eureka lemons, Meyers also have thin, aromatic skins and a lovely fragrance.

Cauliflower with Meyer Lemon Relish

This relish, a twist on the traditional Italian herb sauce called gremolata, comes from an Alice Waters recipe for slow-roasted salmon in the 1999 Chez Panisse Cafe Cookbook. It's good with fish and almost everything else.

Drop a whole head of cauliflower into a pot of salted boiling water; pull it out after 3 minutes and let cool. Make the relish by cutting a Meyer lemon into quarters lengthwise, slicing the central white core from each quarter and removing the seeds. Then chop the lemon finely. [Preserved Meyer lemons, chopped as indicated, would be fabulous, too.]

Combine the chopped lemon with a finely chopped shallot, a quarter cup or so of chopped flat-leaf parsley, about a tablespoon of chopped chives, a tablespoon of Katz sparkling wine vinegar, a pinch of salt and a couple of tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil. Let this sit for a few minutes while you chop the cauliflower (use the core, too; just chop it into smaller pieces). Toss the cauliflower with the relish, add more salt and a little black pepper and drizzle with more olive oil. Serve cold or at room temperature.

Meyer Lemon Season? Make Preserved Lemons!

There's something about the color yellow tinged with a hint of orange that I find intoxicating. It's that golden-hour hue that comes just before sunset as the sun is sinking toward the horizon, slanting at just the right angle—some sources say between four and five degrees—to brush everything it touches with a yellow-orange glow. If you've seen the work of Van Gogh, you've certainly seen it. Or the movie Days of Heaven, which was shot by the legendary cinematographers Néstor Almendros and Haskell Wexler during the hours just after dawn and before sunset, suffusing the film with a dreamy, fairy tale-like atmosphere.

Meyer lemons, a hybrid of lemons and tangerines, are the fruit of the golden hour, carrying a warmer hue and a milder flavor than regular lemons. When they're in season—hint: now—I can't get enough of them. So this year I decided that I was going to stretch out the pleasure of these golden jewels by preserving them in salt and lemon juice, perhaps one of the simplest methods ever devised and one that is virtually impossible to get wrong.

And the possibilities for them is endless. I've written about using them in risotto, lemoncello, a crab risotto (again, make this now), a cocktail, pasta, a salad…the list goes on and on. So run, don't walk, to your favorite produce department, get some of these gorgeous orbs and start squeezing them…need I say…now.

Preserved Meyer Lemons

12-14 Meyer lemons
Kosher salt
Wide-mouth quart jar with screw-on lid (either a metal ring and lid or a plastic lid)

Lightly rinse the lemons to remove any surface dust or dirt and dry them with a towel. Cover the bottom of the jar with a 1/8" layer of salt. Take six of the lemons and slice them vertically in quarters to within 1/2" of the base. Holding one upright in your palm over a small bowl, fill it with salt and place it in the jar. Do the same with the other five lemons and pack them tightly into the jar. Use more lemons if required to fill the jar within 3/4" of the top (you can slice the lemons into quarters to fit in the nooks and crannies). Pour the salt from the bowl into the jar. Squeeze the juice from the remaining lemons to fill the jar within 1/2" of the top (you can also use regular lemons if you need to). Screw on the lid and place in the refrigerator. Every day or so, shake the jar to distribute the salt and juice, and after three or four weeks you're good to go.

This recipe will work with regular lemons as well. You can also add herbs like bay leaves, peppercorns, cinnamon and cardamom.

A Company Dinner That's No Lemon

We had friends over for dinner the other night, one of those evenings where the main dish sang, the sides were in perfect harmony and the wine was perfection. That's when I suddenly realized everyone was talking about food…a memorable restaurant meal, a dish their mom made for special occasions, a favorite recipe. Not that it's an unusual occurrence, at least around here, where a wonderful meal seems to conjure memories of other flavorful experiences.

So when Jeff and Kathryn mentioned a chicken dish his mom liked to make for company, my ears pricked up, especially since his mom and step-dad are both fantastic cooks. And when he mentioned that the dish called for roasted lemons, a personal weakness of mine, I was on board big time.

