Cover Story : The Lemon Ice Walk: A Tale of Old Brooklyn

August in Brooklyn is unbearable, a thick, muggy mess. There is no breeze. The hope of relief flickers in the promise of a rain shower, though it will often only raise the already impossible humidity.

Without air conditioning--and when I was a kid, we had no such thing--it is too hot to sleep or to stay awake, to go out or to stay home; too hot to talk, to eat, to laugh, or to cry; too hot even to make love. As people try to continue with their lives as best they can, tempers get short. Dante’s motto of despair might as well have been written on the final Gothic column of the Brooklyn Bridge.

Our railroad flat under the Myrtle Avenue El would get even hotter than the street. We could see dense, hot air waving at the windows through immaculate white lace curtains. Outside, the massive iron structure of the El gave off a sweet, fetid smell, like a giant cast-iron skillet heated for the first time after years of disuse. When a train rolled by overhead, tiny flakes of rust showered down. In the shafts of sunlight between the tracks, they looked like gold dust.

The only living thing that seemed to thrive on this inferno was Mr. Raimondi’s fig tree. It grew in a postage-stamp-sized garden on the Cedar Street side of our building, surrounded by a tall picket fence. Each October, Raimondi carefully wrapped his fig tree in layers of newspaper, tar paper and burlap to keep off the winter’s frost. Each spring, he gently unwrapped it, and by August it was resplendent in full fruit.

It was the only natural thing of significance in this urban landscape, the only link Raimondi and the other immigrants on the block had to the gardens and orchards of Sicily, left behind more than 50 years earlier. Perhaps Raimondi’s fig tree was the only reason for summer on our block at all. Its sweet, sumptuous black figs certainly seemed so.

No children played under the El. We played around the corner on Cedar Street in the full summer sun; but during heat waves, our games of stickball or scullsy or crack-top were canceled. We sought relief on someone’s stoop in the building’s shade. There we’d play cards, or exchange stories of recent family vacations “up da mountains” or “down da shore.” Those of us who had not been, dreamed of such luxury.

Sometimes, an older brother or father would produce a monkey wrench to open the johnny-pump. One strong boy would crouch behind the hydrant and deflect the water’s flow into a cascade with a metal ash can lid. The rest of us pranced, fully clothed, in the ice-cold water, the force of which took your breath away.

*

Always too soon, the cops arrived. Lecturing us on civic responsibility, they’d close the valve. The wet street quickly dried. The humidity turned our soaked dungarees and polo shirts, and our slushy sneakers, into sticky, clammy discomfort. Inevitably, we all had “to go up,” to change into hot dry clothes.

Supper time brought no relief. My mother and aunts returned from their jobs in “the City,” their crisp cotton summer dresses and white gloves wilted from the crowded, 45-minute subway ride. As each of them walked through the door, the words, “Boy, it’s hot!” and their variants in English and Sicilian filled the house in chorus and fugue. They’d change their business clothes for more comfortable attire and join my grandparents and I at the kitchen table for supper.

For these August heat-wave suppers, my grandfather, Papa Andrea, prepared an assortment of salads. Beautifully arranged on an oval platter would be green beans vinaigrette and potato salad in olive oil with capers and onion. Around the edge of the platter would be halved hard-boiled eggs, draped with anchovy. Deep red sliced tomatoes covered in dried oregano with a drizzle of olive oil and a mixed green salad were always on the table in this season.

There might be tuna dressed with olive oil and lemon juice, or an assortment of Italian cold cuts, the platters circled with green and black olives. For dessert, there were summer melons, or sweet juicy plums, or perfectly ripened fleshy peaches.

This food and its vinegary, pungent, sweet flavors was very enjoyable and restorative. Its crisp coolness offered satisfying refreshment. The only distraction was the bread, its crust made soggy by the ever-present humidity.

*

Dusk found us still at the table, searching for some new relief. When my mother felt even the slightest movement of air, she would stop the conversation, saying, “Shh! A breeze!” as if keeping quiet could trick the heavens into sending a gale. Aunt Jo would suggest turning off the light, in order to make it cooler.

“Lemon ice,” was all Aunt Mae needed to say. Everyone agreed that to consume this coldest of all desserts was our best hope.

Sicilians have had a love affair with icy confections since ancient times. In Roman times, they’d mix fruit juice with snow. Later, they made sherbet by freezing jasmine flower water and sugar. Sicilians became world-renowned at the art of the frozen dessert. The mass immigration in the early part of this century carried this love affair to America.

During the summer, every pastry shop in the old neighborhood made lemon ice. The best was from Circo’s, at the corner of Knickerbocker Avenue and Hart Street. Mr. Circo knew just the right amount of lemon juice to mix with just the right density of sugar syrup in order to get just the right tartness, sweetness and flavor.

