I have THE best lemon tree. It produces footballs. Juicy, tasty footballs. And when it is hung with a full crop of fruit, fragrant blooms pop all over it again for the next crop of lemons.
My parents stayed with us all last month. The lemon tree might have been the main draw -- seriously. My mother grew up in Arizona, eating fresh lemons with salt as a warm-weather snack. Salt -- not sugar. My mom can't get enough of them. Can't say enough about them either. "This is the craziest lemon tree!" "I want a lemon tree like yours." Lemons, lemons, lemons. I can't even pucker up to try this treat.
I'm content to drown my food in lemon juice - salad, vegetables, fish, spaghetti, sandwiches. My siblings are the same way. Lemon on everything. I think it's genetic. If it weren't for my dad's genes mixed in there as well, we'd all be eating salt-lemons like my mom. And there's lemonade too, of course.
Thank goodness for modern toothpaste.
I might have to learn how to propagate this crazy tree and adopt out its offspring as family gifts. I should name the mama tree first -- and put together a lemony recipe collection. Any favorites? Elijah had big success with a lemon-glazed pound cake a couple of weeks ago.
