You may or not know this, but mom often made her own mayonnaise, ketchup, bread, yogurt, jam, ice cream, and (pay attention, this is important:) her own pickled lemons. She didn't do this out of thriftiness, but because her products were always so much better than anything else out there, and because she was an unabashed show-off. Too bad we, her children, paid so little attention to her culinary wizardry. In that regard, at least, we were spoiled rotten.
Mom's pickled lemons were sublime. I don't know the recipe, but I do know that she used plenty of safflower and nigella sativa seed (habbet el-Baraka), and that they were always covered with a thick layer of extra virgin olive oil to protect the pickles. After she prepared each gallon jar, she would set it aside in a dark corner to metamorphose. By the time some inquisitive soul (usually me) found them, they might have been there for a year. By then, the lemons were so soft you could literally spread them with a butter knife. Oh man, they were good! They had no pickle sting or sharp edge, just a full and sophisticated flavor, and rich, layered, aftertastes that came in waves.
My favorite sandwich in the world is two slabs of mom's home-made bread, a layer of the best Danish butter, a hot hard-boiled egg (with the yolks slightly runny), and a layer of her pickled lemons.
Alas.
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