Lemon curd & memories

I found I had a surplus of lemons, and although usually I would congratulate myself on this happy accident and crack the gin, on this occasion I refrained.

I remembered a family friend that would leave a jar with a checkered cap filled with lemon curd on our doorstep once a month, the jar of yellow happiness that would mark the start of badgering my mother to make lemon meringue pie.

I realised that I have never attempted to make lemon curd (or lemon butter as I knew it), assuming it came form the dark caverns of cooking knowledge that only the experts of the past possess (include here christmas pudding brandy sauce and bearnaise sauces that were made with much fuss at family dinners).

Turns out that I was completely wrong, and this simple addition can be added to the ‘look mum no hands’ category of cooking, where you feel quite cocky that it is hard not to get right and for others to be impressed.

There are a number of recipes kicking about, but the easiest one I found went thus:
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