And now for something completely different! I am a huge Monty Python fan, having watched the original shows in England when I was a boy. I could see the Pythons using this title in one of their sketches (Eric Idle sitting comfortably in an interview chair – “Our guest tonight – Steve Doyon to
discuss his book of post-modernist poetry, Lemons and the Urban Dilletante”). Yes, I admit it – I am completely a dilettante. What is a dilettante, some of you may be asking (and, what the hell does it have to do with lemons!) – to quote the OED, a dilettante is “A person who cultivates an area of interest, such as the arts, without real commitment or knowledge”. As self-deprecating as I am, that’s a bit harsh. I prefer to define it as a dabbler – someone who approaches a field of interest from a purely amateur perspective.
I think I’ve been somewhat of a dilettante my entire life – from as long as I can remember, I’ve always had an intense curiosity about a wide variety of subjects, and for many of these, it wasn’t enough for me to just read about them – I was always interested in trying things. Whether it was dabbling in chemistry (multiple chemistry sets), electronics (building my own burglar alarm), or a myriad of other passing interests that used to drive my parents nuts. This continued into adulthood, always with the same pattern – (a) something catches my interest; (b) I read everything I can find on the subject; (c) I start planning my hands-on approach; (d) I complete the initial experiment; (e) after a brief moment of reveling in my (often dubious) accomplishment, I 
move on to the next passing interest. One year it was a garden. My grandfather used to have the most beautiful vegetable garden at his home in Caribou. It was quite large (too large for him and my grandmother), and he grew an astounding variety of vegetables – several varieties of carrots, potatoes, cabbages, beans, corn, tomatoes, squash, pumpkins, lettuces, spinach, onions, cucumbers, peas, beets, radishes, turnips – the list was endless. He used to have a local farmer plow his garden for him, and he was so meticulous 
– keeping notes on the weather and what he planted; rotating crops; staggering his plantings so he had vegetables all season long. He was most definitely not a dilettante. My approach, inspired by my grandfather, was, unfortunately, a textbook case in dilettantism. First the excitement, generated by moving to a townhouse that had a real backyard (in Florida) – finally, a fertile field in which to replicate my grandfathers beloved garden! Then the intense reading – at that time, with no internet, this involved multiple trips to the local bookstores, buying many books on backyard gardening, and reading late into the night. This period, for the dilettante, is probably the best part – dreaming about what you could accomplish with your own hands! I ambitiously measure off a plot, covering half of my backyard. The backyard had not been maintained in some time – so there were several days with weed whackers and a lawn mower to tame the wildness. Hard work is often the death of nascent dilettante ventures. In this case, I persevered. Next step was 
preparing the soil. After a half-hearted attempt using a hoe and shovel, I quickly realized that power tools were going to be necessary. Renting a roto-tiller turned out to be quite easy…using one was a different story. These machines must be featured in one of Dante’s circles – they are loud, they are smelly, and they alternate from not moving at all, to jerking your arms from their sockets – entirely exhausting. I quickly reset my expectations and reduced the size of the garden by half. Unfortunately, I didn’t reset my ambitions with respect to the amount and variety of what I had anticipated to plant – resulting in an overcrowded garden, and one that produced barely a few servings of each item I had planted. What followed was a frustrating few months of tending the garden – the horrible sandy soil of Florida proved great at growing weeds, and terrible at growing 
robust vegetables. At some point I just gave up trying to control the weeds, and let the garden go. Finally, I began to harvest and enjoy the fruits of my labor! The magic quickly wore off – while there is some pleasure in consuming vegetables that you grew yourself, you realize that it’s far easier, and cheaper, to buy better vegetables produced by professionals, from your local farmers market. That was my last attempt at large scale gardening (however there were many other attempts at more specific approaches – herbs; tomatoes one year; etc.) – like most dilettantes, I ticked the box and moved on to the next thing.
Now on to lemons. Who doesn’t love lemons? Turns out that lemons have a relatively short history in terms of their use in food. The origins of lemons are a bit murky, but they appear to have originated somewhere in northeastern India (probably as a cross between a citron and a bitter orange) around 2500 years ago. Despite being cultivated, however, their use was primarily ornamental. Gradually spread through the Middle East, northern Africa, and Europe by Arab traders, it wasn’t until the mid-15th century, in Genoa, that lemons began to be widely used as a culinary ingredient. I found this part of 
their history to be interesting, and yet odd. Here you have a fruit that has so many uses in cooking, both as a flavoring, and more importantly, to introduce acid (which provides preservation qualities as well, something very important in those days), yet, it took almost 2000 years after their introduction before they began to be widely used in cooking. In any case, once they began to be used in cooking, their usage quickly spread, especially throughout the Mediterranean. We have Christopher Columbus to thank for bringing lemons to the New World – he brought lemon seeds to Hispaniola (now the Dominican Republic and Haiti), and cultivation rapidly spread throughout the warm climates of South and Central America, as well as parts of North America. Now lemons are an integral part of so many different cuisines – Italian, Greek, Moroccan, Caribbean Latin, Spanish, etc.
