It started with pomegranates. One of the four trees in our garden brought a load of them. “Sweetest I have ever eaten,” my visiting mother-in-law confessed. Mind you, she grew up amidst pomegranate trees unlike me, a child of Russia, who used to treat this exotic fruit as a questionable pleasure. Pomegranate, always sold at premium, was sour and hard to peel. It stained tablecloth, dress, pants, sofa or carpet depending on the consumption situation. In the Russia of my childhood pomegranates arrived in winter to the market stalls run by the men who spoke with the accent as thick as their black eye-brows. The sellers addressed every female shopper “young woman” and at times even asked out. Think of it, along with the pains of buying the overrated fruit you get an unsolicited evidence of your sexuality.
Now as we moved to Alaçatı, I had four trees of sweetest ever pomegranates in my garden and not a single ardent seller around. If for a second I forgot about the monstrous tax on the rent, I may have even imagined I had won a lottery. I ate pomegranates obsessively, with occasional help from my visiting sister and mother-in-law. I sent a few bundles off to the pomegranate enthusiasts around. Mom made some jam. I thought this pomegranate abundance was never going to end, but one day I reached for a pomegranate on a high remote brunch and realized it was the last one.
The pomegranates gave the stage to the Seville oranges and lemons. Our lemon tree has brunched out every possible direction. It needs much care and potentially a trim. Our builder who has got bright ideas about anything besides his core craft said, “Sister, you gotta stop this forest business in your restaurant”. We may consider his advice, but right now we are enjoying the plentiful crop of lemons so fragrant you smell your palms for hours after touching one fruit.
Unfortunately, you can’t eat lemons as obsessively as pomegranates. Unless you are my dad in which case you cut lemon in thin slices, drizzle with sugar and gobble down while sipping your tea. Or unless you are my mom who exclaimed, “This lemon tree in your garden is God-sent. You gotta stock up on vitamin C to get through the rough Aegean winter”. So we drank tea with lemons. We squeezed the juice in the salad dressings, often paired with garlic and parsley. We turned them in the jam that tastes like lemon candies from the childhood - sweet, sour and bitter. And we made preserved lemons.
When earlier my mother-in-law inspected my new kitchen, she concluded I needed a lemon squeezer. Can you believe I had none? Well, I try to keep the number of one-purpose kitchen gadgets to minimum. Why to store and take care of the squeezer if you can use your hands? Also, why to bother if I often have preserved lemon juice on hand?
I made my first batch of preserved lemons after the last years’ trip to Morocco when Zeynep, a cook extraordinaire from Fez, shared her trick to making this world-known Moroccan condiment.
While exploring souqs of any Moroccan town you will stumble upon at least one pickle stall with attractive piles of preserved fruits and vegetables. At least one of the piles will be lemons brined in salt and its own juices. Fermentation mutes tartness of the fruit and dials up the zesty bright taste we love in lemons. In other words, preserved lemons are your lemons squared.
Rind of the preserved lemons can bright up any dish, way beyond the popular chicken tagine with green olives and preserved lemons. Yet Zeynep told me you can use not only the lemon rind, but also the fermented juice that salt drags out of the fruit. I add it to my hummus, stews, salad dressings and pretty much any dish calling for a bit of zesty sour taste.
This winter we have made a large batch of preserved lemons for Babushka. Plus I have given away lemons (along with the recipe) to five dear women who had no troubles preparing this Moroccan condiment. I can’t send you the lemons (although you can come and pick some), but glad to share the recipe.
In a nutshell, why bother with Moroccan preserved lemons?
- Excellent way to preserve the taste of the seasonal fruit at its peak, meaning right now;
- Bombastic condiment to add to your cooking repertoire;
- Saves you juicing hustle and means one kitchen gadget less (more space and less washing up);
- A jar of preserved lemons makes a lovely present for any enthusiastic cook
Moroccan Preserved Lemons
This recipe is for 1 kg lemons, but it scales up and down without trouble. I have preserved just two lemons and a batch close to 10 kg at once following the same ratio and process.
You want to use unwaxed, non-sprayed or ideally, organic lemons. As we are after the rind, lemon varieties with thick, slightly bumpy skins suit best. If you live in Turkey and can put your hands on the lemons from Mersin, I envy you, although the lemons we get in Alaçatı, Çeşme are very very decent. Fruit of any size works.
Some add spices or fragrant herbs to the preserved lemons, but I prefer to keep mine plain and versatile. That way I have carte blanche when pairing them with the flavors I like in a particular dish.
Use coarse sea salt when preserving lemons. Forget the table salt, processed, stripped of the nutrients and chemical in taste. In Turkey, country surrounded by four seas and yet scandalously lacking sea salt, I resort to coarse salamura tuzu (rock salt), a popular local choice for brining.
Finally, you can use glass or plastic jar, preferably with a glass or plastic lid, to preserve lemons. Metal lids may react with acidic juice causing your preserved lemons to acquire metal taste. Clip lids are fantastic in helping you ram the lemons in the jar meaning more juice will be forced out to cover the lemons completely.
Source: Olga Irez
Ingredients
- 1 kg lemons and more if needed
- 270 g coarse sea salt and more if needed
Directions
- Prepare your preserving jars depending on the amount of lemons: 6-8 medium lemons fit a 0.5 L (about pint or 16 oz) jar. Sterilize the jars.
- Wash lemons scrubbing off any dirt. Remove the stems and cut off the very tips. Place a lemon upright on a cutting board and make two cuts crosswise leaving the bottom half of the lemon whole. Then open one cut and press as much sea salt as you can in it. In the same fashion fill the perpendicular cut with salt. Place the lemon upright in your preserving jar.
- Continue with the rest of the lemons. Don’t be afraid to pack that jar(s). No worries if a bit of salt spills as long as it stays in the jar. Once done, cover the jar with a lid and for the first few days keep somewhere dim and cool, but at sight.
- As the salt drags moisture out of the lemons, the fruits will deflate in a day or two. Then you can fit one or perhaps, two additional lemons stuffed with salt in the jar.
- If after 3-4 days there is no room to add more lemons, but your lemons are still not covered with the juice completely, you’ll need to add the juice of a few additional lemons. Don’t forget to throw the skins in the jar too, along with 1 tbsp sea salt for each whole lemon skin. Close the lid and keep for 30 days in a dark and cool place.
- After opening the jar of preserved lemons, you can store it in the refrigerator, even though folks in Morocco don’t seem to bother trusting the salt to keep the lemons safe even at room temperature.
Wow! How I can only stare in envy at all those luscious lemons! Enjoy!