I once lived for a while, in one of those splendidly cooled fridges, in summer it’s an event that takes place beyond the windows, and the only thing preventing me from eating pot roast in mid-July is politeness. I don’t really like heat—probably the most memorable summer vacation I ever had was wearing three sweaters in Alaska. I expected to embrace living in such a climatically moderate place but I found myself feeling quite out of place. I became used to going dinner with a wet shirt on in the heat. The coldness of that kitchen freed me from time.
“Did we skip summer?” I turned to my husband one day when the leaves had fallen and the air had turned cold. (Not that we could tell—the heating in that apartment was just as robust as the A. C. ) I was left with an un-scratched itch: refrigerator salads, kitchen sink tomato sandwiches, mounds of sausages and summer vegetables, that before being turned into kabobs, are marinated with oil. Or those sweaty, exhausted, Tennessee Williams-sultry suppers: an entire box of popsicles and a glass of gin, or three sticky nectarines and a handful of humidity softened potato chips, or a green bell pepper eaten like an apple followed by a night time stroll to find the ice
cream truck.
In the apartment where I live at the moment the spaces are fitted with
central air conditioning systems, odd-shaped square like contraptions that
trickles, churns, hums, and occasionally expels gusts of cold air. They are
utterly incapable of doing anything again the heat of the oven; they are at
best a shallow breathing against the sparking of a stove burner. Thus, in the
summer, I keep a proper physiological life of oscillating fans and delicacies
that put minimal demands on my sweating coefficient.
Lately, I’ve been eating cold soups, including Salmorejo, Andalusian
gazpacho that has vinegar and bread as a thick base; and the out-and-out raw
fish ceviche preparatory of Peruvian origin in which no heat is required to
‘cook’ fish in citrus juices. Of me all they require is a blender with which I
could make the soup and a knife with which I could prepare the fish, though as
it gets unbearably hot during the summertime even those simple actions may
demand a will that a person occasionally lacks. This is why, when the heat
comes and literally roasts you like a beautiful Hell, I always have popsicles
in the freezer.
Ginger-Lemonade Popsicles
·
Makes
10 3-oz. popsicles
Ingredients
·
1
cup white sugar
·
3-inch
piece fresh ginger, peeled and cut into thin round coins
·
2
tbsp zest of lemon, in strips
·
1
cup fresh lemon juice; the juice extracted from 4-6 fresh lemons.
Directions
1. To prepare the ginger – lemon syrup, combine sugar, ginger, and
lemon zest in a small saucepan and boil with 2 ½ cups water. Slowly heat the
mixture just until it reaches a very low bubble, stirring until the sugar
completely dissolves. Take the pan off the heat and let the syrup cool to
ambient temperature in the pan.
2. When the syrup is cooling, strain it using a slotted spoon
where by you can take out the ginger solids and the lemon zest and then throw
it away. Stir in lemon juice. Pour this mixture into popsicle molds and freeze
for at least couple of hours. Or conversely, you do not freeze it, and just
drink ginger lemonade.
.jpeg)
0 Comments