OK, lemons are great – so what? What do lemons have to do with this story. Well, first – Paula and I definitely have a lemon-centric palate. There are always lemons in our refrigerator, and almost always a cut lemon on our table at dinner – we squeeze it on our meats, pasta, etc. – we love tartness in our food, and have found it to be a great flavor enhancer. For us, lemons are an essential part of our kitchen. And it turns out that there are many different things you can do with lemons in the pantry. Over the course of the last 5 years, my kitchen ADHD tendencies have collided with my love of lemons, and their flavor profile -the citrus flavor; the brightness; the acidity. And so, readers, I get to the subject matter here – three ways to enjoy lemons that anyone can prepare in their kitchen.
Granita
Every heard of a granita? Many people haven’t, but it’s essentially the poor man’s sorbet. That may be short-changing granita a bit – but it’s a frozen dessert (or palate cleanser) that is generally made with no special equipment other than a freezer. Sugar, water, and flavorings, combined, partially frozen, then scraped or agitated over time to produce a granular, crystalline, refreshing dessert. It’s not (usually) as smooth as sorbet, but it’s more intense 
and smooth than Italian ice. While traditionally made with citrus fruit, it can be made with a variety of flavorings – including almonds, coffee, and chocolate. Granita seems to have originated in Sicily, the land of my wife’s ancestors. One hot day, I happened to channel surf across a program on traditional Sicilian lemon granita. The video pulled me in – crystal clear blue Mediterranean waters, Sicilian landscapes of lemon and olive trees – a journey from harvesting the lemons, to making the granita, and then enjoying on a 
fabulous terrace overlooking the water. It was the middle of July in NYC, and I had to have some granita. And not just any granita – the program was specific that the best granita is made with Sicilian lemons – but those that couldn’t get Sicilian lemons could substitute Meyer lemons. The process looked easy – make a simple syrup, add lemon zest and lemon juice, let it infuse and cool; put in the freezer, let it partially freeze, then scrape the frozen juice with the tines of a fork, back in the freezer, more scraping – until all the liquid has been converted into a granular, frozen treat. But…where to get the lemons. I quickly found out that it was impossible to get real Sicilian lemons in NYC – so on to the close substitute, Meyer lemons. Meyer lemons are 
generally grown in California – they have a slightly less acidic flavor than regular lemons, and the fruit is rounder. I was convinced that the only way to make anything close to true Sicilian granita was to procure Meyer lemons. The search began…we spent several weeks, rushing all over the city on my search for Meyer lemons. Paula was initially game for the hunt, but after little early success, my obsession with finding Meyer lemons grew, and Paula found herself caught up in my irrational pursuit. Every place I went to (small gourmet shops; ethnic grocery stores; etc.) hadn’t even heard of Meyer lemons, let alone stock them! Finally, I found them – Eataly, the Mario Batali 
gourmet supermarket/food emporium, received a shipment. At 3 times the price of regular lemons, they weren’t cheap. But I convinced myself it was a small price to pay for authentic (or nearly so) Sicilian granita. I found a recipe and made my granita. It was really good – refreshing, perfect for our hot and humid NYC summers. The Meyer lemons, of course, were the key ingredient…without them, what would you have? Not authentic granita, but just an imitation. A month later I found that Eataly didn’t have any more Meyer lemons, so, desperate for my granita, I bought some regular lemons. I made the ersatz “Sicilian” granita and decided not to tell Paula about my desperate substitution. Her response – and I reluctantly agreed with her – the granita tasted great…she didn’t notice any difference. All those weeks obsessing over finding Meyer lemons, only to discover that – for something like granita, anyway – we really couldn’t tell the difference. In any case, we made granita 
many times over that summer – lemon granita; watermelon granita; even a basil lime granita. They were all great – but like all my dilletante pursuits, I moved on to the next thing and haven’t made granita since. Here’s a recipe for Sicilian Granita – feel free to use regular lemons – tell everyone you used imported Sicilian lemons, they’ll never know the difference!
- 2 cups water
- 3/4 cup sugar
- Juice from 7-8 lemons (almost a cup and a half), plus zest from 3 of the lemons
Stir the water and sugar in a pan over medium high heat. Bring to a boil to dissolve the sugar, then turn off the heat. Let the syrup cool for 10 minutes, then add the lemon juice and lemon zest, stirring to combine. Allow it to come to room temperature.
