What a disaster.
Lemon sago. The horror.
I have to be honest. I do not understand sago. Why would anyone want to eat big pearls of starch with the texture of clag glue? Maybe someone out there can enlighten me. Please do.
Before trying to resurrect Nana Jean’s lemon sago recipe I was optimistic of the outcome. The recipe was short and simple. There were four ingredients. I had beautiful sweet lemons gathered from a garden that was not my own. I had a stove and a fridge. I was set.
I won’t bore you with the details, friends. Let me simply say that if you halve the ingredients and follow the instructions then you will end up with a gooey, lemoney, treacley, sugary, tart, frog’s eggs-like dessert that is not too offensive, but certainly not desirable. It has the sort of nice old-school look that draws you in, thinking it will be delicate and buttery and moreish, only to fall short of every possible expectation.
Or at least that’s me.
Alas, so many comments regarding lemon sago recipes are positive on recipe sharing websites, they glowing recommendations often recollecting some near-forgotten childhood memory. Quaint, but utterly inapplicable to me. Maybe you have better luck with lemon sago. Or any sago. This has certainly turned me off the thing.
Nonetheless, I am happy to report another of Nana Jean’s recipes resurrected. Unsurprisingly, this one didn’t make it to the table. But dad tells me Nana Jean’s never made it to her table, either. Perhaps she, too, fought with the underwhelming recipe she had already scribed in her handwritten cook book, only to find it unpalatable and, quite frankly, embarrassing. Thinking this makes the entire pursuit worth it; it warms my heart to think I have drawn closer to my dear departed grandmother through the recreation of the damnable lemon sago.
In other culinary adventures, I successfully created a tomatoey chorizo and eggplant pasta this weekend past. Eaten steaming hot with a peppery cabernet merlot it was far too warm a dish for the height of summer. But boy oh boy it was delicious. Maybe it will make it into my own handwritten cook book, for my own future granddaughter to recreate one day.
May your recipes be worthy adversaries, friends. And may they all make it to your table.
p.s. If you wish to read of another failed replica, see here for my “totes embarro” brownie resurrection.