‘I’ll Be with You in the Squeezing of a Lemon’

Oliver Goldsmith

In 1533 the Company of Leathersellers offered Henry the Eighth and Anne Boleyn a great banquet to celebrate Anne’s coronation on Whit Sunday in Westminster Hall. Among the princely luxuries which graced the feast was one lemon, one only, for which the Leathersellers had paid six silver pennies.

Now that in England we pay an average of six copper pence per lemon, I think I would still find them almost worth the silver pennies which in 1533 must have represented a pretty large sum.

It is hard to envisage any cooking without lemons, and indeed those of us who remember the shortage or total absence of lemons during the war years, recall the lack as one of the very worst of the minor deprivations of those days.

Without a lemon to squeeze on to fried or grilled fish, no lemon juice to sharpen the flatness of the dried pulses – the red lentils, the split peas – which in those days loomed so largely in our daily diet, no lemon juice to help out the stringy ewe-mutton and the ancient boiling fowls of the time, no lemon juice for pancakes, no peel to grate into cake mixtures and puddings, we felt frustrated every time we opened a cookery book or picked up a mixing bowl. In short, during the past four hundred years the lemon has become, in cooking, the condiment which has largely replaced the vinegar, the verjuice (preserved juice of green grapes), the pomegranate juice, the bitter orange juice, the mustard and wine compounds which were the acidifiers poured so freely into the cooking pots of sixteenth-and seventeenth-century Europe. There are indeed times when a lemon as a seasoning seems second only in importance to salt.

To Mediterranean cooking the juice of the lemon is vital. It is the astringent corrective, as well as the flavouring, for olive-oil-based dishes and fat meat. By English cooks this point is not and has never been sufficiently appreciated. For example a home-made brawn or pig’s-head cheese seasoned with a generous amount of lemon juice (squeezed in after cooking and when the meat is shredded or chopped ready for potting or moulding) transforms an often insipid dish into a delicacy. And to me a lentil soup or purée is unthinkable without the complement of lemon and olive oil; then, just try to imagine lamb kebabs without lemon…

In scores of English and French creams, ices, cakes, soufflés, sweet omelettes and preserves, it is the aromatic oil contained in the peel or zest, rather than the juice, which is the operative part of the lemon. For these dishes choose thick-skinned fruit.

One of the best of lemon graters is lump sugar, although Hannah Glasse (The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy, 1747) who was perhaps partial to a pun, directed her readers to grate lemon skins with a piece of broken glass. Possibly in her day that practical little utensil known as a lemon zester had not yet been invented. And the lump sugar business, called for in so many recipes, is often exasperating because it is unexplained. When however it is remembered that sugar was bought in loaves, the whole procedure becomes logical. You simply hacked off a sizeable lump, and with this big piece, rasped off the skin of the lemon, thus releasing the essential oil of the zest which is so important to the flavour of creams, ices, and particularly of that uniquely English speciality, lemon curd. This lovely dish does of course also include the juice of the lemons. So do all the lemon recipes which I have chosen for this article. There is something especially satisfactory about using the whole of the fruit in one dish. Even more satisfactory are the beautiful flavours and scents of these dishes authentically made and eaten when fresh. (Lemon curd has been one of the most painfully travestied and ill-used of all our true English preserves. No commercially-made version gives so much as a hint of its true nature.)

ENGLISH LEMON CURD

To make 1 lb. approximately, ingredients are: 2 large lemons, preferably thick-skinned; ½ lb. loaf sugar; 4 whole large eggs;¼ lb. of unsalted or slightly salted butter.

Rub sugar lumps on to the peel of the lemons, holding them over a bowl, until each lump starts crumbling, then start on another. About four lumps will rub sufficient outside peel and oil out of each lemon. Put all the sugar together into the bowl.

Squeeze the lemons, and strain the juice. Whisk the eggs very thoroughly with the strained juice.

Cut the butter into small cubes.

