This is not a grapefruit.
In the lemon world, there are regular lemons, Meyer lemons, and these, which are called – at least on the sign at the market – sweet lemons and are apparently native to the Middle East and parts of India. They’re the size and shape of tangerines, sharing a thin skin and ease of sectioning.
But they’re not actually sweet. They’re really just not-sour. (I’ve never had a Meyer lemon, so I can’t compare it to that.) They… don’t really taste like anything, actually. Which is part of the disappointment. The rind has a faint, delicate fragrance when you tear into it that’s quite nice and a little exotic, but the fruit itself is surprisingly devoid of any kind of strong flavor. It’s very juicy – much more so than a tangerine – but it’s very bland. I suppose these would be nice to have in the fridge in the summer, a refreshing treat on a blistering hot day, but they were on sale in February here in New York, so all I can say is “meh.”
I neglected to take a ‘before’ picture of my celeriac (celery root), so you’re left looking at the ‘after’ shot, at least for me getting the gnarly roots and ugly skin off.
Celeriac’s been one of those things, like Jerusalem artichokes, that I wanted to try at least once because I kept seeing recipes for them. But celeriac, like sunchokes, has a pretty limited repertoire. Almost everyone who has celeriac makes soup out of it. I poked around for other uses and, since I didn’t have enough for a soup, I ended up nuking some and pan-roasting the rest.
It probably rates above parsnip on my root vegetable standings list, but for the effort put in, I think I’d rather go with rutabaga. Or maybe even a turnip.