Pour the mixture (some people strain it, but I like the little bits of pulp and zest in my granita) into a glass or metal pan or baking dish (a 9 x 13 works great – 
you want it to spread reasonably thin) and put it in the freezer. Allow it to freeze for 1 hour, then take it out and scrape it with a fork. Put it back in the freezer for 2 more hours, scraping it every 30 minutes. You can serve this with mint leaves, and it will keep in a granular state for a week if kept frozen and covered. In Sicily, it is traditionally eaten at breakfast with a brioche!
Limoncello
You ever been to an Italian restaurant that offered you a small glass of limoncello after your meal? It’s not extremely common in the U.S. to find this little courtesy, but travel almost anywhere in southern Italy, and more often than not you’ll be offered an ice-cold glass of (typically) house made limoncello. Limoncello is a (usually) sweet, (usually) strong liqueur made from 
lemons. It can pack quite a wallop, which is why it’s traditionally served in a small glass (often a shot glass). Especially in hot climates, it’s a nice cool refreshing way to end a meal. Paula and I love to visit Italy, and we’ve had some great limoncello over the years. A few years ago, I got obsessed with learning how to make limoncello. Unlike granita, making limoncello is not a quick process – it takes several months (or more), depending on your recipe. The process can be a bit time consuming, but it’s not that difficult, and you don’t need specialized equipment. Essentially limoncello is a combination of lemon infused alcohol with a simple syrup. Rather than give you a single recipe for limoncello, I’m going to outline the general methodology, along with my tips. I have found that there is no one ‘right’ way to make limoncello – and you can tailor it to your particular tastes. Paula and I don’t like extremely sweet things – so I generally use a lower ratio of sugar to water in my simple syrup. In addition, we don’t want it too strong, so I blend a little more syrup to alcohol to make a slightly less alcoholic ratio than many recipes I’ve found. Finally, we both like a little more tartness – so I add back in some lemon juice to my mixture, to give 
it a bit of acid. If you are one of those people (Jim – I know you are out there!) who absolutely has to have a recipe, this site (Limoncelloquest) has a good basic recipe. Limoncello can be made with almost any citrus fruit – lemons, oranges, mandarins, grapefruit. There is even a chocolate version (I’m not a big fan, and I’m not sure how it’s made – but I’ve seen it in Italy). Now, I will warn you that making limoncello (and especially, experimenting with limoncello) will require some math. It’s important to get the proper ratios for both the simple syrup (sugar to water ratio) and the alcohol content of the lemon infusion. Thankfully, this guy has put together a couple of handy limoncello calculators for you (yes, they exist).
So, let’s start with ingredients. Pretty simple – alcohol, sugar, water, citrus zest, citrus juice. First the alcohol. In Italy, you would use a basic grain alcohol – what is generally sold in the U.S. is under the brand Everclear. It’s typically 
sold at 150 or 190 proof. The problem is that it isn’t sold in every state – for example, New York, where I live. You’re going to dilute it in any case, but you need at least 120 proof alcohol to properly extract the lemon flavor from the zest. Because I can’t get Everclear, I use Vodka – not an expensive brand – you really don’t want any other flavor, just cheap alcohol that is at least 120 proof. To get the right alcohol content of my finished product without overdiluting it, I like to start with 120 proof. I want to end up with about 26% alcohol (52 proof) – but most limoncello recipes give you a product that is more alcoholic – around 60 proof. That’s where the limoncello calculator comes in handy – you punch in the amount of alcohol you are using; the alcohol content of the alcohol; and the alcohol content that you are looking for in your limoncello, and it will spit out the amount of simple syrup needed. So, I end up buying a couple of different vodkas (one at 151 proof, one at 80 proof) and blend it down to 120 proof (yes, you need math, but it’s a rather simple ratio to calculate). Be warned – too much below 52 proof, and your limoncello will freeze (or get slushy) in the freezer.
Next the lemons. You need Meyer lemons…no, not really. Any lemons will work but avoid any lemons that have been waxed. Since I’m using the zest, I generally spring for the organic lemons. So how many? Well, that’s going to 
vary widely by the recipe. It’s anywhere from 12 – 20 lemons for every 1.5 L of 120 proof alcohol. I tend to use more because I like a bit more intense flavor. This is something that you’ll need to experiment with. You need to zest all these lemons – and for that you’ll want a large microplane zester. Be careful not to bite too deeply when you are zesting – you don’t want any of the white part of the peel, otherwise you’ll get bitter limoncello – not good. Zesting this many lemons will take you some time, so be prepared. You’ll also want to think of another use for all those lemons – you’ll only be using the zest at this stage, and since you won’t need the juice for several months, you won’t be using these zestless lemons in your limoncello. I usually use these leftover lemons to make granita, or lemonade.
Once you have the 120 proof blended alcohol, and the zest, you combine them in one or two large, glass jars with a screw top. They really need to be glass. This zest/alcohol mixture is going to sit for 2 months. Yes, that’s right – 2 months. Some people say you need 3-4 months for this extraction period, but I’ve found that after about 2 months, the additional extraction of the lemon oils/essence is so small it’s not worth the additional time. These can sit on your countertop at room temperature. You’ll want to shake up the jars every day or two as the zest will settle to the bottom. The lemon essence will slowly leach from the zest into the alcohol, and you’ll see the transformation over time – the alcohol turning yellow, the zest turning pale/white.
