Zest before you juice, then freeze it in cubes

Zest them, then juice them, then freeze both — in that order, because one person got the order wrong and some people corrected it. Some people say you must zest before you juice: a squeezed lemon is soft and the zest comes off badly, and some people say juicing first is a common mistake. Some discussions juice the lemons into an ice-cube tray, freeze, and store the cubes for drinks and cooking; some people warn to move the cubes from the open tray into a freezer bag, because juice left in a tray takes freezer burn and off-flavours. The zest freezes on its own in a small bag, or — one person each — is stirred into a jar of sugar or a jar of salt to make lemon sugar and lemon salt for later, or dried and ground into a pepper blend; one person warns take the coloured zest only, because the white pith underneath is bitter. What about freezing the lemon whole? People argue about it: one person says whole lemons turn to mush and take freezer burn, and some people answer: a frozen whole lemon is fine if what you want from it is juice — one person with a lemon tree cooks with them daily — and one person says a thawed lemon is easier to juice than a fresh one, and another person says freezing first yields more juice; some people agree the flesh goes squishy, so a frozen lemon is for juice and zest, not for a slice in a glass. One person freezes juice inside the hollowed half-peels as their own containers; one freezes slices to lay on fish. Some people prefer freezing the juice and zest at once, and one person prefers keeping whole lemons in the fridge; the decider is whether you want ready juice or a lemon to zest later. For what to make with the ones you cannot freeze, the last question.

Oil or a plain bag, and people argue whether olive oil should ever see a freezer. Some discussions chop fresh herbs and freeze them in an ice-cube tray topped with olive oil or melted butter, so each cube is a portion for a pan; one person makes pesto and freezes it in cubes for soups and stews, and one person warns to leave the cheese out, which goes woody frozen. People argue oil against water: some people say water freezes into hard crystals that rupture the leaves and ruin the texture, while oil stays soft and buttery in the freezer and protects them; one person says parsley and dill freeze perfectly well in a plain bag or tub without oil at all, and one person warns a bag lets air oxidise the herbs and change the flavour, which the oil prevents. In some discussions people argue about olive oil itself: some people say freezing herbs in it is an ordinary, effective way to keep a season’s herbs; one person says good olive oil should never go below cool-cellar temperature because it solidifies, clouds and loses aroma when it comes back. On the clouding, one person points out: oil that goes cloudy or solid when cold has simply solidified — a natural physical change — and is fine for cooking — which is what these cubes are for. Some people freeze ginger and garlic whole or peeled, because they grate more easily frozen and need no thawing. For particular herbs: basil hates cold even in the fridge, so freeze it in oil or make it into pesto rather than storing it chilled; and an argument about which herbs dry well — cilantro and parsley do not, and people disagree about basil — is left as they left it, with freezing as the safer route for the soft-leaved ones. The garlic caution from the safety line belongs here too: chopped garlic in oil goes straight to the freezer or the fridge for a few days, never the cupboard.

Freeze it in tablespoons, and people have three ways to do it. Some discussions portion the rest of an opened can into tablespoon-sized heaps and freeze them — some people say they had thrown away unused paste before they thought of it, and one says half the can went to waste. The ways, one person each: heaps on a sheet of baking or wax paper on a tray, frozen flat, then broken apart into a single bag; silicone muffin cups or an ice-cube tray, one spoon per cup, then bagged; or freeze the whole opened can, open both ends, push out the frozen cylinder and cut off a slice as you need it, wrapping the rest. One person points out why a can is the wrong size in the first place: someone thought recipes used a whole can and was corrected — paste is concentrated, and a recipe wants a tablespoon or two, which is exactly why the rest sits in the fridge until it grows a skin. One person warns frozen paste may separate a little on thawing and stirs back together, and one person says the flavour and texture do not suffer. The warning, from some people: do not store the open can or the paste against aluminium foil, because the acid corrodes the foil, eats holes in it and leaves a metallic taste — baking paper, a bag or a lidded box. How long frozen paste keeps is a question people raise and do not answer, and this page names it as a gap rather than guessing. One person uses the rest in other dishes instead — into pizza sauce, a curry, scrambled eggs — which is the other honest answer.

Maybe, and people argue it, so here are both sides and the decider. Some people say tubes cost three or four times as much per weight as cans, and some people say tubes are cheaper for an occasional user because nothing is thrown away; in another discussion, some people on each side say the same; one person prefers cans for price and recycling, and some people prefer tubes and jars for the reseal; and in some discussions people argue whether freezing the can’s leftovers is the fix or whether buying a tube removes the problem altogether. People’s own decider is how often you use paste and what the two cost where you shop — one person notes that tubes are standard in some countries and a premium item in others, so there is no general answer. This page’s reading: if you use paste weekly, a tube in the fridge door ends the question; if you use it a few times a year, the can is cheaper and the freezer tray costs nothing. Either way the foil warning stands, and so does the point that a recipe wants a spoonful, not a can.

Fruit on a tray first, and lemons into whatever you will actually make. Many people cut fruit that is about to turn, spread it on a tray so the pieces freeze separately rather than as a block, then bag it, and use it in smoothies in place of the ice that would water them down; they say it costs less than a bag of frozen fruit from the shop. The rest of the lemon strand here is recipes, and this page names the routes without the recipes: some people make a lemon liqueur from the zest — an argument about which spirit to use is left as they left it — some make lemonade in several styles, some people soak the spent rinds in vinegar for a kitchen cleaner, and people make, one person each, lemon curd, which one person warns costs eggs, lemon bars, and salt-preserved lemons for stews; one person warns that halves are harder to use than quarters, and one person warns that they stay salty; one person sells the surplus to neighbours on an honour box. If none of that appeals, the cubes from the first question are the answer that keeps: juice for the pan and the glass, zest for the bake. Two sibling pages on this site carry the rest of the fridge: the dry paper towel in the salad bag, and the case for frozen fruit picked ripe.