A HARTE APPETITE: LIFE WITHOUT LEMONS WOULD BE SOUR

Lemon slice in front of a light.

"When life gives you lemons, make lemonade," the adage says. That's good advice, but there's an assumption underlying it that ought to be challenged. What's wrong with lemons? A life without them, from a culinary perspective, would be sour indeed.

I came to this deep philosophical revelation a few weeks ago while lounging in the back yard of friends who live in California. Just a few feet from where I sat was their lemon tree, drooping with fist-sized fruit. It occurred to me that even those of us who aren't lucky enough to have them growing outside our door tend to take lemons for granted. We shouldn't.

Lemons are arguably the most versatile of fruits, certainly among the citrus family. In addition to their role in food preparation, as Sharon Tyler Herbst in The Food Lover's Companion reminds us, lemons have a host of other uses. They have been employed to treat epilepsy, as a bleaching agent and even in witchcraft. Currently, cancer researchers are investigating the capacity of lemons and other citrus fruits to neutralize carcinogens. Dr. Sandra Landolt, a Toronto dermatologist consulted by the Canadian magazine Chatelaine, confirms the wisdom of age-old advice to use lemons to treat rough skin. (Perhaps the capuchin monkeys of Costa Rica are on to something. They like to rub themselves all over with lemons.) Chatelaine also advises using lemon juice as a final rinse after shampooing your hair.

And in the kitchen lemons are no less adaptable. They can perk up a sauce, enliven fresh vegetables, add interest and perfume to desserts, or, when their zest is rubbed around the edge of the glass, spell the difference between a perfect martini and one that is only near perfect. As Christopher Idone points out in his book on the subject, lemons are a lot like salt -- they bring out the flavors in food. In fact, lemon juice makes a nice substitute for salt if you're watching your sodium intake, though, oddly enough, it mutes the saltiness of caviar and unmasks its flavor. Aliza Green is right when she observes in an article in Prevention magazine that lemons are "a bright suggestion that can accent every course from soup to dessert -- adding flavor that's virtually free of fat, calories and sodium." Try, for example, stuffing the cavity of a whole chicken with a lemon (pierce it with a fork first) or inserting some slices under the skin before roasting.

A visit to California is a particularly good way to further your appreciation of lemons (not to mention other things for that matter). It's the country's leading producer, growing nearly 25 percent of the world's crop and providing roughly 80 percent of U.S. consumption. There they take lemons seriously, and "lemon laws" don't just apply to inferior cars. (I don't know why a bad car is called a lemon anymore than I know why a good one is a cream puff.) In Ventura, where we visited, you'll see commercial lemon groves everywhere, counterparts to those in virtually every backyard. They can be traced directly to William Wolfskill, a Kentucky trapper who wandered to what is now Los Angeles in 1841 and planted hundreds of lemon (and orange) seedlings on two acres at Central Avenue and East Fifth Street. Soon he had 70 acres and, following completion of the transcontinental railroad, he pioneered shipping citrus fruit long distances across the country.

Lemon history, of course, goes back much farther than that. Indeed, lemons have been cultivated for thousands of years. Tomb paintings in the Valley of the Kings reveal that the Egyptians prized lemon trees, which are native to Southeast Asia, where references to them can be found in some of the oldest of Oriental literature. From there they branched out to the rest of Asia, Persia, the Mideast, Africa, southern Europe and, of course, to the Mediterranean where they have become an indispensable part of the trilogy of ingredients that typifies that cuisine (garlic and olive oil being the other two). In Greece, for example, I found they buy lemons at the market like we do potatoes, by the sack, and their most famous soup, avgolemono, is based on the fruit. Similarly, on the Amalfi coast of Italy I found it difficult to have a meal without lemons, not that I'd want to. There even the lemon leaves are used in cooking, and they make a lemon liqueur that can be as potent as the scenery is beautiful.

Thanks to Columbus, lemons made their way across the ocean to the New World, and though there are hundreds of variations, there are now three essential categories of lemons available here: commercial or acid, rough-skinned and sweet. The most popular commercial lemon is the Eureka, probably brought from Sicily by Italian immigrants in the 1870s. The Meyer lemon is probably the most popular sweet lemon, common in California gardens. Though they seem sweeter than other lemons, they don't contain more sugar, just less acid. These were the lemons grown in Louis XIV's orangerie and sucked on by ladies of the court intent on maintaining voluptuously red lips. Rough-skinned lemons are used primarily as rootstock.

When selecting lemons, Herbst suggests looking for firm, plump fruit that is heavy for its size and which has smooth, brightly colored skin with no tinge of green. Idone advises that thin-skinned lemons produce more juice than thick-skinned ones, but the latter's zest (the fittingly named thin outer yellow layer) is more flavorful. By the way, a good trick for maximizing the amount of juice you get out of a lemon is to microwave it first for about 20 to 30 seconds. Though you can freeze lemon juice for future use (an ice cube tray works nicely and provides convenient portions), there's no substitute for freshly squeezed juice. At our house we have vowed never to buy the bottled stuff. (I guess you could call that our lemon pledge.)

