Why and how I make (so much) limoncello

Why? Surfeit of lemons . . . and I love it!  Of course, this photo was taken a few months back.  This time of year we only have lime impersonators on the tree.  Neapolitans love their lemons -- there are trees everywhere . . . along the streets, in the parks, and, of course, backyards.  We have five lemon trees in ours along with two tangerine and two orange trees.  It's citrus overload February through April.  I do make all kinds of other things . . . marmalade, lemon cakes, citrus salad dressings . . . to reap the bounty.  But limoncello makes the sunshine last a long, long time (unless, of course, you are Danny Devito).  I didn't post this in a timely way for yard-picked lemons, but it's good timing if you want to give limoncello for the holidays. 

Here's how I make it.  

Pam's Limoncello

ingredients

1 liter bottle vodka (inexpensive is okay)

1 liter of grain alcohol or everclear*

12-15 organic Meyer lemons or Sorrento lemons as the case may be

5 cups sugar

4 cups filtered water

supplies

1 3-liter glass container (I found mine at World Market)

potato peeler (sharp one!) or sharp small knife

funnel(s)

coffee filters

soup ladle

4-5 resealable bottles (Ikea has great ones)

First, pour both types of alcohol into the 3-liter glass container.  Wheeeeew! Don't get intoxicated from the fumes, especially since you will be using a sharp object now.

Use a sharp potato peeler or a small sharp knife to remove the zest or yellow skin of your lemons.  Minimize as much as possible the pith or the white underskin on your peels because the pith will cause the brew to be bitter.  Place peels in the alcohol as you work.  NOTE: Above you see the peeling was done after these lemons were juiced.  NO juice is used to make limoncello, just the zest.  I peeled for this batch post lemonade juicing -- usually we do it the other way around: zesting for limoncello first; juicing for lemonade next. I recommend that order for maximum peel and less pith.  

After depositing all the peel in the alcohol, seal the glass container and put it in a dark cabinet.  Forget about it for two weeks, four weeks, six weeks -- I've never gone longer than that.  Of course, you may want to unseal it after two weeks and take a whiff.  It should smell very lemony and have a wonderful clear yellow hue -- liquid sunshine! One of the ways to see if your distillation is ready is to fish out a peel with a fork and snap it in half with your fingers.  If it breaks like a slightly soggy potato chip, the peel has given up its essence. 

Put the 5 cups of sugar and 4 cups of water in a large pot and bring to a boil.  Stir to make sure the syrup is clear and turn off the heat.  Allow the syrup to cool to room temperature.  Place a colander over your pot and pour the alcohol into the colandar so that all the peels are collected in the colander and the alcohol mixes with the syrup.  Stir to ensure the two are completely mixed.

Now it's time to filter the brew into bottles.  It's important to filter to create a clear brew.  I was given a bottle that wasn't filtered, and there's a tendency for browning if you don't get out the sediment.  Ick!  Because it takes time for the limoncello to pass through the filter, I like to do two bottles at once (and change the filter at least twice for each bottle).  Place a funnel spout into a bottle and line the funnel with wet unbleached coffee filter (wetting the filter first decreases loss of precious liquid sunshine!).  Begin ladling the limoncello into the funnel.  When the liquid starts to slow or stop passing through, change the filter.  

After every precious drop has found its way into a bottle,  it's time to stand back and admire your work.  

But you are not finished yet!  Proper brewing requires more setting time.  Place your bottles in a cool, dark place and let them rest for at least two weeks.  Then it's time to put one in the freezer . . . and have at the ready for all kinds of special events, like watching Project Runway, getting the kids to bed, and, my favorite, a nice sunset.

Salute!
















