I LIKE LIME

I had two sips of a Margarita tonight, after running a slice of lime around the rims of two glasses, dipping them into the handy little round plastic box of flaky salt, and setting a jaunty slice side-saddle on each rim.

I'm just not much of a drinker at all, and I set down the glass and wandered off somewhere else to put something on the table or grab the butter or heat something in the microwave. Then, when we finished dinner, there was my glass---no longer a bright, zingy green, courtesy of McCormick's finest, but a deep dull hue after all the ice had melted and left it just sorta muddy.

I DID pick up one of the squeezed halves and give a vigorous rub to the section of counter where Chris had carved the chicken. I'd already sprayed and wiped with the antibacterial stuff, but I thought another citrus wipedown couldn't hurt, and it smelled wonderful.

I've always liked limes, though they've never been as available as lemons. Lime in drinks, in limeade, in desserts and on a quick-seared fish or chicken filet. They are, as my Mammaw used to say, "The Makin'" of guacamole, with all the bright flash of the lime and the salt to jazz up the buttery unctuous green mush.

I love the peel, grated and stirred into a peppy cocktail sauce, vibrant with horseradish and tabasco, or as a gentle punctuation to a cheesecake batter or chess pie, or best of all, Ooey-Gooey Bars.

I have no idea where I was going with this, but I'm gonna go pare off another paper-thin curl of lime peel and rub it all around inside the rim of my tea glass, to inhale and savor as I sip. I'm not fond of any strong acid tang in my tea, and just the fragrance of the oils is perfect for an icy glass. You think you can taste it.

It's all in the perception.


Believe it?


The "limes" above are berries from the tree over the patio, and the pink dish would not cover a penny.