The other day I cut into a lemon to make the lemon-egg sauce used in many Turkish recipes. And this was the cross section –
a throw-back to my left ovary in its artificially hyper-stimulated heyday. Follicles are not exactly round and perfect, as one would otherwise think. They’re smooshed together like a bunch of sleeping hamsters, with forms malleable enough to manage the crowded quarters prior to egg retrieval. During an IVF cycle, daily – sometimes twice daily – follicle-stimulating hormone injections will hopefully yield a dozen 15-20mm follicles in each ovary.
This lemon made me laugh (inasmuch as citrus fruit can do such a thing). I’ve been having another writing dry spell. Let’s just call this lemon what it is – a nudge that reminds me to get cracking. I abandoned my blog for summer fun, stacked my #amwriting #kidlit projects with the rest of my unopened mail, and my cooking has been Surf Taco on speed dial.
For anyone who’s ever had a creative dry spell, you know exactly what I mean. At first it doesn’t seem like there’s a problem. Too many other things in the way to even notice. And then, the lazy days of summer start to roll into fall…
In a piece published back in 1858 in the Atlantic Monthly, Oliver Wendell Holmes said it beyond-compare beautifully, that “to reach the port of heaven, we must sail sometimes with the wind, and sometimes against it, – but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor.”
So for all those, like me, who have been lying at anchor, start slicing open your lemons, remind yourself of the follicles of potential waiting to be extracted, and go make a mess in your kitchen…perhaps by simply starting with the sauce.
Good night, Cecily.
Lemon-Egg Sauce:
Ingredients
- 2 egg yolks
- juice from 1 lemon
- 1 tbspn of water
- 1/2 cup chopped fresh parsley
Instructions
- separate egg yolks from the whites
- whisk the yolks with lemon juice
- add water, whisk
- add parsley, whisk


My kid didn’t sleep through the night until she was three…years…old. Sounds somewhat amusing, but, for anyone who has ever experienced similar long-term sleep deprivation, this is far from funny. Losing one’s cell phone because it’s in the fridge next to the cheddar cheese (what, isn’t that where you keep yours?), pouring orange juice into morning coffee, walking into walls, bursting into tears when the local pizzeria is out of fresh garlic topping, because, let’s face it, no one’s putting mercimek in the oven that night anyway (the lens of exhaustion makes one’s mild-mannered husband resemble the antichrist), and, oh, the blunder to end all sleep-deprived blunders: calling your boss, “mom” – all of these require some years and some distance to conjure an appropriate chuckle. For these, and countless other “finest” moments, a Turkish coffee gets the job done.
I throw everything to be chopped into a food processor because I’m lazy and a little clumsy when it comes to chopping, but Anne insists it’s better to chop otherwise the juices come out in the food processor instead of the pan. (NOTE: my daughter’s knife is a child’s knife…never put a sharp blade into the hand of a tiny person…although one could say the same for me…)








