A word of warning. If you order a citron pressé (meaning "pressed lemon") in a French café in the hopes of having lemonade, think again. Just as an orange pressé is a fresh-squeezed orange juice, a citron pressé is fresh-squeezed lemon juice. Just the juice, and nothing but the juice. They will serve it to you in a large glass (too small for delicious fresh-squeezed OJ, but much too large for pure lemon) without anything else, and you are expected to drink it. As is. They won't make you pay any extra for a second glass of plain water and some sugar, but they will make you work for it; you'll have to get your harried waiter's attention and ask for it specifically, then messily mix like a mad scientist.
Alas, the sugar won't really dissolve anyway, so it will only be sour at the top, and powdery and cloying at the bottom. The good news is, ordering citron pressé is a mistake you only make once.
You won't fare much better if you order a limonade, by the way, unless you like Sprite or 7-Up. And in case you're wondering, I don't.
What you want is a citronade, but since that basically doesn't exist at any French café or restaurant that I've ever seen, what you actually want to is to be magically transported back to the fresh-squeezed lemonade booth at the Minnesota State Fair.
Puckering up in Paris: It's not just for kissing, anymore.
Alas, the sugar won't really dissolve anyway, so it will only be sour at the top, and powdery and cloying at the bottom. The good news is, ordering citron pressé is a mistake you only make once.
You won't fare much better if you order a limonade, by the way, unless you like Sprite or 7-Up. And in case you're wondering, I don't.
What you want is a citronade, but since that basically doesn't exist at any French café or restaurant that I've ever seen, what you actually want to is to be magically transported back to the fresh-squeezed lemonade booth at the Minnesota State Fair.
Puckering up in Paris: It's not just for kissing, anymore.
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