Limunata is Sicilian for lemon ice. In the old Brooklyn neighborhood, the English translation was pronounced as one word.

“Lemonice” was not only the favorite flavor, but it became the generic term for all ice flavors. A sign in Circo’s window read as follows:

LEMON ICE FLAVORS

Lemon

Chocolate

Pineapple

Back in the apartment, the quantity of each lemon ice flavor to be purchased was decided. I was given the money and sent on the two-and-a-half-block walk to Circo’s.

Until the mid-1950s, the streets of the Bushwick section of Brooklyn had always been safe for anyone at any hour. In the sweltering summer of 1957, however, things began to change for a 9-year-old boy out alone. Street gangs began to appear on various blocks around the neighborhood. Most of these were pretty harmless S.A.C.’s (Social Athletic Clubs), but some of the larger gangs did have sizable economic interests from the selling of truckloads of stolen cigarettes and illegal fireworks. One of them, the Ellery Bops, was known for its fair play and courage in defending its turf, as well as non-combatants, against more barbaric gangs like the Halsey Bops.

*

Smaller gangs were affiliated with the larger ones. Gang members ranged in age from about 13 to 20, but the larger gangs had younger auxiliaries, for which recruitment began at 9. The Ellery Tots and the Halsey Tots, for instance, took up the turf wars where their older brothers and cousins left off. They thought they were hot stuff, but in fact, they were more like the birds that follow race horses.

These cubs would accost you and give the command, “Sound your clique.” The proper response was to sing out the name of your gang proudly, military fashion: “Ellery Tots to the heart” (the last phrase indicated great commitment) or “Halsey Tots L.A.M.F.” L.A.M.F. stood for “like a muddah----,” which meant fierce, violent, out of control.

Non-gangsters also had a response: “I’m cool, man.” To some gangs, and especially to its younger members, not having a clique meant you were fair game, with no chance of reprisal. The child gangsters played this call and answer game constantly, feeling out how it was to talk the talk; but when it came down to it, walking the walk showed them to be the baby punks they were. Still, these are my observations from some 35 years’ distance. At the time, their threat seemed very real.

The adults had no idea of these goings-on. If they had, obviously, I would not have been sent out into a night filled with danger.

I myself was never involved with a gang, but we all shared the same streets. The cardinal rule for surviving those streets was clear--you kept your mouth shut. When asked, we told the adults that L.A.M.F., tagged all over the neighborhood, meant, “Let’s All Make Friends.”

*

So one night I set out for Circo’s. I cut through the gas station onto the first half block of Hart Street. It was cool, dominated by the old two-lane bowling alley. The regulars were good guys, though a bit dimwitted. They believed that automatic pin-spotters were a fad and would soon die out.

The next block, between Central and Wilson, had a gang on it. I took a one-block detour to Suydam and walked past the church and the school. I turned back onto Hart from Wilson for the last block to Knickerbocker Avenue. This block had older Sicilians sitting in front of their houses in folding chairs, trying to catch a breeze. They smiled at me, and we exchanged “ Bona sera “ as I passed.

The sidewalk in front of Circo’s was crowded with sweaty, exasperated people, waiting to buy lemon ice through the window. Circo did not rush. He meticulously packed each order in pleated paper cups for one or two scoops, or round white cardboard containers for pints and quarts. He worked slowly, being careful not to slobber any ice on the outside of the cup.

I joined the exasperated. Finally, my order was packed, placed in a white paper bag, and ready to go.

There is an art to carrying home lemon ice in a heat wave. You cannot cradle it close to the body--it will melt. It must be carried, by the fold of the paper bag, out in front of you. Two fingers of the other hand may be placed underneath for support.

The walk is very fast, but never a run--that might cause the bag to break. All in all, not a very tough-looking walk with which to meet the dangers ahead. And since time was of the essence, the walk home did not permit any detours.

The sitting old folks now greeted me as if I were a long-lost grandson. At the time, I thought they imagined that I was bringing the lemon ice to them. Crossing Wilson Avenue, I steeled myself for the interrogation and what might follow. What if they beat me up? Or worse, what if they stole the lemon ice?

*

I saw them. They saw me seeing them. In a moment they had peeled off the stoop they were sitting on, and surrounded me. There I stood, motionless, with the white paper bag out in front of me. The ices began to drip.

“Sound your clique.” The drops hitting the pavement magnified the pounding of my heart.

All that came out of my mouth was, “Lemon ice.”

“Ya goofin’ on us or what?” came back, as they began to square off.

Suddenly, from atop the stoop boomed out an older, teen-aged voice: “Hey! Let ‘im alone. Can’t yas seen he’s bringin’ lemon ice ta his muddah?”

