Ah, you’re still here?
I hoped it was a beautiful day!
Yes, I know, I am acidic, so what?
You don’t want me because I have a nice character, you want something else from me.
You’ve already understood that I’m not an easy type.
I go straight to the juice of things and my specialty is hygiene, I’m a real fanatic.
Mine is a concentrate of acids, C₆H₈O₇ citric, C₆H₈O₆ ascorbic, and C₄H₆O₅ malic – wherever I go I make a ‘clean sweep’.
Yet my tree is really beautiful and my appearance inviting, but be careful, appearances deceive.
I have always carried the acidic note. When squeezed over dishes, I shine and so do they.
Squeezed like a lemon? Yes! I should be used to the last drop.
Why am I the Prince of Contrast?
I’ll explain it right away, I link with everything, but I belong to no one!
I don’t want to be understood, caught in a definition.
Do you want me with salt or sugar?
With everyone and with no one, with hot water or with ice?
With beer or on mussels?
Am I a guarantee? Yes!
Lemon guaranteed!
To those who ask me if I have a feminine side, I answer, of course, even mature I remain ‘UNRIPE’.
Whether I’m Bianchetto, Primofiore or Verdello, little changes.
The Prince of Contrast, therefore, is nothing other than The Magnificent Soloist!
Ode to the lemon
'From those orange blossoms undone by the moonlight,
from that effluvia of an exasperated love,
immersed in fragrance,
the yellow came out of the tree,
from their planetary fell to the ground the lemons.
Tender merchandise!
Banks and markets filled with light, with wild gold,
and we opened the two halves of the miracle,
frozen acid dripping from the hemispheres of a star,
and the deepest liquor of nature,
non-transferable, alive, irreducible,
was born from the freshness of the lemon,
from its fragrant home,
from its sour, secret symmetry.
In the lemon the knives divided a small cathedral,
the hidden apse opened to the light the acidic stained glass
and in drops slid the topazes,
the altars, the fresh architecture.
Thus, when your hand
squeezes the hemisphere
of the sliced
lemon on your plate,
a universe of gold
you scatter,
a yellow chalice
of miracles,
one of the fragrant nipples
of the breast of the earth,
a ray of light turned into fruit,
the tiny fire of a planet.’
Neruda, P. (1988). Ode to the lemon. In Poems (1924-1964) (R. Paoli, Ed. and Trans.). Rizzoli. (Original work published in 1957)
Giorgio Monaco
Giorgio Monaco
Experienced manager, strategic consultant and great lover of Italian food.