So, you’ve waited 2 months – now comes filtering – the messiest, most time-
consuming part of the process. This is an important step – you really need to get all that zest out, along with other fine particles. I start with scooping out the zest with a large slotted spoon, making sure to squeeze it over the jar. Discard the spent zest – it will be dry and white by this point. Next, I use cheesecloth – lining a colander with cheesecloth suspended over a large bowl, I pour the alcohol mixture through the cheesecloth (I typically have 3-4 layers of cheesecloth. I do two passes with the cheesecloth. Finally, I use coffee filters – regular coffee filters. For this I use a kitchen strainer with a regular coffee filter inside. Don’t be tempted to use your Mr. Coffee pot – you will pick up some stale coffee flavors and ruin your limoncello. The coffee filters are the hardest part – you will want to do two passes, changing coffee filters in between. It will be slow going – the coffee filters will drain quite slowly. Sometimes they will bind up and you have to change the filter more than once. It’s a necessary task. You will end up with an extremely clear, yellow liquid. If you see anything floating – back to the filtration step.
The rest is easy. You measure how much lemon infused liquid you now have (because you will lose alcohol through the process). Using the limoncello calculator, you’ll calculate how much simple syrup you’ll need. Simple syrup is 
easy – combine sugar and water (again, this ratio will depend on how sweet you want it – if you like sweeter limoncello, go with 1-part sugar to 1.5 parts water…if you like it less sweet, like us, then use 1-part sugar to 2 parts water), bring to a boil to dissolve the sugar, then allow to cool to room temperature. Once you have your simple syrup, you just combine the simple syrup with the lemon infused alcohol in the amounts from your limoncello calculator, and voila…limoncello. You’ll notice the mixture getting going from very clear to slightly opaque (almost milky) – when that happens, you’ll know you’ve done it right. The other thing I do is to replace a little bit of the simple syrup quantity with filtered lemon juice (perhaps 10% of the simple syrup – so if you have need 5 cups of simple syrup, use 4.5 cups of simple syrup and 0.5 cups lemon juice) to give it a little tartness.
Now you just bottle it up. We like to use small swing top bottles and give them out as gifts. Store the limoncello in the freezer – anything above 52 proof should stay liquid in the freezer.
So that’s all there is to it. By the way, after trying this with many different citrus fruits, I found that grapefruit produces the best limoncello (well, technically it’s called pompelmocello if you use grapefruit).
Preserved Lemons
Last Easter weekend, we were invited to a friend’s house in Westchester for the weekend. His girlfriend had spent some time in Morocco and made us a fantastic Moroccan dinner that night. One of the ingredients was preserved lemon – in this case it was present in a delicious chicken tagine with olives and preserved lemons. We talked about our love of lemons, and how versatile 
preserved lemons are – and she told us how easy it was to make preserved lemons at home. We returned to the city, and I had a new mission – to make preserved lemons! Preserved lemons are nothing more than salt cured lemons. Again, these aren’t going to be quick, like the granita. They take a minimum of 1 month, and unlike the limoncello, they do improve with age – so the longer they ferment, the better. I’m going to make this one quick, and once again not provide a recipe. You can google preserved lemon recipes and you’ll get hundreds! They are all basically the same (I’ll outline the process here but use a recipe to get the correct amount of salt). You’ll take lemons, 
and cut them in quarters or fifths, not quite cutting all the way through (so they open up, a little like a flower). You will open up the lemons slightly, and pack salt between the attached wedges, as well as rub the outsides of the lemons. Let these sit in the refrigerator overnight (disclaimer – you’ll note that I do all the steps for the preserved lemons in the refrigerator – many recipes will tell you this isn’t necessary, that you can ferment and store the lemons at room temp – but out of an abundance of caution, I use the fridge). The next day they will have exuded a lot of juice. Pack them in sterilized canning 
jars and pour the juice over them – they should be covered in juice, but if not, add additional juice to make sure they are covered. Store them in the fridge for a month (or longer), giving the jar a shake every couple of days or so. To use, take out a lemon – pull off one of the 
wedges – discard the pulp (you only use the peel) and give it a good rinse. There are tons of uses for these – chop them up, toss them in some pasta with good olive oil, and you have a meal. Use them in stews. They will give a salty, tart, intense lemony flavor to your food. They keep forever – I suspect you’ll end up using them up before they go bad.