A few nights later I pulled out the Meyer lemons I'd had stashed in the fridge and whipped it up. While it takes a little prep, it's basically a one-dish dinner for four, or you could add a couple more breasts and a few more potatoes and it'd easily serve six to eight. Toss some broccoli rabe in olive oil, salt and pepper and roast it in the oven while the chicken cooks, or just tear up some butter lettuce and sprinkle with olive oil and lemon and you've got all your bases covered.

Chicken with Roasted Lemons and Rosemary
Adapted from Michael Chiarello, Tra Vigne

1 1/2 lbs. small new potatoes
2 large lemons
Extra-virgin olive oil for brushing on lemons, plus 1 Tbsp. salt and freshly ground pepper
4 boneless chicken breast halves, skin on
1 Tbsp. minced garlic
1 c. chicken stock
1 tsp. finely chopped fresh rosemary
1 Tbsp. finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
1 Tbsp. unsalted butter or margarine (optional)

Put the potatoes in a pot of salted cold water and bring to a boil. Cook until just tender, about 20 minutes. Drain and let cool, but do not peel. Cut in half and set aside.

Preheat the broiler. Cut a small slice off both ends of each lemon, then cut in half crosswise. Arrange the lemons, flesh side up, in a flameproof non-reactive baking dish, brush with olive oil, and season with salt and pepper. Broil 6 inches or more from the heat until browned and soft, about 10 minutes. Let cool. Squeeze the lemon halves over a sieve suspended over a bowl. Push and stir the pulp through the sieve with a rubber spatula or wooden spoon. Discard the lemon shells.

Preheat the oven to 450°. Season the chicken with salt and pepper. Heat the remaining 1/4 cup olive oil in a large ovenproof sauté pan over medium-high heat until hot. Add the chicken, lower the heat to medium, and cook, turning once, until brown on both sides, about 5 minutes. Remove to a platter.

Return the pan to medium-high heat, add the potatoes, season with salt and pepper and cook, stirring and tossing, until brown all over, about 5 minutes. Drain off the excess oil. Arrange the chicken breasts on top of the potatoes and place in the oven to reheat and cook through, about 10-20 minutes. When done, remove the chicken to a platter and put the pan with the potatoes over medium-high heat. Toss well so the pan juices are absorbed into the potatoes. Scrape the potatoes out of the pan onto the platter around the chicken.

Return the pan to medium-high heat and add the garlic. Sauté briefly until light brown. Immediately add the reserved roasted lemon juice (this final flash of heat will cook off any residual acid flavor), stock, rosemary, and parsley. Stir and scrape up all the browned bits that cling to the bottom and sides of the pan. Season to taste with salt and pepper. If the sauce tastes too lemony, stir in the optional butter. Pour the sauce over the chicken and potatoes and serve immediately.

The L Word: Double Down

The two-fer is such an American idea, isn't it? Buy one, get one free. Whether it's toilet paper or, in this case, a recipe.

I was stuck for something to make for dinner the other night. I wanted something light and wasn't in the mood for meat, a tough task with two voracious carnivores drooling all over my kitchen counters. And no, I'm not referring to the dogs here…they're too short to drool on anything but my toes.

There were some leftovers (the L word) in the fridge: a bit of really good tomato sauce, a few marinated castelvetrano olives from a dinner party, a bunch of kale, a few Meyer lemons I hadn't got around to using yet. Hm. Then it hit me…kale…lemons…olives!

A quick check of the pantry revealed pasta and (yes!) a tin of anchovies. Victory!

At this point you have to picture me dancing around the kitchen, pumping my fists in the air, hearing the theme from Rocky bouncing off the kitchen cabinets. Now the more psychologically stable among you may be thinking that I need something more meaningful to do with my life when coming up with a plan for a weeknight dinner is considered a quest on a par with King Arthur's grail, Hannibal's elephant parade over the Alps or even Indiana Jones's women…um…I mean mythical antiquities. But there you have it…I come up with an idea for dinner and I'm Rocky Balboa. But back to the subject at hand.

