Some people, I say, Some People prefer oranges exclusively, while, myself, I say that there is not–nor ought there be–anything so exalted on the face of God’s great earth as that prince of foods: The Lemon. For that reason (well, that and the fact that Z sort of scoffed at the idea of my doing it), I decided I should engage in the noble pursuit of lemon-drop mixing at home. I outfitted my kitchen with all sorts of lemony supplies: citron vodka, a little squeezable plastic lemon filled with juice, and several of the honorable yellow orbs themselves. Witness my gloriously rad results:
Lemon Drop on Counter. Also pictured: lemons, knife, cocktail mixer,
delightfully citrus-hued cutting board, beautiful blue martini glass.
The Lemon Close-Up. There is little I like better perched on the edge of
my glass than a sugared lemon slice. I once was known to loudly
proclaim, while waving aloft the slice, “this sugared lemon is the best
thing I have ever seen!” Then I accidentally flung the lemon across the
bar. It was my birthday, so I think I was forgiven. I hope.
The Gritty Aftermath. The drink was sublime in every way, but it
happened to lead to some ugliness on the countertop the next morning.
Witness the scuzzy ashtray and the dried-out lemon remains, lying
neglected in a sugar-encrusted saucer. Only one lemon in the world
is sadder than this one…
The Saddest Lemon in the World. It soared to great heights on the
sugary lip of this blue glass, but was dashed to the lowest possible
low by the clumsy, be-sudsed hand of a careless dishwasher, and now
is condemned to languish among the shards of this once-perfect glass.
They can reminisce, alongside the dirty drain, about the glory they
Let this be a lesson to you: If you dare to strive for the greatness of a sour-but-radiant drink of your own design, you too could be cleaning splinters of sweet, lemony glass from your sink the next day. Ups and downs, man; strikes and gutters. It was fun while it lasted.