Lime blossom, Charles Trenet, John Voight and a summer Tom Collins

Abundance: Tuesday 9 July 2024

A year and two weeks ago, I realised I’d been walking on the wrong side of the river. I’d been doing it for a few mornings before I recognised I was auto-piloting along the side I usually favour least on my morning loop with the hound: perhaps the appeal of a change; maybe to give myself a better chance of coinciding with the man who, long handled walking poles in hand, sings standards from the 20s, 30s and 40s as he strides towards the sea. La Mer never sounded so good than through tatty willows across the river that splits yet unites this town.

The day I realised I had made a habit of the wrong side, I picked up a faint scent. The next day stronger.  One of three smallish lime trees was in flower¹. Its distance from the path and the cloudiness of the sky diluted its fragrance, but it was there in the air. 

A week later and my shoes took me across the usual bridge to my usual side of the river of their own accord. Had they been slip ons, they might have walked themselves over had my feet stopped. 

On a bank a few yards from the path, a huge cathedral of a lime stands regal as if being carried shoulder high to the sea. I walked around it, its branches hanging almost to the ground, swaying in the breeze as if to the theme from Midnight Cowboy. The sun now strong, the scent enveloped me. It was like happily drowning in a cloud of lemon honey. 

The bees - how many thousands, drawn from how far - made a huge hum of the tree, their greatest concentration where the sun’s spotlight lit candles of its flowers. I couldn’t escape the enormity that this happens whether I’m here or not. It’s too glorious for no-one to see it, surely?

I walked to the beach. On the way back, where the sun had moved around the tree, so too the bees. That cloud of lemon honey: maybe there’s a little lemongrass to it, and is that a hint of lime zest? A touch of mint. 

And today², a year later, all this is happening again. The limes on one side of the river are just going over while the regal tree is just thinking of firing up. I imagine the bees sat on those willows, serenaded by Mr Walking Poles, wondering whether it’s today those flowers will call their name.  

And today, I remember that in the old place, when we had bees, the earliest honey of the year was heavy with lime pollen and had a distinctly minty edge, a hint I’d picked up in the flowers’ scent a year ago.

And today I read that limes are not - as many trees are - wind pollinated, but that their glorious perfume is what draws the bees to pollinate their flowers. Perhaps before I recognised it, before I consciously picked up the scent on the ‘wrong’ side of the river, those flowers were calling me, the scent reaching me earlier than I realising; me little more than a 6 foot 1 bee drawn to the lemon honey.

Lime flower cordial

I wanted to capture that sweet scent of summer - as much of what July is to me now as elderflower is May - and I wondered if a cordial might work similarly well. How is it even possible to turn a scent into a flavour? 

In German and ancient folklore³, the lime is the tree of truth, so I know you’ll believe me when I tell you that this is at least the equal of elderflower, and I say that not lightly.

Seriously, drop everything and make this now, before the flowers go past their peak.  If you find a lime that’s flowers are over, keep looking for others as slight variations in location as much as species mean they can be three weeks apart in flowering. 

You want open flowers, ideally on the pale side. As with elderflower, a sunny day for picking is best. It’s quickest if you pick the flower with its leaf and snip the flowers off when home, and compost the rest.

When I made this last year, I used the juice of 4 lemons which worked well, but after about a week the acidity faded, so this year I’ve gone for the juice of 6 lemons.

Makes 1 litre plus enough for a glass to try it

700ml sugar
700ml water
Juice of 6 lemons
Lime flowers - a couple of very large double handfuls is the nearest meaningful measure I can give; I’m sure you get the rough idea.

Pour boiling water over the sugar, stirring to dissolve it. Allow it to cool, then add the lemon juice. Pour into a jar no smaller than 1.5 litre capacity until half full, then add the lime flowers. Top with the rest of the syrup, leaving an inch or two. Take a scrunched sheet of greaseproof paper and place this in the top of the jar to keep the flowers below the surface - this maximises the infusion and prevents them oxidising.

Close the jar and allow to infuse for 36 hours or so. Strain through a sieve and bottle. Store in the fridge and it should keep for a month, very possibly much longer. By all means freeze in a tub to keep it for even longer.

A Summer Tom Collins

Strictly speaking, the lime here is not traditional, but a wedge a squeezed into the glass and allowed to sit on the ice when served turns up the faint hint of lime in the cordial perfectly.

The simplicity of a Tom Collins should not mask its intensify; as perfect a celebration of summer as this may be, it is pretty full on. If you can open your left eye without using your fingers after the first sip, you haven’t used enough lemon.

Again, traditional as it most certainly isn’t, it you prefer a longer drink this is so good stretched out with tonic to taste.

1 part gin
1 part lemon juice
1 part lime blossom cordial
a wedge of lime
a great deal of crushed ice

Place all but the lime in a cocktail shaker (or sturdy glass with your hand over) and shake for 15 seconds. Pour into a glass, squeeze in the lime wedge and add to the drink. Sit in your favourite place, ideally feet in the sun, head in the shade and contemplate the finer moments of your day, week, life.

1. There are three fairly widespread species of lime here in the UK: Large-leaved lime, aka Broadleaved lime (Tilia platyphyllos), Small leaved lime (Tilia cordata) and Common lime (Tilia x europaea), a natural hybrid of the other two.

Common lime grows largest (though you can only tell that if it at its mature height), and is perhaps more easily distinguished from Large-leaved lime by the fact that the latter flowers first (usually in June here in the UK), is commonest of chalky ground, and its floppy large leaves darken through summer into autumn. Common lime and Small-leaved lime flower in July. Small-leaved lime, a key part of lowland forests in the south of England since the last Ice Age, has the rather pleasing characteristic of its flowers pointing in any direction, rather than hanging elegantly as with other limes. The early spring leaves of the small-leaved lime are particularly good to eat as a salad leaf - succulent, nutty and bright. In all likelihood, this early flowering lime is a Large-leaved lime which tends to flower first

2. Last summer was cool and rainy; everything was late, shunted a fortnight on. This year - despite how it feels right now - most things are as on time as they ever are

3. Lime is a sacred tree in many cultures - love, fertility and wisdom were all in its power to convey to those that sit in its shade.