So, there you have it. A little peek into the mind of the urban dilletante. I know I frustrate Paula sometimes with all my little pursuits – when I get on a subject, I tend to get obsessed with it, but once completed, I’m on to the next thing. But I have an intense curiosity about the world, and I get really excited about trying new things; especially things that I can create myself. So, the next time you see somebody making something – whether it’s food; or a craft; or art; or whatever – and you tell yourself “Oh, I wish I could do that” – don’t wish…try it. What’s the worst that could happen?!!
People who make guitars are called luthiers, and if you asked a gathering of luthiers (yes, there are such things!) whether they consider themselves artists, I think the clear majority would say “no”, that they are craftsman. But I would suggest that surely there is artistry in their craft – hence the title of this blog post. I’m not sure this applies to all luthiers, or all guitars – but certainly I find myself admiring some guitars as I would a work of art. Some of my friends would argue that that only highlights my lack of understanding of what art is – and I’d probably agree with that. 
But the great Brahms once said “Without craftsmanship, inspiration is a mere reed shaken in the wind.” And there are aesthetic choices that go way beyond the production of sound or tone when making a guitar. For me, the way that these choices integrate into the instrument can produce beauty that is completely independent of how the guitar sounds. Those who are fans of Robert Pirsig’s great book “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” will understand what I mean. Of course, there are guitar players out there that cringe at folks like me – they see guitars as purely instruments used to convey their own art – their music – and don’t really care, necessarily, how the guitar looks. But I do play my guitars (only for myself, and not very well) – its just that I have a further interest and love in 
their aesthetic aspects. I like their shape (clearly inspired by women); I like the way they combine materials (wood; steel; bone; shell); I like the way they smell (certain types of wood have distinctive fragrances even on a finished guitar); I like the way they feel and respond when you play them (whoa, as I wrote this it started to seem a little…erotic – I’m not going there, but others have written about this as well). And once I learned a little more about the crafting of guitars, I came to appreciate them even more – the extreme attention to detail in constructing a well-made guitar is amazing.
soundboard that vibrates sympathetically from the energy of the strings and increases the projection of sound. The back and sides form the body of the guitar, along with the soundboard. The soundhole provides another avenue for sound waves to project from the guitar. The neck provides a structural component that, along with the bridge and headstock, contain the tremendous pressures imposed by the strings. The fretboard allows for changing the pitch of individual strings. The nut guides the strings to their end points on the tuners, which are mechanical devices to allow for tuning. When building a guitar, all these components must be constructed in just the right way to produce the desired sound or tone – and each luthier, while generally building from a similar “template” if they are producing a 6-string acoustic guitar, will construct their guitars in a unique or proprietary manner. Beyond the form, there are numerous aesthetic choices, and some that are 
combinations of aesthetic and function. The choice of material for tuner buttons, for example, is purely an aesthetic choice. Or the various woods and other materials that make up the rosette (the decorative ring around the sound hole). But wood choices for the soundboard, and the back and sides, are a combination of function (different woods, typically called “tonewoods”, produce different tones) and aesthetics. So, the specification for a custom-built guitar follows a pattern which considers both elements – function and aesthetics.
This is a great resource for all lovers of acoustic guitars – for players, from beginners to professionals; and for luthiers as well – I highly encourage you to visit the site. But – they can be a hard-core bunch and will argue over the most minute detail – and tone is one of the most popular and divisive topics. I daresay there is a post somewhere on the forum that argues that the choice of material for tuner buttons contributes to the tone of the guitar. While there may be some validity to the argument that all parts of a guitar somehow contribute to its tone, I would argue that the human ear cannot perceive the difference. Well – certainly not my ear. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve found that I’ve regressed with respect to discerning visual and aural quality differences. Years ago I was a true A/V nut – I had to have the latest technology; I would argue vigorously about the tonal superiority of one speaker vs another; I would fiddle with various adjustments on my equipment to produce, in my opinion, the most superior audio or visual experience, and convince myself that I could tell the 
difference. You know the type – or maybe you don’t. The interesting thing is, as technology became cheaper and cheaper, it became more accessible. It also became more ubiquitous. And as I got older, I found that I cared less and less about fine distinctions of quality. Even cheap TV’s these days produce stunning picture. The same is generally true for audio – and I think we care less about quality than we do about convenience these days. Anyway, I’ve gone off on a tangent – but the point is, as I’ve gotten older, I find I care less about super fine distinctions of tonal quality. At the end of the day, there are so many other variables that are going to contribute to that sound reaching our ears, and then our brains, that I think this obsessive focus on creating a particular tone is a fool’s errand.