What had suddenly turned me into a down-trodden, working-class boxer from Philly was the raw kale salad I'd perfected last fall, based on a raw Brussels sprout salad I'd had at Olympic Provisions. Would it taste as amazing if I used Meyer lemons and combined it with pasta? It sounded reasonable enough to me, so just over twenty minutes later we sat down to what I have to say was one knockout of a dinner.

Meyer Lemon and Kale Pasta

1 lb. dried pasta
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 2-oz. tin anchovies in olive oil
3 cloves garlic, chopped fine
1 small bunch kale (I love lacinato, though any will do), sliced into chiffonade
10 castelvetrano olives, pitted and roughly chopped
Zest of 1 Meyer lemon
Juice of 2 Meyer lemons
Salt and pepper to taste
Parmesan, finely grated

Bring large pot of water to boil. Add pasta and cook until al dente.

Heat oil over medium heat. Add anchovies and stir until they dissolve (stand back…they can splatter). Add garlic and heat but do not brown it. Add kale and sauté till wilted. Quickly stir in olives and remove from heat.

When pasta is done, drain off water and place in large serving bowl. Add kale mixture, lemon zest and juice (chopped preserved lemons would also be terrific). Toss, adding salt and pepper to taste. Sprinkle it lightly with parmesan. Serve with more parmesan in a bowl for sprinkling.

Lovin' That Lemon

What could be better than a delicious dinner that's ready in less time than it takes to boil water and cook pasta? This superbly fresh Meyer lemon pasta dish is almost too good to be true, and it could be a strong competitor to my go-to quick dinner recipe, pasta carbonara.

It's also infinitely mutable, with obvious additions like canned West Coast albacore or a tossing with a bunch of baby arugula. You could even throw in some well-chopped black olives, my preferred variety being oil-cured. And, of course, it's totally acceptable with regular lemons when the Meyers are out of season.

But really, it's best as its simple, straightforward self, perfect as an entrée with a salad but also appropriate as a side with, say, grilled fish. So good!

Meyer Lemon Pasta

Inspired by the original at Franny's via WordsToEatBy

1 lb. dried pasta
4 Tbsp. olive oil, split
2 cloves garlic, finely minced
1/2 c. bread crumbs
Zest of 1 Meyer lemon
Juice of 2 Meyer lemons
1 c. parmesan, grated, plus more for sprinkling
2 Tbsp. parsley, finely chopped

Bring large pot of water to boil. Add pasta and cook till al dente.

While pasta cooks, heat 1 Tbsp. oil in sauté pan over medium heat, add garlic, stir briefly to heat, then add bread crumbs and stir till toasted. Set aside to cool. In serving bowl, combine zest, juice and 3 Tbsp. olive oil (chopped preserved lemons would also be terrific). Whisk to emulsify slightly. Add cheese and stir. When pasta is done, drain and add to lemon mixture in bowl along with parsley and bread crumbs. Toss and serve with additional parmesan for sprinkling at the table.

Improve on Perfection? You Be the Judge!

Passion is a funny thing. I've been on a Meyer lemon tear for the last couple of weeks and, even as I type this, two of the yellow-orange orbs are sitting on my kitchen counter begging to be used. Their smooth skins cry to be caressed and their scent is perfuming the whole room.

I've squeezed their juice into a crab risotto. A curling strip of peel has done its magic as the final touch in our house Negroni. And just the other day Dave ran across a recipe that called for the juice of Meyer lemons in a Whiskey Sour. The original Whiskey Sour, using regular lemons, is considered a perfect cocktail, so the possibility of improving on perfection was tempting.

"Should we give it a try?" he asked. Mais oui!

With balance like Olga Korbut, it's one of those cocktails, as my brother is wont to say, that's waaaaaaaaay too easy to drink. It's the perfect pre-dinner cocktail, not too heavy or sweet, an aperitif rather than a gut bomb. And if you want to give your guests a choice of tart or sweet, take a page from Vancouver, BC, bartender Shaun Layton of L'Abattoir and swipe just half the rim with a curve of extra fine sugar. Freaking brilliant!

