Got lemons? Don't stop at lemonade

Dennis Kercher, in pursuit of acerbic knowledge, in an almost Edenic plucking of fruit, in a zealous example of "locavorism," opens his front door and pads down the walkway to his prized vineyard of sorts.There, by the sidewalk, posed like garden gnomes, are a matching pair of Meyer lemon bushes -- thick, hardy, drooping pearls of sunlight, their yield as prolific as any Grandpere Zinfandel.From these two bushes, plus a tree planted near the house -- a harvest supplemented by bags of lemons left on his front porch by neighbors happy -- no, eager -- to orphan their own bumper crop -- Kercher makes limoncello. His freezer, devoid of peas or sirloin, is instead loaded with ponies of limoncello, stacked like cordwood, a frosty cellar of tangy icicles.Limoncello is a popular Italian liqueur. It is a welcome digestif after a full meal. It is served in a cordial glass, though it can be drizzled on ice cream. It is the perfect drink for warmer weather. It is ice-cold, puckery, refreshing -- and packs a jolt.Limoncello, like good champagne, is expensive, upward of $35 for a 22.5-ounce bottle. But why bother with such an expense? You can easily make limoncello yourself. All it requires is lemons, a bit of elbow grease and a grade-school grasp of bootlegging science.Despite the drink's simplicity, Kercher is a serious limoncello maker, an aspiring Mondavi, whose lush liqueur expresses its prime Sacramento, Calif., terroir. With an unquenchable curiosity, the rigor to shave a moon-size supply of rind, he's a man on a limoncello mission.Better yet, he has a recipe to share.Now, on a late afternoon, Kercher and his limoncello accomplice, wife Mary, are sitting in their professional-caliber kitchen. Dennis, 55, is a global account manager for Kodak; Mary, 54, is a painter. They have two grown daughters.The Kerchers' love affair with limoncello began, like all great love stories, in Rome, where Mary lived as a young girl and befriended an unforgettable character named Renzo Belli, then a reporter for Il Messaggero."He's very Roman," laughs Dennis, who befriended Belli many years later. "He would lecture us on everything. How to make pasta. How to make the sauce. The right way and the wrong way to do everything."One evening, after a home-cooked meal, Belli introduced the stuffed couple to limoncello. Rapture! They were baptized anew. And hooked.That was nine years ago. Since then, the Kerchers, through trial and error, if not ascorbic acid overload, have been engaged in a single-minded effort to make a transcendent limoncello."I love the scent," says Dennis, holding up a Meyer lemon as though it were a sunny jewel. "It's almost a perfume. It's so distinct."Then, while sitting in a chair, he takes a keen, raspy micro-planer and vigorously abrades the lemon's skin.Soon, a cloud of lemony mist fills the kitchen (yes, rather like a sudden hiss of Lemon Pledge), and a fluffy pile of lemon zest begins to rise on the tabletop.The zest, not the fruit, rind or pulp, is added to a quantity of Everclear, allowed to steep, then strained, and mixed with a syrup of sugar and water. Then it's bottled. Served cold.That's the basic formula. But the Kerchers have gone beyond concocting pedestrian limoncello. They also make a crema di limoncello, plus a spectrum of unlikely flavors. Is it possible to make a limoncello with coconut milk and lemongrass?You would be pleasantly surprised.To get further perspective on limoncello, we turn now to the pope -- not Benedict XVI, but Darrell I.Darrell Corti, of Corti Bros., can, at the drop of a hat, give expert and lengthy disquisition on any drink or comestible. Limoncello, no exception. What is severely distilled here is that limoncello hails from Italy's Amalfi Coast and is made from a large, elliptical-shaped lemon (lo sfusato Amalfitano), which is tart, fragrant and boasts a thick, oily skin. Corti says it is typically raised trellised.It is a lemon destined for limoncello, almost all of which is bottled in the city of Sorrento.Asked if he likes limoncello, Corti replies, "If it is made well, it's very good." He notes that Corti Bros. carries three or four good limoncello brands, including Il Convento ($29.99), Gioia Luisa ($23.99), and Villa Massa ($37.49).Biba Caggiano, too, is acquainted with limoncello. "I really think it's a wonderful, refreshing drink after dinner," she says. "You know the saying, 'When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.' In Italy, they make limoncello!"Biba, however, rarely sips a limoncello. Her preferred