The myth of a lemon, incomparable in scent, plagues your mind. Soon you find yourself retracing Goethe’s bemused steps along Lake Garda’s shores, aboard a motorbike in search of its uncertain existence. Limonaie dot the shores of the lake – ancient wooden structures, like skeletons between citrus leaves, allude to its existence. Town after town, your tenacity in broken Italian sparkles like the mountains surrounding the lake. Finally, in the little town of Limone, sent by Signore Roberto, you persuade an unconvinced kiosk owner of your passions and dedication for this little citrus. Bemused by your dedication, she vanishes to reappear with three tiny jewels – the marveled Lake Garda Lemon.