I got the lemon ice home in time. We ate it out of tall water glasses with spoons and biscotti. We laughed as one by one we all ate it too quickly, giving us that strange, sharp, momentary headache. The lemon ice did provide us enough relief from the heat to get to sleep.

The gang boys on Hart Street never bothered me again. Whenever I walked up their street, “lemon ice” was all I needed to say to gain safe passage. I used it all the time, whether I was going to Circo’s or not. Lemon ice to the heart. Lemon ice L.A.M.F.

(BEGIN TEXT OF INFOBOX / INFOGRAPHIC)

LEMON ICE

(Limunata)

2 1/2 cups water

2 cups sugar

5 to 10 lemons, depending on sweetness

An ice cream machine is best for processing Lemon Ice. Lemon Ice can be frozen without a machine, but the result is not as good.

Combine water and sugar and cook until sugar dissolves and liquid turns clear. Remove from heat.

Juice lemons. Slowly add sugar syrup to lemon juice until desired sweetness is reached. Chill thoroughly, uncovered, in refrigerator.

Process in ice cream maker.

If not using machine, pour chilled mixture into metal baking pan and freeze.

After half hour, remove pan from freezer. Scrape down sides and bottom of pan with metal spatula. Chop frozen lumps into liquid. Return pan to freezer.

Repeat process every half hour, until ice becomes fairly firm slush.

Serve immediately in tall water glasses. Accompany with biscotti.

To serve ice later, transfer to plastic food container with tight-fitting lid. Return to freezer.

Makes 8 servings.

Each serving contains about:

206 calories; 3 mg sodium; 0 cholesterol; 0 fat; 57 grams carbohydrates; 1 gram protein; 0 fiber.

BISCOTTI ‘I PAN ‘I SPAGNA

2 cups flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

Dash salt

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup shortening

4 eggs

1/3 cup anisette or Pernod

These simply prepared biscotti are an excellent accompaniment to the ice recipes given here. In addition, they are good with coffee at breakfast or dunked in milk. The recipe is from my great-grandfather.

Sift together flour, baking powder and salt in bowl.

In separate bowl, cream sugar and shortening. Add eggs, 1 at time. Add anisette.

Add dry ingredients to wet and spread in greased and floured 13x9-inch baking pan. Batter will be heavy and require smoothing with spatula to make even.

Bake at 350 degrees until golden-brown on top and dry inside when pierced with toothpick, about 20 minutes. Remove from oven.

Leaving biscotti in pan, cut on diagonal into 3/4-inch-wide strips. Cut longer strips in half.

Place all strips cut-side-down on wire rack. Return to oven until toasted golden brown on both sides.

When biscotti are cool, stack crisscrossed on small serving plate 3 or 4 across. Store uncovered.

Makes about 32 biscotti.

Each biscotto contains about:

89 calories; 42 mg sodium; 28 mg cholesterol; 4 grams fat; 12 grams carbohydrates; 2 grams protein; 0.02 gram fiber.

CHOCOLATE ICE

(Granita ‘i Ciucculatu)

1 cup sugar

1 quart water

1/2 cup Dutch process cocoa powder

1 dash ground cinnamon

Boil together sugar and 2 1/2 cups water 5 minutes. Remove from heat.

Meanwhile, combine cocoa, cinnamon and 1/2 cup water in saucepan. Cook at very low heat, stirring constantly until cocoa is melted and smooth.

Whisk sugar syrup into cocoa. Transfer mixture to bowl. Add remaining 1 cup water.

Do not refrigerate before freezing, as it will cause cocoa butter to coagulate. For same reason, ice cream machine must be used to process.

Serve chocolate ice in 3 1/2-ounce pleated paper cups. Accompany with biscotti.

Makes 8 servings.

Each serving contains about:

107 calories; 1 mg sodium; 0 cholesterol; 1 gram fat; 28 grams carbohydrates; 1 gram protein; 0.30 gram fiber.

PINEAPPLE ICE

(Granita ‘i Ananassu)

1 (46-ounce) can unsweetened pineapple juice

1 1/3 cups sugar

1/3 cup water

2 tablespoons rum

Place 1 cup pineapple juice, sugar and water in saucepan. Place remaining juice in refrigerator to chill.

Bring sweetened pineapple juice slowly to boil over medium heat, stirring, until sugar melts. Continue to boil gently 5 minutes. Transfer to bowl and cool. Refrigerate uncovered about 3 hours.

Slowly pour enough pineapple syrup into chilled juice to achieve desired sweetness. Bear in mind that too tart ice grows tiresome after few bites.

Add rum. Process in ice cream machine, or freeze using method given in Lemon Ice.

Serve in tall water glass. Accompany with biscotti.

Makes 8 servings.

