Limoncello

Rain is good. It falls from the heavens to feed the land, transforms Diamondhead into a verdant emerald, then trickles deep down through soil and rock to replenish massive natural aquifers. From there, the Board of Water Supply pumps it back to the surface and out my kitchen sink. Without rain, agriculture would wither and my tap would eventually slow to a drip. There's a saying in Hawaiian, ola i ka wai ka ʻōpua, "There is life in the water from the clouds." ('Olelo No'eau, #2482).

And yet I inevitably reach a point during each rainy season--roughly October through March--where I want to say ENOUGH! Enough rain for a second! Please... give us one glorious day of unblemished sunshine before starting again.

Enter limoncello, a lemon liqueur from Southern Italy, most commonly consumed ice cold as an after dinner digestif. On a gray day, limoncello is as close as you can get to the soul of sunshine, in a glass. The bright lemony taste heralds cheery days ahead.

Limoncello, dressed to give away to some lucky friend

There are tons of limoncello recipes online, but I've learned the hard way that this is one case where attention to detail pays off. Small compromises produce an inferior liqueur. Here's what I've learned...

Limoncello
Special equipment: a glass jar, at least 64 fl. oz in size. Paper coffee filters. The patience of Job.

• 15-16 medium organic lemons, well scrubbed to remove any wax
• 2 750ml bottles Everclear grain alcohol
• 4 c. filtered water
• 2 c. sugar

Use only the best lemons you can find. Limoncello requires only the outermost peel, so it's even more important than usual to insist upon organic lemons. Pick each lemon by hand, selecting fruit that feels heavy for its size, with a thick skin and a strong lemon aroma. If it doesn't smell amazing, put it back and pick another.

As mentioned, all we need is the peel from these lemons. Go ahead and make lemonade with the rest after your limoncello is resting.

When peeling the lemons, be fanatical about not getting ANY white pith. Peeling all these lemons takes a while, so I pop a movie in the dvd player and sit down with a bowl of lemons, a cutting board and a freshly honed paring knife. Carefully pare just the outer yellow skin. If you do get pith with the peel, scrape it completely off with the knife blade. Even a trace of pith will make the limoncello bitter. Some people prefer a microplane zester, but I found it harder to make sure there wasn't any pith in the mix.

Put all the peelings into your glass jar then pour in the alcohol.

The first time I made limoncello I used a mid- to low-grade vodka. The quality wasn't a big problem, but the proof was. Use the strongest alcohol you can find, preferably Everclear (190 proof). Not only does the higher proof extract the lemon oils better, but when the final limoncello is diluted with simple syrup, it doesn't get slushy when brought down to freezing temperatures.

Next comes the hardest part: waiting. It takes an excruciatingly long time to extract the essential lemon oils and let them mellow. Cap the jar tightly and put it in a cool, dark location for six to eight weeks. Check in on it every few days to wish it well. Giving the jar a little shake to circulate things, but try your very best not to move prematurely to the next step. Good things come to those that wait.

After six to eight weeks have passed, bring the filtered water to a boil and add sugar. Stir until the sugar dissolves then let cool completely. This is a simple syrup.

Pour the limoncello into a large bowl through a colander to remove the peels. Discard peels. Set a funnel in the top of your now-empty glass jar and place a coffee filter in it. Pour the limoncello back through the filter in small batches. The filter clogs quickly, so you'll probably need to use several to get through the whole batch. Filtering is important not only for removing sediment, but also for attaining a brilliant yellow liqueur.

Pour the simple syrup into the glass jar and swirl it around to mix. Guess what comes next? MORE WAITING. Re-cap the jar and let it rest for another two to three weeks. Longer is better, as the limoncello mellows over time.

When you simply can't stand it any more, you can decant the limoncello into its final bottles. I usually put about half back into one of my original Everclear bottles to keep at home, then the rest goes into smaller, decorative bottles to give away.

To serve, put a bottle in the freezer and forget about it for a few hours. Serve ice cold in a small, small glass. One friend swears by adding a short squirt of fresh lemon juice to each glass, but I've never found the need.

Wasn't that worth the waiting?

Afterword: today as I wrote this, my wish for warm sunshine came true. If it needs to rain again tomorrow, I don't mind anymore.