Lemon Barley Water

There's a fortnight at the end of June when the garden goes slightly mad and the afternoons stretch out into something that feels longer than it is. The strawberries are in. The tennis is on somewhere in the background. The windows are open and the kitchen is too warm to cook anything ambitious. This is when a jug of lemon barley water earns its place in the fridge.

It's an old-fashioned drink, and I mean that as praise. Pearl barley, lemon rind, sugar, water. Simmered gently until the kitchen smells faintly of citrus and warm cereal, then strained, sweetened, sharpened with fresh juice, and chilled until the jug beads with cold. It isn't trying to be anything other than what it is: a quiet, slightly cloudy, properly refreshing thing to drink on a hot afternoon.

I make a jug most Saturdays through July. It lives in the fridge and I pour it into whichever glass is nearest whenever I come in from the garden with grass on my ankles. I wrote it down in the notebook years ago: barley, lemons, ice, shade. That was the whole entry. Some drinks don't need more detail than that.

The only real trick is the lemon rind. Pare it thinly, yellow only, no white pith, or the whole jug turns bitter and sulky. Everything else is just patience and a gentle simmer. We're only making a drink.