So what's the next recipe that's going to send me into paroxysms of Meyer lemon lust? Preserved lemons? A Meyer lemon pie? I can't wait to find out!

Meyer Lemon Whiskey Sour
Adapted from Nora Maynard in The Kitchn

1 1/2 oz. whiskey (rye or bourbon)
1 oz. freshly squeezed Meyer lemon juice
1/4-1/2 oz. simple syrup*, according to taste
Amarena cherry
Sugar rim, optional

Place all ingredients in a cocktail shaker with ice. Shake vigorously and strain into a cocktail glass (with optional sugar rim). Drop in an amarena cherry. Makes one cocktail.

* Simple syrup: Equal parts sugar and water and heated in a saucepan on the stove, stirred until the sugar dissolves completely, then chilled.

Crustacean Celebration: Crab Risotto

You see, I was watching this show called "Fringe" on the laptop after listening to Brian Greene talking about the existence of an infinite number of parallel universes, called the multiverse, on Fresh Air. (And yes, I'm an NPR junkie.) As Terry gamely tried to ask intelligent questions of the quantum physicist, you could actually hear her brain start to wheeze as it struggled to absorb the advanced concepts involved. (My favorite question was when she asked Greene if his pals in physics circles think he's off his nut.)

I was glad I had the simple, straightforward, science fiction-y TV series about a parallel universe where different outcomes exist, and the way that even small acts can have enormous consequences down the road. Stuff we all can get our heads around, right? Plus they talk about food a fair amount, like a recipe for the perfect strawberry milkshake.

But what got me on this tangent was the fantastic crab risotto that we had for dinner as we huddled around the screen, watching Walter, Peter, Olivia and Astrid try to figure out what the Watchers were up to this time. And I sincerely hoped that in a few parallel universes they have crabs as wonderful as our Dungeness, and that in at least one parallel dining room a little family bearing a striking resemblance to ours was having this bit of creamy comfort before crab season ends.

A Very Crabby Risotto ( or Lemony Crab Risotto)

2 Tbsp. butter or margarine
3 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 c. shallots, finely chopped
2 c. arborio rice (I used Fior di Riso, an Italian variety)
1 c. dry white wine
2 c. fish stock, warmed
2 c. chicken stock, warmed
1/4-1/3 c. Meyer lemon juice (regular lemons can be used, as well, and chopped preserved lemons would be great)
1 tsp. lemon zest
1/2 c. green peas (thawed if using frozen)
1 egg yolk
1/2 c. parmesan, plus additional for garnish
1-2 lbs. crab meat (I used the meat from two small crabs)*
2 Tbsp. chives, finely chopped

Heat butter and oil in medium saucepan over medium heat, then add onion and garlic and sauté until golden, 2-3 minutes. Add rice and stir to combine, approx. 1 min. Add white wine and stir until absorbed. Combine warmed fish and chicken stocks, then start adding stock a cup at a time until rice is slightly al dente. Remove from heat and add lemon juice, lemon zest, peas, egg yolk, parmesan and 1 Tbsp. chives all at once and stir rapidly to combine. Add crab meat and fold in gently so it doesn't break up too much. Garnish with remaining chives and serve immediately with additional parmesan for sprinkling.

* If you're bringing servings to the table rather than serving family style, you can reserve an appropriate number of larger chunks of crab for garnish.

Check out this season's Crustacean Celebration series: Pasta with Crab and Radicchio, Deadly? I Think Not, The Big Boys Weigh In and Let Them Eat Cakes. See also: last season's series starting with Hot Artichoke and Crab Dip (and links to other posts in the series).

In Season NW: A Little Limoncello

With Meyer lemons in season right now, it's time to think about saving these wonderful yellow fruits for later. Preserved lemons are some of my favorite condiments, great stuffed in green olives for martinis and in Moroccan dishes, but nothing beats a sip of limoncello on a hot summer day. Contributor Jim Dixon of RealGoodFood shares his recipe.