after-dinner drink?"A nice shot of cognac," says the restaurant owner and author.Gustavo Foscarini, 72, a native of Bari, Italy, is a longtime lecturer on Italian language, food and culture at the University of California-Davis. It's his contention, much like the inexplicably popular dessert, tiramisu, that limoncello was concocted purely for tourists."It's a drink made for Americans," he claims.Still, he notes that Italians have always made fruit-infused drinks, and that his own mother made limoncello at home, along with drinks flavored by tangerines, strawberries, black cherries, etc."Yes, it was good," says Foscarini of his mother's jug of bracing limoncello, "If you like sweet stuff. I'm not a sweet-stuff person."Instead, as a digestif, he prefers a bitter potion called amara lucano, made from herbs and roots. He also suggests that a real Italian would like nothing better than a glass of grappa. Although limoncello has its virtues, Foscarini also recommends a dry, crisp prosecco.Let's taste some limoncello.Dennis Kercher opens the freezer cellar and extracts a tapered bottle of limoncello. Rubbing off the frost, one notices swirling ghosts suspended in a lemony sea. In a moment, the cloud clarifies.He pours a cold shot.Whoa! That's lemony. Rather like a pungent sorbet or a bite of a concentrated can of frozen lemonade.This particular limoncello has been aged two years. Not the usual two weeks. Or two minutes."I think it makes a big difference," says Kercher of the vintage. "Something happens to it. I'm not sure what. But it gets smoother." Call it mellow yellow.Next, Kercher pours his beloved crema, which features milk substituted for water. Crema is the Kerchers' reigning passion."To me, regular limoncello can be sickeningly sweet," he says, in what sounds like blasphemy. Mary enthuses, "It's luscious. I think it's more rounded. It comes full circle."Indeed, crema is smooth, frothy, with a rummy note and a finish reminiscent of holiday eggnog.Next, strawberry limoncello, which has a pale-pink tone and tastes like the dregs of a milkshake.Next, ginger limoncello. "Ginger is really wonderful," says Dennis. "You can taste it in the back of your mouth." This would pair well with sushi.Next, the ghastly sounding but surprisingly palatable lemongrass limoncello made with coconut milk."Mmm," murmurs Mary, savoring the concoction, which appears like a miniature pina colada. "That tastes like it needs a beach close by!" Dennis samples it and makes a dubious face. "I dunno," he muses. "Maybe too much coconut. Do you taste the lemon grass?"He takes another sip. And another."This is what we do," he says, in his pursuit of limoncello excellence. "Experiment."Yes. The sweet science."The thing that amazes me," says Dennis, turning professorial, "is that each one has its own distinct personality and flair. Even though it's the same recipe, you really get an air of distinction."What's up next?Asparagus limoncello.Ha-ha. We jest.Yet, who knows?The Kerchers are inventive."People ask us for recipes," says Dennis, gazing at the table littered with a litany of glasses. "We give it out. People can experiment and make their own."Of his obsession, he can only shrug. "It's just one of those things," he says, helpless, determined, a zest machine. "There are a lot of lemons in Sacramento."DENNIS KERCHER'S LIMONCELLO RECIPESWe prepare it two ways, using the Meyer lemons that are prolific in our Land Park neighborhood in Sacramento. The Meyer lemon has a significantly thinner skin than its cousin, the Eureka lemon. It also has a mystic perfume to it that leaves a fragrant bouquet on the palate.The Flavored AlcoholZest 15 lemons with a micro-planer into a jar. Add a 22.5-ounce bottle of Everclear grain alcohol, seal it and let it steep for three weeks. Strain through a cheesecloth and squeeze out every last drop of golden liqueur. If you don't have Meyer lemons, Eureka lemons work as well.Limoncello Alla Meyer LimoneHeat 3-1/2 cups of water with 2-1/2 cups of sugar to 125 degrees, mixing well. Cool down in refrigerator. Mix in flavored alcohol. Bottle and store in the freezer. Remove from freezer 15 minutes before serving.Crema Di LimoncelloHeat 2 quarts of milk with 5-1/3 cups of sugar (you can also use 1/2 cup of vanilla sugar as part of the total) to 125 degrees, mixing well. Cool down in refrigerator. Mix in flavored alcohol. Bottle and store in the freezer. Remove from freezer 15 minutes before serving.(E-mail Bob Sylva at bsylva(at)sacbee.com.)(Distributed by Scripps Howard News Service, www.scrippsnews.com.)