It is almost as if Bengalis are keeping the wondrous citrus under wraps so that it is not hijacked by someone else. Call it lime, lemon or lebu, use any spelling of gondhoraj (aroma king), but the internet cache will be woefully small.
It is too oblong and somewhat hard to be summarily and nonchalantly squished by hand anyway. Cut into longish quarters with the thick green rind intact, it has to be gently pressed to extract but a few drops of actual juice and plentiful bits of aromatic pulp. That minuscule quantity has traditionally been enough to pep up the dullest daal or the most insipid vegetables, on a sweltering summer day.
engali restaurateurs and chefs, however, have sniffed a star in the gondhoraj lebu and are now featuring it liberally in their menus and using them in entirely new dishes.
The lone plant I brought back from a trip to Kolkata produced one solitary lime. It had pride of place on my kitchen counter till it was in grave danger of drying up, and I reluctantly used it to flavour several days of my morning cuppa of light Darjeeling.