* I understand there are some puritanical places (usually where moonshine is made) that don't sell grain alcohol, use 2 liters of vodka in this case.  The Neapolitans use ALL grain alcohol (which is twice the proof of vodka).  I found this voltage a bit too high for me.  Of course, when using the pure vodka concoction, you should pour yourself a double. ; )

Inspirations . . . serendipity . . . synergy

I just thought I'd share what's been going on this morning . . . it's hot here in Naples, so if you want to turn on the oven, you better do it early.  I've been smelling wafts of ripe banana and ripe peach in the kitchen since Sunday when we loaded up on fruit at the market.  The peaches were a mix of ripe and ripening, but the bananas had been around for a week and were on the cusp.  So before 7 a.m., I got a banana bread in the oven, using my current favorite recipe from the Apples for Jam cookbook.
I love the two Tessa Kiros cookbooks that I have -- they are full of great recipes presented in the most charming and visually appealing manner.  The other one I have is Falling Cloudberries.  She doesn't order her recipes in a conventional manner -- Apples for Jam is divided by color and Falling Cloudberries has a section devoted to the countries of her family's heritage and those she has lived in, ranging from Finland to South Africa.  The format of both books make them fun to peruse and find inspiration . . . inverting the usual order for me when deciding what to cook.  It's usually ingredients first -- what can I make with them?  In the case of Kiros' cookbooks, it's engaging recipe first, let me get what I need for that. I've had such success and been so intrigued by her recipes that they are worth a special trip to the store.
A few weeks back, I had come upon her banana bread recipe when thumbing through to the oil spattered page with her fabulous vegetable risotto recipe. At the time, more fragrant bananas were importuning upon me, and the resulting loaf was a hit.  One great thing about the recipe is that it calls for a 12-inch bread pan . . . so you get a nice long loaf that lasts through many between-meal slicings by family members.  This particular loaf made its welcome appearance by 8 a.m. for Quinn and Lily's breakfast, tweaking little noses awake with a marvelous cinnamon fragrance.  One of the best alarm clocks around.

After breakfast, I enlisted Lily in helping me make a peach pie with this very easy recipe.  I do use Pillsbury pie dough rather frequently.  It's great to have in the freezer for just such exigencies as peaches in danger of succumbing to severe brown spots.  We sorted through the crate of 24, placing the still unblemished ones in a bowl, and then got to work.  Lily was especially keen because I've been reading James and the Giant Peach to her at night.  So conversation rattled on about singing centipedes, kind spiders and ladybugs, and seagulls.  We made a lattice top for the pie with my little pinking cutter -- Lily loves to cut and weave the dough. Once the pie was in the oven, we had to carry on with James' adventures.  A few more chapters and -- voila!  Two home-baked goodies and the oven turned off before 10 a.m.  That's a successful start to the day!
Yesterday, I was reading one of my favorite blogs: Soulemama.  Amanda, the author of two books on family creativity, wrote about transforming cast-off skirts into new attire for her young daughter.  And this is just exactly what I do!

Amanda had repurposed her own skirts for this, but this spring I used two stockpiled vintage finds to make new skirts for Lil.

Notice the 25-cent sticker still on the gored skirt made from a lovely vintage floral linen! I picked it up at a garage sale in Wisconsin (so about 10 years ago!).  The Indian border print (complete with beading and sequins) was sent by my MIL for Emily, but was a tad too tight.  I use the same method Amanda uses . . . so check out her blog if you have a little girl in need of new duds for school (or for twirling as Amanda notes).  These recycled skirts have been in frequent "rotation" on Lily this summer as she loves pull-on clothes (who doesn't!)  As you can see, they are perfect for splashing and spinning around in unexpected downpours in the summer heat!

Next entry -- how a 12-year-old boy customizes some thrift store shirts for his back-to-school wardrobe, using outgrown t-shirts and spray paint!

Market Bounty and a Bag

Sunday morning usually means off to the flea market, but even the flea market vendors celebrate Ferragosto -- or the month-long, languorous holiday Italians celebrate in August.  But the fish and produce market at the port is open everyday but Monday -- even in August.  There is no dolce vita without the bounty of the garden. So off we went this morning to stock up veggies, bread, and lots of fruit.


I took my new "market bag" I just finished with leavings from my latest spate of pillow sewing.  I didn't use a pattern, just eyeballed the shape, cut a matching lining in lavender-colored oxford cloth.  I put some elastic in the side edges to make it more secure.  It's roomy enough to be a pool/beach bag.  The drawback on its size is that I need to dig for stuff, but I did add two interior pockets so I can keep cellphone and wallet at beck and call.

