So. Today, instead of a bright happy recipe with lots of steps, let’s just cool it down by gazing at a nice, frosty limeade.

There. That’s better. Oh Winstead‘s limeade, how you soothe. Topped with eye-popping sherbet and neon maraschinos, they’ve been spritzing up limeades at this Kansas City favorite since 1940. There is only one thing better than a Winstead’s limeade…

…a Winstead’s limeade with a Winstead’s burger.

Dab your eyes and wipe the keyboards, Kansas Citians and KC ex-pats – I just caught you drooling out there.

Tomorrow, we’ll go back to the kitchen. That is, after she-who-knows-all, she who got a fancy haircut and has laid out the outfit already, sprints from the car and into junior hell high. Better her than us, eh?

The evening before, I’d mixed up some rugelach dough – cream cheese dough – planning to make a batch of pick-me-up cookies for a slightly depressed friend.

But I had a slab of incredible pepper bacon sitting around, and unable to resist its black-peppered, smoky goodness, I decided to use half the dough as a base for Tarte Flambee – sort of a bacon and onion pizza – for Friday night’s dinner.

Inspired by my head still in France and modernemama‘s enthusiasm, it was bacony perfection, a license to eat four kinds of fat. Oh my.

Now it was Saturday and I was annoyed in the kitchen. I’d abandoned the white chocolate mess and was huffily munching cold bacon tart. Last I checked I’d come in here to do something, not just eat leftovers. I took another slurp of limeade, grabbed the remaining rugelach dough and looked in the fruit bowl.

Slim pickings. Josie eats drippy nectarines all summer like a fruit bat, and there was only one left.

But with a bit of cream cheese dough for crust, one nectarine turned into four little tarts.

There was still a little dough left. I could make a few rugelach for that sad friend of mine, or – nibbling the last chunk – I could finish it off myself.

Hmm. I had a rapidly decreasing ball of dough, and a few strawberries in the fridge. And a lone kiwi.

After a few minutes of rolling, pressing, more nibbling and baking, there were tart shells.

And the presence of tart shells called for the whipping of cream.

Now I had tart shells, honey whipped cream, strawberries, a peeled kiwi and one bowl of lonely, hardened white chocolate in the corner. I narrowed my eyes.

Please?

Oh, fine. Who wouldn’t forgive white chocolate? You can play too.

So the sad friend led to rugelach which didn’t get made, which led to a tart flambee, four nectarine tarts, some failed white chocolate curls, sliced strawberries, a kiwi and freshly whipped cream.

Finally, it led to a few pretty things at the end of the day. Just for fun, and just to show how when you least expect it, when you are hot and frustrated and sucking down limeade, everything has a way…

…of coming full circle.

Cream Cheese Dough

8 oz cream cheese, cold
8 oz unsalted butter, cold
2 cups all-purpose flour
pinch salt

Place flour and salt in food processor and process a few seconds, to blend. Chunk butter and cream cheese in pieces over flour, then process, using on-off motion, until dough just forms a ball. Turn out onto floured surface and knead lightly into a smooth mass.

Roll, shape and bake into tart crusts, sweet turnovers, rugelach, and other cookies.
Keeps several days wrapped in the refrigerator, and freezes well.

Or maybe my tart-lipped, gussied-up cousin is all “I-say-nothing” just because she’s made in France.

Yeah? Well, look at me!

I’m pressed too! Pressed right here on the counter.

So what if they bring that fresh lemon juice right to the table on a shiny tray, with a pitcher of water and tiny sugar cubes and a precious silver spoon. What of it?

So what if everybody gets to mix their sugar by themselves over there and, you know, adjust the taste?

I get my sugar dumped in, my friend. Dumped. One size sweetness fits all. Oh dear – I guess that isn’t very refined…but…but…I refresh them! I have a purpose!

Still nothing, eh? Okay, Citron Presse, that is enough.

You think Maitre d’ Antoine down there cares about serving you more than me? You are le wrong, cousin. You are just euros in the bank to him. But me, Limeade…

…they love me in Kansas. They worship me, pal, they need me. They sip me and guzzle me and when it’s 100 degrees they would like to shower in me.

Especially that Josie. She doesn’t care about your ooh-la-la drinks and your fancy chairs and lemony pressay-voo, no sir.

Crap.

Oh, fine.

Look – now I am le fancy Limeade. But don’t expect this every time.

Good Kansas Limeade

5 limes
about 1 quart water
1/2 cup sugar (to start)
2 cups ice
extra limes for slicing

To get the most juice from them, roll and press limes with your hands. Cut limes in half and juice, manually or with juice press. Pour juice into pitcher, add sugar and few lime slices. Mix together and stir in ice cubes. Begin to add the water, stirring and stopping to taste. Adjust limeade by adding water or sugar.

Serve over ice with more lime slices and, if desired, other fruit garnish.

Get Fancy! For a true Kansas City treat, make Cherry Limeade by adding maraschino cherries and their juice.

Where is the ultimate limeade meal? Click and see.