The tree is, once again, heaving.
Two large, freshly sealed jars of preserved lemons sit on the kitchen bench. I'm eyeing off the lemon bars in Alice Medrich's exquisite Pure Dessert, a book even the most baking-phobic will covet. As a study in Beauty, if nothing else.
Now ripe, the lemons are added to everything I can think of. Still, it's not nearly enough.
The recipes I'm drawn to lately are light on technique, lists and, indeed, order, but heavy on seductive phrasing and description.
Case in point? Last night's lentils. Courtesy of Maggie Beer, in Maggie's Harvest.
Make a warm lentil salad by adding diced preserved lemons, fennel, celery and carrot to freshly cooked lentils and then toss through masses of just-plucked coriander leaves. Dress this with a vinaigrette of extra virgin olive oil and lemon juice and serve with grilled quail.
To which I would add only the following: make that vinaigrette a garlicky one and no quail. Poor wee bony birdies. But thick rounds of soft, ashed goats cheese balanced on top? Perfection.