There is a version of lemonade that tastes like summer and a version that tastes like a vending machine, and the difference is almost entirely a matter of restraint. Too much sugar and you've made syrup; too little and you've made a punishment.
We have spent the better part of a decade arguing, gently, over pitchers — testing ratios against porch thermometers, against the particular sourness of a given lemon crop, against the patience of whoever is waiting for a glass. What follows are the rules we've settled on, subject to revision every August.
The first rule is that the sugar goes in warm, dissolved into a small amount of water before the rest of the pitcher is built around it. The second rule is that you taste twice: once before the ice, once after.
A short essay on pitchers, patience, and why nobody should be handed a full glass.
A regional guide to when your lemons will actually be good.
What we learned from the ones who never sweeten it at all.
"Lemonade is the only drink that asks you to slow down before you've even poured it."— From Issue 12, "On Waiting"