The juice of six lemons.
The rind of two do.
"You start with this weird and gross mass of coagulated protein and gunky citrus pulp," Rockey says. "Then, as you drain it, drop by drop, you get this sweet, ephemeral, clear refreshing liquid that I absolutely love. That process grabs the weighty compounds, the richness and the fat, and what you're left with is aroma and brightness, the smell of corn silk and a slippery texture that slides down your throat."
There is no place for humor in naming. Life is real, liife is earnest; and naming is a serious, though not necessarily cheerless, affair.
"From the Supreme Commander, Allied Forces Europe. Sir, Prince or pauper, when a man soils a Wellington he puts his foot in it. P.S: This is not a joke. I do not find my name remotely funny, and people who do end up dead."
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