Babycello

One Sunday, back in mid-April, an early morning phone call came from my sister, saying that this would be the day Nephew number Two would be making his appearance. Breakfast and a shower happened, my bag was packed in preparation for a possible long night with Nephew number One, and then.....

I'm not very good at waiting. I paced a bit, fluffed some pillows, stared at the phone.

I needed a project. A small one, one that could be quickly abandoned, but something meaty enough to really get involved in.

I decided it was the perfect afternoon to make limoncello. Zesting a half a dozen lemons would kill a nice chunk of time. And, since it was baby day, I'd call it babycello, and we would toast his tiny self with it once it was ready.

So I gathered together my lemons and sugar and vodka, grabbed the zester, and the phone rang. Baby time!

My little project would have to wait for another day.

I picked up where I left off a few days later.

Lemons were zested and drowned in vodka, and the little jar was placed on a cool dark shelf in the basement.

Every morning for the next six weeks, right after turning the coffee maker on, I went down and shook my little jar.

After six weeks in the dark, I brought the little jar up into the bright daylight of the kitchen, drained my zest, added some simple syrup, and back to the basement it went for a two week rest (apparently, it's very taxing turning into a delicious Italian digestivo!).

Once my little cocktail had finished its rest, into the freezer it went.

If you've never had it, there's nothing quite like fresh made limoncello.

I first had it (very early in the morning) in a ceramic tile studio in southern Italy.

I'd had limoncello before, but never like that.

And from then on, I only wanted to have it like that:

fresh, smooth, and perfectly lemony.

So thank you, Nephew number Two,

for providing me with the need for a simple project while I waited for you to be born.

Cin cin!

xo