Set the bowl in, or over, a pan of water. When the sugar has dissolved add the eggs, then the butter. Stir until all ingredients are amalgamated and the whole mixture looks rather like thick honey, with about the same consistency. Remove the bowl (older cooks still find an old-fashioned stoneware jam jar the best vessel for making lemon curd. I prefer an open bowl. I like to see what’s happening) and stir until the curd has cooled. Turn into small jars and cover with good quality kitchen parchment such as Bakewell, to be bought at Boots, Fine Fare, John Lewis shops, and many Co-ops.

To the straightforward lemon curd, a couple of sponge fingers, broken up, are sometimes added. They thicken the curd, giving it extra body and making it more stable when spread into flan cases or flat, open plate pies. A richer alternative is a small proportion of ground almonds. Allow up to 2 oz. for the quantities given.

Writers of old recipes often claimed that lemon curd keeps for years. Perhaps it does. I would say that three months is about the maximum, and that long before this period is up the confection, like a fresh fruit sorbet stored in the deep freeze, has lost its exquisite flavour and the edge has gone from the sharp scent.

Use lemon curd to make a delicious filling for little brown bread sandwiches to eat with ices, to spread on brioche or currant bread, or as a sauce for little yeast pancakes as well as for the traditional lemon curd pie made with rich, sweet short crust.

SHORT CRUST FOR LEMON CURD PIE OR LEMON CHEESE-CAKE

Proportions for the crust, which is rich, sweet, and crumbly, are easy to remember. They are 3 oz. of sugar, 6 oz. of butter, 9 oz. of flour, 1 whole egg plus a little iced water for moistening the dough, which should be mixed and rolled out, very quickly and lightly, and cooked at once. The 3, 6, 9, formula makes enough for two 7-inch tins. It is easy enough to halve the quantities and use only the yolk of the egg, but easier still to remember the recipe in its original formula.

The pastry cases are cooked blind (do not forget to prick the base with the tip of a sharp little knife) protected with paper (it burns easily, like all pastry containing sugar) and filled with dry beans or rice. Put it into the centre of a hot oven, gas no. 6 or 7, 410°F. to 440°F., and bake for 20 minutes, then lower the temperature to gas no. 4, 370°F., and cook for another 15 minutes. This seems a long time. It is intentional. So much English pastry is spoiled by timid cooking and under-baking.

While still hot remove the beans and the paper. Fill with lemon curd – about 6 to 8 tablespoons – and put back into the oven for 5 minutes, just enough time for the filling to warm through, no more. The effect to aim at is a crisp, sugary crust with the contrast of a smooth, delicately aromatic and refreshing filling.

CURATIVE PROPERTIES OF LEMONS

It was during the last years of the reign of Anne Boleyn’s daughter Elizabeth that the curative effects of lemon juice on scurvy victims was observed, although neither cause nor effect were understood. Only as late as 1918 was it established – by a woman doctor – that the juice of lemons is more than twice as rich in anti-scorbutic vitamins as that of the lime, for long thought to be as or more effective than lemon juice in the prevention of scurvy. The lime juice myth was so firmly entrenched that it is still commonly believed.

TO PRESERVE LEMONS IN CLOVES

Finally, here is a beautiful little lemon recipe from the MS. Receipt Book of Anne Blencowe, dated 1694, and printed by Guy Chapman, the Adelphi, in 1925. The segments of lemon embedded in clear apple jelly must have made a ravishing little dessert dish:

‘You must pare them very close. Part ye cloves, then scrape all ye white off, but have a care not to break ye cloves when you scrape them. Take out all ye seeds, then weight them and take their weight in sugar. To a pound of sugar half a pint of water. Sett all on a slow fire and keep them covered with syrup & paper, but let them not boyl. So sett them by till ye next day; then heat them again as you did before, & when you think their sowrness is pretty well out, they are enough. Then make a Jelly with pipins & put them in. So let them have one boyl Then glass them. They must not stand upon the fire above an hour att a time. The cloves of ye Lemon must be taken clean from ye syrup to put to ye jelly.’

Wine and Food, February/March 1969