well-known and respected custom luthiers in the world, currently builds around 30-40 guitars a year – by himself. He moves through this process by completing all the component parts, and assembly, and finishing, in batches. For example, one week he’ll only work on necks – he will complete all the necks for his entire year’s commissions over the course of several weeks. He’ll then move on to all the other components in batch fashion – cutting, 
sanding, and bracing the soundboards; forming the back and sides; etc. This allows him to focus on one task at a time. I find the whole process fascinating. A luthier’s workshop will have a large variety of tools – some powered, some not – large, small – and typically very well organized. The attention to detail is spectacular – tiny mitered joints, for example, on 
purflings (an ornamental border) and bindings (the edges where the top and bottom of the guitars are joined to the sides). I once had a friend who swore that these couldn’t be inlayed wood, they had to be painted on because the lines and tolerances were so tight! No – unless you have an inexpensive 
factory produced guitar, those purfling lines are inlayed and mitered by hand. Prior to the build process, there is another whole process between the luthier and the buyer – the specification process. Depending upon the luthier, this can either be very custom, with many, many choices and back/forth; or it can be minimal, where you pick a standard model with standard features (the guitar is still handmade, but to a standard specification). When I had my Olson guitar built, other than picking the wood, and fret marker, I pretty much went with a standard Olson SJ model. However, with my current build, I am very focused and involved in having Steve and Ryan (Ryan Middlebrook, another luthier who works with Steve) build a very personal, custom guitar.
strength; etc. Wood is also one of the things I love about Maine – we are a state with vast timber reserves; we are covered with it! If I think about Maine, I think about forest; coast; stone – those are its basic elements. Maine also is home to another one of the US’s best luthiers – 
soundboard; the exotic look of the fretboard and bridge, using a wood known as snakewood. More than anything in a guitar, I love the way that contrasting woods can come together to produce sound and beauty in one package. Years ago, acoustic guitars were primarily made from rosewood (East Indian or Brazilian) for back and sides; and spruce (typically Sitka spruce) for the soundboard. Yes, there were certainly other woods used – mahogany; cedar; etc. but these wood choices made up the large majority of guitars. Over time, unfortunately, many of the once common woods used for guitars have become endangered and protected. Brazilian rosewood was the first to get widespread protection, but others have followed. To be clear, the over harvesting and poor management of these trees was not driven primarily by the guitar industry (which represents a tiny portion of the use of these woods) – but nevertheless, it is becoming more difficult to source these once 
common woods. I am fortunate enough to have a Brazilian rosewood guitar built by Jim Olson – it looks and sounds beautiful – that was built using wood harvested prior to the restrictions. However, it’s an instrument that I won’t travel with outside of the US (it will probably never see Argentina), because I won’t risk it getting seized by customs (even though it was legally harvested, I won’t risk an overzealous customs agent putting me through months of grief). But the wood choices have really expanded as luthiers have become increasingly creative and adventurous in their choice of woods – woods like Bubinga; Pernambuco; Sycamore; Koa; Cocobolo; Kauri; Myrtlewood. For a good luthier, his/her wood locker is core to their craft.
fretboard; number of frets; size and shape of the neck; depth of the body; and shape of the body (if the body is slightly hourglass shape, the upper bout is the top part of the hourglass, the lower bout is the bottom part), including width of the upper bout, lower bout, and waist. There isn’t a standard nomenclature for shape and body size – you’ll see designations like OO, OOO, OM, Dreadnought, Parlor; SJ; Jumbo; etc. – and while it gives people a sense of the shape/size, each luthier will have his own models and specifications. The dreadnought shape/size was (and probably still is in terms of numbers) the most popular in the US. All my earlier guitars were dreadnoughts, but as I have aged (and have 
shoulder issues), and my guitar playing style has evolved, I now prefer smaller guitars. I think this is a typical pattern, and I suspect most luthiers will tell you that they rarely do dreadnoughts for custom commissions. Take a look at Ed Sheeran – a fantastic guitarist by the way. He uses a ¾ size guitar 
made by Martin, called an LX1. In addition, luthiers these days are finding additional ways to accommodate comfort, particularly for us old guys! Some will incorporate a bevel on the transition from side to top, instead of a 90-degree angle, to provide additional comfort.
characteristics a luthier is looking for is light but stiff, with enough elasticity to produce harmonics and overtones. Historically, Spruce was the “go to” material for most guitar soundboards, and in particular, Sitka Spruce. There are, however, many other materials that are commonly used, each providing different tonal characteristics – including Cedar, Maple Redwood, Mahogany, and Koa. Luthiers also select soundboard materials for aesthetics, some of which contribute to the tonal characteristics (such as uniformity of grain). Dana Bourgeois, the Maine luthier I mentioned before, is a strong proponent of “tonal tapping” for selecting the best soundboards. In this process, he acoustically taps the soundboards in different locations, listening for certain harmonics and resonance, and then selecting those that meet his acoustic criteria. Others don’t believe in tonal tapping at all – and focus instead on the 
bracing used for the soundboard – each luthier uses a proprietary design for their bracing, attempting to produce a consistent tone in their instruments. The braces are typically custom shaped for each soundboard – with the intent on minimizing weight and maximizing strength and stiffness in certain directions. I’m not sure about tap tones, but I do believe that 70% or more of the tonal characteristics of an acoustic guitar come from the soundboard – so this is where I focus on the type of tonal characteristics I’m looking for – whether it’s the sweeter, broader range of a Sitka Spruce or the warmer, lusher tones of a cedar, the soundboard wood choice is going to define the general tone of your guitar. There has also 
been a trend to offer soundboard tops that have been torrefied – essentially cooked in a low oxygen environment. The idea is to replicate the effects of aging by cooking off some of the volatile compounds in the soundboard. It also produces a wonderful dark shade to a lighter Spruce top. I’m not sure that I necessarily believe in the ageing effects of torrefaction – but I do like the visual aspects. My Bourgeois had a torrefied Adirondack Spruce top – you can see how the torrefication process darkened the wood.
