<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>Drink on Kitchen3N</title><link>https://kitchen3n.com/tags/drink/</link><description>Recent content in Drink on Kitchen3N</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Thu, 27 Aug 2015 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://kitchen3n.com/tags/drink/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Meyer Lemon Strawberry Lemonade</title><link>https://kitchen3n.com/posts/2015-08-27-meyer-lemon-strawberry-lemonade/</link><pubDate>Thu, 27 Aug 2015 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>https://kitchen3n.com/posts/2015-08-27-meyer-lemon-strawberry-lemonade/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="https://kitchen3n.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/img_47241.jpg"&gt;&lt;img class="alignnone size-large wp-image-1609" src="https://kitchen3n.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/img_4823.jpg?w=660" alt="Meyer Lemon Strawberry Lemonade" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I&amp;rsquo;ve come a long way from the days of squeezing limes into a tall pitcher of water, and stirring in sugar until it dissolves. And stirring and stirring and stirring&amp;hellip;&lt;/p&gt;&#10;&lt;p&gt;Lemon/limeades were usually reserved for Ramadan in my household. That meant we whipped up batches of the stuff without being able to taste it (since we were fasting) and without sticking to any sort of recipe (my mother never owned a recipe book). The results ran the gamut from mouth puckeringly tart to gaggingly sweet.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Mango Time</title><link>https://kitchen3n.com/posts/2013-04-24-mango-time/</link><pubDate>Wed, 24 Apr 2013 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>https://kitchen3n.com/posts/2013-04-24-mango-time/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;For most people, this time of year means cherry blossoms, longer days, warmer weather, or taxes. For me, it&amp;rsquo;s mango season. They hold a permanent place in my fruit bowl during the warmer months. There has been a steady trickle of the fruit with each and every visit from nana or nanu, since the first day my daughter uttered the word &amp;ldquo;am&amp;rdquo; (bengali for mango). And when the season&amp;rsquo;s first real ones came in, that trickle became a waterfall, with literally boxes of the golden treats coming through the door every week. Not complaining here. In fact, I feel kind of guilty. We have access to an exceptional source: Jackson Heights. Not sure why, even at the specialty grocery store here in Forest Hills, I haven&amp;rsquo;t found the quality or quantity available in my old hood.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>