Limoncello

I saw a recipe for limoncello online recently. It wasn’t really wrong, but it called for macerating lemon zest in vodka. There’s a much better way to make limoncello, a specialty of the Sorrentine Peninsula, and while the season for citrus is winding down, there’s still a nice selection in the markets.

My approach comes from Giuliano Bugialli, a cookbook author who write about the regional dishes of Italy. He says this is how they do it along the coast south of Naples.

Start with a trip to the liquor store to pick up some grain alcohol, commonly called Everclear after a well-known brand (but not the one sold here in Oregon). Grain alcohol is more neutral than vodka, not too mention much stronger, and it’s what’s used in Italy.

You’ll need 5 to 6 lemons for 750 ml (a “fifth”) of alcohol. I usually use Meyer lemons, but the more common Persian lemons will work, too. Other items to gather before starting include cheesecloth, string and a few wide-mouth jars (two quart jars for each 750 ml of alcohol).

Use the cheesecloth and string to make a pouch for 2 to 3 lemons. You’ll need to slip this inside the jar, so make it loose enough to allow for the lemons to shift around. Pour the alcohol into the jars, leaving enough room for the lemons to hang in the jar without touching the alcohol. Use tape or more string to secure the lemon pouches, and cover the jars with a couple of layers of plastic wrap (the alcohol will evaporate if the jars are not tightly sealed). Put the jars in a dark place and wait.

While it might not seem like much is happening, the alcohol fumes will, over a few months, leech the flavor out of the lemon peel. Later this summer (July 4th, say), make a simple syrup of water and sugar (I used to make my syrup for limoncello from equal parts sugar and water, but now use 4 parts sugar to 5 water so it’s not too sweet).

Unseal the jars of alcohol and discard the lemons. Dilute the alcohol by half for 90 proof (quite strong); add a bit more syrup or plain water for a less potent batch (do this slowly, in a small container, and taste it along the way).

This limoncello won’t have the vibrant yellow color you get from soaking the zest in the alcohol, but it also doesn’t have the bitterness from the white pith that’s hard to avoid when you’re cutting the zest. It’s delicious over ice or mixed with iced tea for a summer cooler.

Light and Lemony

Bare branches, dark grey skies and buckets of rain may mark this season in the Northwest, but they can't hold a candle to some of the delights to be found in local markets. I've already mentioned the abundance of crabby goodness creeping (sideways) out of the sea and onto local tables, and now it looks like there's an avalanche of yellow, puckery globes piling up in the produce aisle and cascading from friends' greenhouses.

Meyer lemons, those natives of China that are thought to be a cross between true lemons and mandarin oranges, have been perfuming the air since they appeared as blossoms on the little tree at my brother's wine shop, and this year he's harvested a bumper crop off of it. I'm planning on making preserved lemons with a batch I bought at the market, but last night, in need of a side dish to go with roast chicken and with lemons dancing in my head, I decided a lemon risotto might just hit the spot.

This recipe is a conglomeration from several sources, but the one departure is the addition of an egg yolk added at the very last minute, courtesy of sensuous kitchen mistress Nigella Lawson. It adds a glossy, creamy quality that suffuses this lemony dish with another level of richness, and may become a regular addition to other creamy risottos.

Meyer Lemon Risotto

2 Tbsp. butter or margarine
3 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 yellow onion, chopped fine or 2 shallots, minced
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 c. arborio rice
1/2 c. dry white wine
5 c. chicken stock, heated
1/2 c. Meyer lemon juice (regular lemons can be used, as well, or substitute chopped preserved lemons instead of the juice and the zest)
2 tsp. lemon zest (approx. 2 lemons)
1 egg yolk
1/2 c. parmesan, plus additional for garnish
Parsley, finely chopped, for garnish

Heat butter and oil in medium saucepan over medium heat, then add onion and garlic and sauté until golden, 2-3 minutes. Add rice and stir to combine, approx. 30 seconds. Add white wine and stir until absorbed, then start adding chicken stock a cup at a time until slightly al dente. Remove from heat and add lemon juice, lemon zest, egg yolk and parmesan all at once and stir rapidly to combine. Garnish with parsley and serve immediately with additional parmesan for sprinkling.

