I've been helping out an injured pal of mine with yardwork, and yesterday afternoon while I was mowing one of his neighbors walked over to say hi. It was hot, and I'd reached the most challenging part of the yard, so I was happy to take a break and chat.
He started reminiscing about his childhood summers in South Philadelphia, when his first job was helping to make and sell lemon-flavored Italian ice. He remembered going to the ice house for a huge block of ice and breaking it up with an icepick, but most of all he remembered that he was allowed to keep all the profits.
"Best job I ever had!" he said. "I'll bet I still have the recipe around somewhere . . ."
By that time another neighbor had joined us (with some very welcome cold drinks), and he continued the lemon-themed conversation by telling us that back in his drinking days he used to make lemon Jell-O with grain alcohol.
"You could set that stuff on fire," he recalled fondly.
I was baffled for a moment -- then realized he had said "limoncello," not "lemon Jell-O."
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