of the tone. Others would vehemently disagree with this observation – these distinctions on what contributes to tone are endlessly argued. But for me, that’s about the right contribution. So, while the back and sides are also selected with some regard to the tonal characteristics they will contribute, the aesthetic qualities are probably a much bigger driver here. The selection of woods for the back and sides is much broader than for the top – and these days, there is quite a 
large range indeed. I’ve already mentioned some of these, but the list, as I’ve found, is seemingly endless. In addition to the general type of wood, there are also many grain distinctions – from general straight grain woods to those that are highly figured – quilting; spalting; burled; curly; etc. Interestingly enough, while some of these are a result of the way the wood is milled, many are the result of injury or disease (like burled walnut) or fungi (like 
spalted maple). Another visually striking characteristic of certain woods is chatoyance, or the cats eye effect. This is similar to the light refraction you might see in certain gemstones, like tiger’s eye. The effect in wood can be stunning, and is enhanced by polishing and finishing techniques. Again, like with the soundboard, selection of the back and side wood is partially driven by tone you are looking for. Density plays a large part here – I tend to like the sounds produced by more dense woods, like Rosewoods. For me, they produce more overtones and harmonics than less dense woods like Mahogany and Maple (although I have a wonderful 12-string maple guitar that has a beautiful crisp, sound). In addition, there is a tonal interaction between the top 
wood, and the back and sides, that must be considered when selecting woods for your guitar. Finally, one thing I like to point out to people – when you are playing a guitar, the back of that guitar is towards your body – nobody sees it. Yet many of us spend a lot of time trying to pick the perfect back from a visual perspective. I think this demonstrates how many of us love the craftsmanship and artistry of the instrument – even for elements that we only see when we aren’t playing the guitar.
fretboards, the wood of choice has historically been ebony – and for me, this is still my favourite material for the fretboard. For the fretboard, you need something that can take a beating (so you want hard and dense) and is smooth (so tight pores and oily). Rosewood is also a fretboard material choice, but I prefer Ebony. There are increasingly some exotic choices as well, that can provide some visual contrast – Snakewood is one of these, although it’s a material some luthiers find difficult to work. The bridge is the component that transfers (along with the saddle) the vibrations of the strings to the 
soundboard, so you want something that doesn’t absorb vibrations – you want hard and dense like the fretboard. And again, Rosewood and Ebony are the woods of choice for the fretboard. However recently, I chose a very unusual bridge for my latest guitar – it’s made from African Blackwood and has a section of sapwood (lighter colored) running along it. 
The African Blackwood has similar characteristics as Ebony. There are many different shapes to bridges – these are generally aesthetic choices. Here are a few interesting ones. 
The saddle is the thinner vertical material wedged into the bridge which keeps the strings a certain distance from the fretboard (this distance, known as the action, is very important in playing – too high and it’s difficult to fret the strings, too low and the strings will hit the frets when vibrating, causing a buzz. For the saddle, the materials are typically a synthetic (usually one called Tusq); bone; or ivory (sometimes fossil ivory). While I’m not too selective on this component, I typically prefer bone or ivory, 
as I believe that synthetic materials tend to absorb too much of the energy in the strings. The nut is the strip of material at the top of the fretboard that the strings angle over prior to terminating on the tuners, and sets the spacing of the strings (which is very important to comfort and playing style). Materials are similar as those for saddles.
luthier. The neck is extremely important to long term playability and stability of the guitar – it holds a lot of stress, and this component really is extremely important. As a result, I generally prefer luthiers to use a laminated neck – one that is made of 3-5 ply’s, often with a rosewood center and maple or mahogany ply’s. You need the neck to not warp from the significant stress they hold over a long period of time, and a neck carved from a single block of wood is usually too weak in some direction to provide stability over time. One thing that many non-guitar folks don’t realize is that there is a steel rod down the center of the neck, called the truss rod. The truss rod, which is typically adjustable, provides additional strength and can be adjusted for tension.
neck, which holds the guitar tuners (also called tuning machines, machine heads, tuning pegs, or tuning gears). Headstocks are typically a separate piece of wood, glued to the neck with a joint, and usually have a veneer wood on the front and back. They can either be 
solid or slotted – I don’t really like the slotted style, but many guitar players prefer the look. Again, for materials, I usually let the luthier choose the core material, and I select the veneer material. The headstock shape is typically unique to the luthier, and the headstock is also where the luthier usually puts his/her logo (typically an inlay). 