The shoulder straps are recycled from an old parachute harness Jon gave me years ago -- I think before we had kids (!) and the buckle is vintage bakelite (probably an eBay purchase, can't remember).  The fabric was given to me by my mother-in-law when she was clearing out her stash many moons ago, and I immediately loved how tropical yet modern it is.  I think she picked it up when she lived in Greenwich Village in the 1960s.  It came in two half-yard pieces that were plenty for creating two pillows and my "market" bag.  Here are those little numbers and their fellows:

At the market (sorry no pictures, left the camera home), I picked up squash blossoms (along with peaches, plums, tomatoes, parsley, bread, cookies, and cheese).  I had been meaning to give fiori di zucchini a try since last summer.  Since these were already a bit wilted when I bought them, I didn't want to wait for dinner.  So squash blossoms for lunch it was (made with this recipe). I don't think using Heineken in the batter is traditional, but nobody commented.  

I made some bruschetta and cut up a pineapple to round out the meal and we had pranzo al fresco on our patio.  I love having a proper lunch with the whole family at the table.  It makes the day feel so much more like a  vacation.  

Buona giornata!

We still make our own pizza . . . even in Italy.

It's a joy to go out for pizza here, especially the first six months. I've learned so much about the language of pizza . . . what's a quattra stagioni, a romana, a purist's margherita, and how great melanzana (eggplant) tastes on a pizza . . . and that there is even a common pizza (an abomination) with sliced hot dogs and french fries on it.
It's impossible not to admire the elaborate pizza ovens, usually beautifully tiled and prominently displayed.  They are wood-fed kilns that fire the beauty that is Napoli pizza. Soon enough it's time to branch out into the pastas and the salads.  There will be be one culinary revelation after another culinary revelation  And then it slowly dawns . . . uh, where's the Chinese food, the Thai, the Greek, the Japanese, the Indian, the MEXICAN!!! And this jaded American palette will pine for the great inclusiveness of our restaurant fare, indeed, even our supermarket fare. (woe is me, why can't I pick up some stuffed grape leaves from Whole Foods)  And it's a pining that must remain unrequited by a restaurant or ready-made food here.

Italians are devoted to their native cuisine -- all that talk about latin infidelity? Nonsense!  They are food monogamists, unwaveringly true to Mama's cooking.

Fortunately, I love to cook (most nights), so we savor mostly Indian, Mexican, and Chinese fare in our house . . . I have a pretty extensive repertoire in each of those beautiful food disciplines and am always seeking more standards to add to my range.  Also, we shop at the commissary with its extensive stock of ethnic staples (completely unavailable in the markets here).  One telling moments occurred our first week here when an Italian cashier at the commissary held up my fresh ginger and asked me earnestly what it was and how I cooked with it.  I told her it was used like garlic (and with garlic) for flavor and mimed grating it.  She looked unconvinced that it was a food and not a flower tuber.

But now we've even resumed cooking pizza at home  . . .  a frequent occurrence back in Virginia.  There I invariably used Ken Haedrich's earthy whole-grain dough (from his book Country Baking).  But influenced by the purists that are Napoli pizza makers, I more often use a standard white flour dough here with
1-1/2 cups warm water
1 tbspn dry yeast,
3-1/2 to 4 cups flour
1 tbspn olive oil
a sprinkling of salt
Let the  yeast and water foam for five minutes, add everything else -- and if you are lazy like me, you turn on the old Kitchenaid mixer (mine dates from 1972 -- an amazing $10 garage sale coup) and start chopping salad stuff.  Or knead steadily for several minutes.  When it looks and feels like an elastic dough, stop kneading or stop the Kitchenaid, and watch last night's Daily Show on the computer . . . then divide the dough in two and roll, toss, press, or otherwise convince the white stuff to cover two medium pizza pie pans (liberally sprinkled with cornmeal or semolina flour if you have it on hand).
This is the moment when being in Italy has its definite advantages.  Last night we loaded our pies with  buffalo mozzarella (Naples is famous for it), aged Asiago cheese, prosciutto, chopped green peppers and wonderful marinated mushrooms that I found in a big jar at the local market. Bake these for 20-25 minutes in a 500 degree Farenheit oven -- pans on bottom rack.
I forgot to take a photo before everyone dug in, but this is what remained.

You can see our pizza pans have been lovingly used for many years . . . indeed I got them from our Italian neighbors when we lived in student housing at U of Michigan.  Thank you Agnes . . . they have served me well for 10 years!!!