One thing the summer Olympics do not remind me of is Parisian “lemonade”, love it though I do. Unlike potatoes and “potahtoes”, lemonade and citron pressé are not alike.
Few things say, “summer” in America like an icy pitcher of lemonade. Imagine it has been left to sit just long enough for 99-in-the-shade temperatures to create beads of water on the pitcher. Slices of lemon float as melting ice shifts. We slide sprigs of mint into glasses. Voices rise slightly to continue conversation as we pour. This is meant for sharing.
It’s almost an event that invites us to slow down, sit on a shaded porch with friends. Cicadas buzz and birds chirp in trees as we pass the time talking about everything and nothing. An occasional breeze flutters leaves, then stillness returns. Another cool sip. A dog rolls over and stretches, changes his position to resume napping. We have all afternoon. The sun will be low in the sky before we remember that something inside may demand our attention.
Yes, it is all that. It is not at all so with the French equivalent. Citron pressé is often referenced as deconstructed lemonade, but that’s not the drink I know. In the U.S., deconstructed versions are usually presented on trays with enough glasses for a crowd, ice and beading along for the ride, simple syrup or other sweeteners playing a meaningful role. They offer a Frenchified variation, but they are no more French than French hamburgers are American.
Citron pressé is literally pressed citrus – sometimes almost a slurry of juice and pulp – presented along side a room-temperature small pitcher of water. From a culinary perspective it really does bring the taste, but it is not meant to be a particularly refreshing or social experience. Alexander Hurst’s description of the citron pressé during his Dry July in Paris does the drink proper justice.
The first time I ordered a citron pressé at a Paris cafe, I didn’t understand the concept at all. I took a big ol’ sip of that undiluted, unsweetened lemon juice. Then I drank the water to chase it down. After the garçon explained I was to mix it to my taste, it became a favorite. It was perfect with salads served at small tables in crowded cafes.
Though the Paris Olympics do not bring citron pressé to mind, it does remind me of its American counterpart. The performances are outstanding, but they take on even more importance because of the emotions, stories, and context. There is a sense of coming together, pausing and putting other things aside for communion. Win or lose, it’s the sharing that sweetens the experience, and the time and effort is always well-spent.
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