There’s a hush that settles over the Kalahari in winter. Mornings arrive slow, with breath visible in the crisp air and frost dusting the dry grass like powdered sugar. Winter is lingering—stubborn, beautiful, and utterly Kalahari.
The veld lies still, golden and brittle, stretching under a bright cold sky. Yet, the silence doesn’t last long. Laughter echoes through the house, boots crunch across the yard, and the clatter of coffee mugs marks the start of another day. Our winter days are filled with the joy of hunters who find joy not just in the chase, but in the moments in between—the stories, the meals, the memories. This is Kalahari Safari.
In the quiet moments—between prepping stews and stirring pots—I pause by the basket of lemons. My heart is full of thankfulness and memories that arrive unannounced, like the scent of citrus on a breeze. The sharp, sunlit fragrance takes me back…
To Italy.
To late alfresco dinners in Tuscany. To Positano, where the scent of citrus drifted on the sea breeze. To summer in a glass.
Limoncello. A bold, zesty Italian liqueur made by steeping lemon zest in alcohol. Bright yellow and intensely citrusy, it’s best sipped chilled on a long-awaited summer evening.
I find myself searching for that taste again—that golden memory. Longing for the return of slow, sun-drenched evenings. I scroll through the internet, looking for an authentic recipe, hoping to bottle a little bit of summer before it arrives.
I gather our Kalahari lemons. It will take time. But all good things do.
Anything worth doing is worth doing slowly.
Mae West
While the hunters laugh and share stories around the fire, and the wind whistles outside, a jar of lemon zest quietly steeps in the corner of My Kalahari Kitchen—bottled sunshine.
And when the limoncello is finally ready, we’ll raise our glasses.
To winter in the Kalahari. To memories. And to the joy of citrus and time. – Aldalene
(Recipe on next page)