Note: If making this in the microwave (I know…total heresy, but it works great), heat oil and butter for 1 min. on high, then add onion and garlic and heat 2 min. on high. Stir in rice to coat and heat on high 1 minute. Stir in wine and stock, cook for 10 min. on high, then pull out of microwave, stir, replace in microwave and cook an additional 10 minutes, watching to make sure it doesn't dry out (there should still be liquid at the top). Remove from microwave, quickly stir in lemon juice, lemon zest, egg yolk and parmesan and serve, garnished with chopped parsley. You may need to play with the timing a little, since each microwave is different, but seriously, this is an easy way to make risotto, especially if you've got company. And they'll never know you cheated.

Tart Tart, Tang Tang.

As stated previously, I am a sucker for a good recipe and, if it features one of my favorite ingredients in an easy and delicious-sounding new form, there's a good likelihood that it'll end up in the "Gotta Try This" folder. When the Dining section of the New York Times ran an article a few months ago on lemons, they had me hooked. And since I'd recently purchased a non-stick tart pan, the description of the Lemon Confit Shortbread Tart made it a cut-it-out-right-now item even if everyone hadn't yet read the paper (sorry, honey...).

This one was particularly appealing to my lemon-loving self because the filling is no creamy compromise to less lemon-centric souls, but simply thinly sliced rind-and-all lemons with a touch of sugar, boiled down and sandwiched between two lightly lemon-scented crusts. It's enough to make even the most ardent lemon supporter's back teeth sing and it's incredibly good, especially served with fresh Hood strawberries and a dollop of Mio Gelato's Italian cream. Like the farro salad, it's going to be appearing with regularity on our summer table.

My friend Mary Fishback of Bread & Ink Cafe and the founding dessert maven behind Rimsky-Korsakoffee House made it with clementines and said it totally rocks, so come up with your own variation and let us know how it turns out. You (and your guests this summer) will be knocked out!

Lemon Confit Shortbread Tart
Originally from the New York Times Dining section

For the crust:
3 c. flour
1 tsp. salt
1/2 lb. (2 sticks) unsalted butter, cut into 1" pieces
1 1/4 c. sugar, divided
1 large egg
1/8 to 1/4 tsp. almond extract, or to taste
2 Tbsp. lemon juice

For the confit:
8 Meyer lemons, preferably thin-skinned and seedless, but regular organic lemons will work
3/4 c. sugar
2 Tbsp. water

For the crust, combine flour, salt, butter and 1 cup sugar in a bowl.  Mix with your fingers until it forms flaky crumbs and lumps. Mix in egg, almond extract and lemon juice. Continue to mix until it clumps; it may seem very dry at first. Shape into a ball, wrap in plastic and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes, or up to 1 day ahead of baking.

For the confit, slice off and discard ends of lemons. Slice 5 crosswise, peel and all, as thinly as possible. Remove any seeds and place in a bowl. Peel skin, including white pith, from remaining 3 lemons, then slice thinly crosswise and add to bowl. Add 3/4 cup sugar and 2 tablespoons water. Toss and let sit at room temperature for at least 30 minutes or up to 2 hours.

Place lemon slices and their juice in a saucepan, and bring to a boil.  Cook down until lemons are candied and small amount of liquid in pan is sticky and syrupy, about 15 minutes. Transfer to a bowl and let cool.

To bake, preheat oven to 350°. Divide dough in half and form each half into a ball. Roll out one ball on a floured surface until large enough to fit into a 9-inch round tart pan. Dough will be crumbly (more shortbread than pie crust); if it falls apart, press it back together. Spoon Confit over crust, spreading evenly. Roll out second ball of dough and place on top, sealing edges but making sure no crust overlaps the rim or tart will be difficult to remove later.

Bake until edges of tart are lightly golden, about 35 minutes, then sprinkle top with remaining ¼ cup sugar.  Return to oven for about 10 more minutes; edges should be lightly golden and crust cooked through but not browned.  Serve warm or cooled.