So when it comes to lemons, I agree with noted California chef Bradley Ogden (who started his career in Kansas City) when he says, "When life gives you lemons . . . cook with them!" The following recipes are good ways to put that philosophy into practice.

Lemon-Roasted Potatoes

This is my favorite way to fix potatoes, and it couldn't be easier. When finished the lemon slices become soft and chewy, a bit reminiscent of preserved lemons, those wonderful salt-cured lemons used in Moroccan cooking. The recipe is adapted from one in Beyond Burlap, a potato cookbook compiled by the Junior League of Boise.

Ingredients:

4 medium potatoes

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 lemons, very thinly sliced

3 sprigs fresh rosemary, crushed

1 clove garlic, minced

kosher salt

Directions:

Wash potatoes and cut into chunks. Mix with oil, lemons, rosemary and garlic, place on large shallow baking pan, sprinkle to taste with salt, and roast at 450 degrees for 45 to 60 minutes until tender and browned. Serves 4.

Lemon Walnut Date Bread

You're bound to love this fantastic quick bread if you're a lemon lover. It calls for a whole lemon, peel and all. The recipe is from Sunset Magazine.

Ingredients:

1 lemon (about 5 oz.)

1 cup chopped pitted dates

1 1/4 cups sugar, divided

2 tablespoons butter, room temperature

1 large egg

1 3/4 cups flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

1 cup chopped walnuts

1/2 cup lemon juice

Directions:

Coarsely chop lemon, discard seeds, place in food processor with dates and process until evenly chopped. Add 3/4 cup sugar, butter and egg and process until blended and lemon and dates are finely chopped. Mix flour, soda, and salt and add to mixture, processing until blended. Stir in nuts. Spread into greased and floured 4-x-8-inch glass loaf pan and bake at 325 degrees about 1 hour or until tester comes out clean. Combine remaining 1/2 cup sugar and lemon juice and stir over medium heat until sugar dissolves. When bread is done, poke holes over surface and pour hot syrup over, letting stand until absorbed, about 2 hours. Chill overnight.

Penne with Asparagus and Lemon Cream Sauce

This low-fat recipe, from the sadly defunct Eating Well magazine, was a real hit when we made it at our California friends' house using lemons picked from their tree. It will taste just as good at your house made with lemons from the supermarket and it can be thrown together in minutes.

Ingredients:

1 teaspoon olive oil

1 pound asparagus

2 bunches scallions

3/4 cup part-skim ricotta cheese

2 teaspoons grated lemon zest

12 ounces penne pasta

1/4 cup slivered fresh basil

Directions:

Trim asparagus and scallions and cut into 1-inch diagonal pieces. Cook in oil over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until tender and browned, about 10 minutes. Whisk ricotta and lemon zest. Cook penne. Stir 1/4 cup of pasta-cooking water into ricotta mixture and toss with drained pasta. Add vegetables and toss well. Season with salt and pepper and garnish with basil. Serves 4.

Out of the Ordinary Lemon Bars

Chocolate and citrus are such a sublime combination, as these cookies demonstrate, that I don't know why it is not more common. The thin layer of chocolate under the lemon curd makes this variation on the classic lemon bar truly special. The recipe is from Bon Appetit columnist Marie Simmons' book on bar cookies.

Ingredients:

1 3/4 plus 1/3 cups flour, divided

1/2 cup powdered sugar

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 sticks cold butter

1 teaspoon vanilla

4 ounces semisweet chocolate

4 eggs

2 cups granulated sugar

2 teaspoons grated lemon zest

3/4 cup fresh lemon juice

Directions:

Process 1 3/4 cups flour, powdered sugar, and salt in food processor until blended. With motor running quickly add butter, cut into small pieces, and the vanilla and process until mixture forms a ball. Press dough in even layer over greased 13-x-9-inch baking pan and bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes, until edges are golden. Melt chocolate and spread over crust. Refrigerate until chocolate is firm. Beat eggs. Combine sugar, remaining 1/3 cup flour, and lemon zest and beat into eggs until just blended. Stir in lemon juice. Pour over chocolate/cookie layer and bake at 350 degrees for 25 to 30 minutes until set. Cool and sprinkle with more powdered sugar.

Got a culinary question you'd like to ask or an idea you'd like to see treated in this column? Send your suggestions to A Harte Appetite, c/o The Southeast Missourian, P.O. Box 699, Cape Girardeau, Mo., 63702-0699 or by e-mail to thartesemovm.semo.edu.