An adoration of the lime

I remember 1993. It was the time of Delia pontificating on summer, in print and on TV. It was all limes. How I chortled at her dedication to the wee green fruit; it was verging on the obsessional. There was fried Halloumi cheese with lime and caper vinaigrette; squirted lime in the Caesar salad; zested and juiced citrus in the fresh crab salad; added to the fish cakes, crab cakes, hot and sour pickled prawns, fried skate wings, thai curry paste, the salmon filo parcels, the grilled fish, the coriander and lime tartare sauce, the relishes, chutneys and the salsas, Debbie Owen's iced tea, cous cous salad, frijolemole (what you might ask is that - it's a chickpea purée - ain't that houmous?), the terrine of summer fruits (I thought that was sooo beautiful), coconut lime cake, ad nauseam, ad nauseam. But you know (as does Delia and all good grocers) how repetition can browbeat a girl into submission. So you swap the odd lime where you'd usually put lemon. You squeeze the juice into mayonnaise, sprinkle it with lime zest and serve with cold salmon. You put a slice with ice into your drink. It looks better than its yellow cousin cuddled up with the fresh mint and cucumber garnishing the Pimm's. It brings verve to the fruit bowl and somehow connives through autosuggestion in ensuring a healthier meal than was perhaps planned. A fry-up of sausage, black pudding and beans with lime just doesn't do it somehow.