<Meyer Lemons>

Isn’t it funny how food transports us? One whiff of a steamed lobster and I’m back on the deck of a Cape Cod summer rental; spiced cookies zoom me through dozens of Christmases past, and the chilly English school I endured for a year will forever be embedded in the starchy steam rising from boiled potatoes. Of course, I can always flee through the scent of bush basil, which I associate with the Corfu sun baking down on the skin of my naked arms, or let the tang of Parmigiano Reggiano call up a warehouse in Parma whose cool air was dense with caramel and that back of the palate bite characteristic of mature Parmesan.

And yet there are some foods that invite me to places that exist only in my mind.

Like Meyer lemons. Small, about the size of a prune plum, with a thin, almost pithless skin and an intense sweet/acid flavor that somehow seems reflective of their orange-yellow color, they seem authentically themselves. No small accomplishment in a world in which everything seems increasing hybridized. Appearing only during certain months in the winter, they fill a bowl with brightness and an exotic floral aroma that promises something magical.

American supermarket lemons have morphed over time in a way that suggests sturdiness and size are primary virtues. Once upon a time American lemons were small, soft and had thin, green-yellow skins. Now they’re big, hard and candy yellow. It’s always with a little dread that I select a lemon from a supermarket bin, not knowing what I’ll find when I cut it open. If I’m lucky, it will be juicy, full of lemony zing, but too often it’s a fist of cottony pith surrounding a sorry dried-out fruit.

Meyer lemons, on the other hand, remain themselves. Deficiently small, deficiently bruisable, deficiently delicious. Although they’re from China, to my palate they evoke some sensual Asian Neverwhere, blissfully free of the painful growing pains chronicled in the news about the real China every day. The China of Meyer lemons may exist only in my imagination, but that makes it no less an important destination. Given a chance, I’d still pack my bags…

Use all of a Meyer lemon. They’re too precious to throw any part away. They’re sweeter than regular lemons; the skin is delicate with only a hint of bitterness. After squeezing them for the juice, save the halves. Take a very sharp knife and slice them into strips as thin as you can. Add the strips to a vegetable stir fry or use them raw in a salad. They will take you places.

Last Sunday Roxanne and I devised a plan. We would make four kinds of caramels. She insisted that we start with plain caramels so we could practice our technique before flavoring them with chocolate, Meyer lemons, rosemary, fleur de sel, and ginger. I have to admit, she was right. We had great fun and stopped after three flavors--the chocolate batch refused to set and remained more of a sauce than a firm sheet of candy that could be cut. But more on caramels later. This is about Meyer lemons.

I had also purchased an organic chicken to roast. I had an extra Meyer lemon, some garlic and rosemary and couldn’t keep them away from the chicken. Here’s what I did.

Roasted Chicken with Meyer Lemons

Preheat the oven to 375°F.

Wash an organic 3 ½ -pound chicken inside and out and pat dry with paper towels. Season inside and out with Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Slice one Meyer lemon, skin and all, as thinly as possible and put it into a medium bowl. Thinly slice 4 cloves of garlic and add them to the lemon. Chop rosemary to make about 2 tablespoons rosemary and add it to the bowl. Drizzle in 3 tablespoons olive oil and stir to combine. Put the chicken in the bowl. Taking care not to break the skin, push a few slices of lemon, with the garlic and rosemary, between the skin and meat of the breast. Do the same with the thigh. Rub the remaining lemon mixture over the outside and inside of the bird.

Set the bird, breast side down, on a non stick rack. Roast 40 minutes. Flip the bird to breast side up and baste with any fat that has accumulated in the pan. Baste every 10 minutes until the chicken is done. It will be done at about 1 ½ hours. Test by inserting an instant read thermometer between the leg and the thigh bone. It will read 165°F when done. Allow to rest 10 minutes before serving.

P.S. Yesterday in the kitchen we tried a little juggling with the lemons. Turns out they are good for that as well.