Consider the lemon. Not in a David Foster Wallace type way. I do not wish to force you to consider the ethics of boiling a lemon or whatever that essay is about. Lemons do not have feelings. I do wish you to ponder the citrus fruit however. Its shape, its smell, its taste. Three of the five senses*. Shouldn’t be too hard of an ask.
*Yes, I know there are more than five senses. Dang Dude is conversant with modern science. However, my elementary school programming forbids me from accepting these newfangled senses as real. So, I maintain the illusion that there are only five senses. Similar to how Pluto is still a planet in my cosmology.
Okay. That seems like enough time to have considered the lemon. I hope you have come to the conclusion, as I have, that lemons are the perfect fruit. Perfect, not in the Platonic ideal sense, that it represents the ur-fruit. No, that would be the raspberry. Perfect in the sense that it does exactly what it is supposed to. No more and no less. I’m sure there is some philosophical term for this, but I do not know it. Nor do I care to know it. Please do not tell me in the comments what it is. I simply do not want to know. The lemon is perfection, and that is all the information I need on the subject.
The uses of a lemon are many, but the end result is simple. It adds acid. A mouth-watering, meat-tenderizing, brightness-adding acid. An acid that cuts through fat, salt, and heat. An acid that reminds of spring and summer. A miracle in a simple prolate spheroid. The dash of lemon juice in a roasted red pepper soup, a twist of lemon in a rocks glass full of whiskey, a spritz of lemon over a piece of grilled chicken. There are few things that cannot be enhanced by the lemon.
As a historian, I have to write a little bit about the story of this wonderful citrus fruit. Lemons, though their provenance is debated, most likely came from Central India. The name “lemon” comes from the Farsi لیمو Limu. Or at least a few quick Google searches told me as such. Mentions of lemon seem to pop up in multiple sources, including in Ancient Rome, North Africa, and from Saladin’s doctor. However, they weren’t cultivated until Genoa in the mid-1400’s. They were later brough to the Caribbean by Columbus in his original 1492 voyage. Lemons, have a long history, in many parts of the world. Where is this going? This ode to some fruit. This anacreontic** to a simple cultivar? This madrigal*** for some produce?
**I used an online thesaurus for this word
***I did NOT use an online thesaurus for this word.
Well, to be honest, I’m not sure. I just like lemons. I think they rule. There is a power in that. Liking something for its own sake. Not a political power, or even a cultural one. A personal one. Just an internal recognition of a kindred spirit, even if that spirit is a bright yellow one that hurts if you get it on an open cut. So much of our lives we spend looking for the things that we like. Whether it’s a partner, a place to live, or even just a favorite movie, people are always looking for the thing that will stay with them for the rest of their life. It might not always be the newest, hottest, trendiest fav, but it will always be there, ready when you need it. Lemons are that for me. I’m happy that I know that. Finding something that you love, and know you will love is a rare feat. I’ve been lucky enough to find that a few times in my life. My girlfriend****, Chicago, all these things are my lemons.
****I’m not calling my wonderful, beautiful, sweet girlfriend a lemon. In fact, she doesn’t like lemons as much as I do. I’m just saying that I love her and will love her forever. That’s nice.
I used to eat slices of lemon, just by themselves. Raw. Unfiltered. Just the lemon slice interacting with my tongue. I don’t do that anymore. I think I did it partly for the attention, I was a stage hog even then, but also partly because I liked the taste. I hesitate to write this next sentence as it seems to veer into the sort of hippy-dippy, candle-buying, off-white aesthetic blogging I abhor, but I’m writing it anyway. I see some of myself in lemons as well. More-than-slightly acerbic, round about the middle, and vaguely waxy. I joke, but there is something about the lemon’s do-it-all pinch-hitter versatility that I find myself admiring and striving toward. Comfortable in every situation, from drinks to dessert, in Italian, Chinese, or Middle Eastern cuisine. That’s a goal I have. Willing and able to adapt and even thrive in multiple different situations. The lemon is rarely the star of the show, but more often the not the piece that ties everything together. While I haven’t reached the astonishing heights of the lemon, I’m at least trying to.
Maybe you haven’t found your lemon yet. Or your more of a lime guy, or a pomelo girl, or a non-binary orange person. Maybe you never will. That’s okay. The quest for your lemon can be just as enjoyable and rewarding as finding it. I don’t need to look around more. I know I’ve found my thing. I’ve considered the lemon. And it was great.
On the one hand, the lemon didn't evolve for your personal pleasure. There's a reproductive purpose to those sour fruits. On the other, cultivated lemons probably bear little resemblance to their naturally occurring forebears, and were, in a sense, created for your pleasure. But, I think maybe lemons do have "feelings." They certainly respond to environmental stimuli.