Follow me. I was watching this show late last week while battling an epic cold, and the lead actor (who btw, I cannot decide is really hot or really really creepy) mentions a crisis of faith. Crisis of faith.
I’ve been rolling that phrase over and over in my head for the past day. It’s satisfying. Crisis of faith. I recognize these three words. I know these words. They mean everything, and anything from the delicacy of a crackle, to the irreparability of a fissure. They stand for a loss of direction, an emptiness of motive, a drowning by uncertainty. They are the small words that mean not knowing the answer to the big question of why, and the reason for the void beneath the next step. Crisis of faith.
I do know something though, something just as weighty. I know that anything is just as important as knowing nothing.
I know that carefully peeling the zest off a lemon, or two, or three is important.
I know that jars, good solid jars, are important, and functional, and beautiful.
I know that waiting is important, and I know that beauty is important.
Sunlight is beautiful, and colors are important. I know some things.
A few notes: Organic and/or Meyer lemons would be very lovely. A zester is sort of important. Half-ing the simple syrup seemed like a really good idea. After some consultation at Astor Wines, we settled on Tito’s Vodka as a economical, yet appropriately smooth vodka for this application.
(I also know that a jar of limoncello also looks disturbingly like a bottle of pee.)