Each serving contains about:

227 calories; 2 mg sodium; 0 cholesterol; 0 fat; 56 grams carbohydrates; 1 gram protein; 0.16 gram fiber.

FROZEN WATERMELON

(Anguria ‘Nghiachiata)

2 1/2 cups water

1 1/2 cups sugar

1 small round seedless watermelon, well ripened with ideal appearance

Dash ground ginger

2 tablespoons vodka

Semisweet chocolate, chopped to bits size of watermelon seeds

The garish expression of the Baroque in Sicily extended itself quite naturally to the molding of frozen desserts into elaborate sculptural forms. These pezzi duri, or hard pieces, ranged from the familiar three-flavored ice cream brick to enormous multi-flavored bombes. In my cookbook, “Papa Andrea’s Sicilian Table,” I have explored a number of them.

This one makes a grand presentation. The melon ice inside creates an amusing tromp-l’oeil. The flavor is as intense as the ripest fruit, and far more refreshing. Test Kitchen Note: Watermelon flavor is most intense when ice is first processed and it may be eaten as is, without freezing in melon rind.

Heat water and sugar together until sugar dissolves and liquid turns clear. Pour into bowl to cool.

With sharp knife, carefully cut slice out of melon about 1 1/2 inches wide. Be sure to cut out of flattened or less perfect side, as this will become bottom when presented. Cut away flesh from rind of this slice and place in large bowl. Do not discard rind.

Using spoon, scoop out flesh of melon through opening. Leave inside of melon as smooth as possible. Blot with paper towels.

Fit cut piece back in place. Use masking tape to hold in place, as melon shell may deform in freezing and piece will no longer fit properly. Place melon shell in freezer.

Puree melon flesh in food mill to very fine pulp.

When sugar syrup is at room temperature, mix enough into watermelon pulp to achieve desired sweetness. Mix in ginger and vodka.

Chill at least 3 hours. Process in ice cream machine. Add chocolate “seeds” as freezing nears completion.

Few minutes before ice is ready, remove shell from freezer. Use knife dipped in hot water to pry away cut slice. Fill shell through opening.

Fit cut slice back in place. Wrap melon in foil and place in freezer at least 6 hours.

Place in refrigerator half hour before serving. Present with cut side down.

To serve, cut melon in half with large knife, starting at original cut. Cut halves into slices.

Makes 8 servings.

Each serving contains about:

191 calories; 3 mg sodium; 0 cholesterol; 1 gram fat; 46 grams carbohydrates; 1 gram protein; 0.36 gram fiber.

FIG ICE CREAM

(Gelatu ‘i Ficu)

Water

Sugar

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

1/4 cup maraschino liqueur, or substitute 3 tablespoons cherry juice mixed with 1 tablespoon vodka

2 1/4 cups milk

1 cup whipping cream

5 egg yolks

Zest of 1 lemon, chopped fine

10 black figs

Macerating figs in a thick syrup perfumed with maraschino liqueur and vanilla brings out their exquisite flavors. Use only the ripest, sweetest black figs, like the ones Raimondi grew.

Prepare syrup day before needed. Heat 1 cup water and 2 1/4 cups sugar in pan slowly until mixture boils. Stir while sugar melts to prevent scorching. Continue to boil gently 5 minutes. Remove from heat. Let cool.

When syrup is at room temperature, stir in vanilla extract and maraschino liqueur. Refrigerate overnight.

Next day prepare ice cream base. Scald milk and cream, warming at medium heat until little bubbles form around edge. Do not boil.

Remove mixture from heat. Cover. Let stand 10 minutes.

Place egg yolks in bowl. Add 1 tablespoon water and beat, adding 1/2 cup plus 1 1/2 tablespoon sugars slowly until mixture is pale yellow and forms ribbons.

Add milk-cream mixture slowly to egg mixture, beating constantly.

Cook mixture over medium heat in double-boiler over, but not touching, simmering water, continuously whisking, until mixture thickens, about 2 minutes after water beneath begins to boil. Do not allow mixture to boil.

Remove from heat, pour into cool bowl. Stir in lemon zest.

When cooled to room temperature, refrigerate uncovered at least 3 hours. (Processed in ice cream machine, this base makes lemon-flavored gelato.)

While base is chilling, peel figs. Place whole in shallow bowl in single layer. Pour cold syrup over. Cover. Let macerate unrefrigerated 2 hours. Turn in marinade from time to time.

Take figs out of marinade. Slice and puree figs in food mill to very fine paste. Mix in couple tablespoons of base to loosen paste. Slowly mix in rest of base until well blended.

Process in ice cream machine.

Makes 6 to 8 servings.

Each serving contains about:

681 calories; 69 mg sodium; 289 mg cholesterol; 21 grams fat; 115 grams carbohydrates; 7 grams protein; 1 gram fiber.