As for the tuners, you will find lots of arguments and discussions on this component as well. There are many good manufacturers of tuners, in many different styles. I like Gotoh tuners, but there are other good tuners (Waverly and Grovers are good as well). It’s important to get high quality tuning machines – you want the guitar to tune easily and stay in tune.
edges of the various guitar surfaces. The rosette, around the soundhole, is purely decorative. The soundhole itself does provide some sound transmittal, although not as much as many people think. However, there are different sizes you can choose. Increasingly popular are 
sound ports – these are additional holes in the sides of the guitars, which allow the guitar player to hear more of what his/her audience hears. I don’t have any guitars with sound ports, however my current build with Mr. Kinnaird will have one. End grafts and heels provide 
additional surfaces for decorative/protective elements. Pickguards can also provide protection and decoration – but I generally don’t like pickguards, so leave them off (and I’m not an aggressive strummer). 
Bridge pins are the little pins on the bridge that stabilize the strings in the bridge. I tend to view them as decorative elements, but some people get very passionate about bridge pin material’s contribution to sound.
like a lot of bling, others do not. I tend to be somewhat conservative. Even on inlays for fret position markers, I prefer to be very understated. I do like some inlay, and it’s a great way to personalize a guitar. Inlay materials can vary as much
as the creativity of the luthier or inlay artist – including abalone, copper, steel, silver, wood, enamel. I find that some luthiers like to do there own inlays and are inlay artists in their own right. Others prefer to work with a specialized inlay artist for anything other than simple inlays. 
rosette – this one was a clever M.C. Escher-ish fish and bird pattern. My preference is to utilize some inlays for accents – I like the look of Blue Paua (a type of abalone) purfling inlays around the body of the guitar, an even outlining the fretboard and the headstock. In the evening, these 
purflings look spectacular – they subtly glow. In addition, I like to have a small inlay done on the truss rod cover. The truss rod cover is a small, typically triangular shaped, piece of wood on the headstock which covers 
the access hole for the truss rod. It is generally made of ebony, and is a great place to do a small, personalized inlay. For my all Koa guitar, I commissioned a wood inlay from 
For my Olson guitar, I was fortunate that Jim Olson works with Larry Robinson and was able to refer me to Larry. I told Larry I wanted to come up with something that reminded me of Maine, so I had sent him some pictures, 
including a few of Hawthorne trees with berries in winter. He came back with a sketch, and then completed this beautiful inlay with African Pink Ivory, Koa, and white mother of pearl.
gluing, scraping, cutting, binding…a dizzying array of steps! These instruments are handcrafted, and the work that goes into them is stunning. Rather than describe every step, I’m just going to show you several pictures (some from my builds) 
which give you a sense of the craftsmanship involved. The work is physically demanding – for example, scraping down purflings to make them flush with the surface is done by hand. 
Hampshire, builds some of the most outstanding guitars I have ever seen. He is not only a great craftsman, he is an artist. I was particularly taken by a recent guitar Mark built, called the “Lullaby Guitar”, for a player who wanted a small guitar he could use to play
for his children at night. Take a look at the rosette Mark designed and inlayed, along with his very unique, and exquisite headstock design. He is truly an artist. One of 
the last steps is finishing. Like with inlays, some luthiers prefer to send their guitars off to a specialist for finishing. This is a much more important step than many people realize. 
Not purely decorative, finishing must be done carefully to preserve the sound qualities of the tonewoods used in construction. There are many different finishing materials preferred by luthiers, including resins, lacquers, and shellacs. 
Most standard finishes are sprayed on, but some Luthiers prefer using a technique known as French Polish, which involves multiple coats of shellac that are rubbed into the wood – it is a demanding process full of technique. The finish can make or break a guitar – apply too much and you will dampen the sound; apply too little and the wood will not be protected. Apply incorrectly and you will see little blemishes, sometimes called “checking”, appear over time. The luthier is looking for the thinnest, strongest finish that balances protection, beauty, longevity, and tonal characteristics.
sure, from my upbringing in the 60’s and 70’s), and has, over time, extended to the artistry and craftsmanship inherent in building these amazing instruments. Every time I pick up one of my instruments, I admire the work that went into their construction – many, many hours of 
care and attention to detail. Based on what I suspect are the ages of most of the participants on the AGF, I fear that there is a younger generation that does not have the same connection to these instruments as I think my generation has. I hope that’s not true, and I hope there are some of you that will get
just a little more intrigued about guitars, and maybe one of you will commission a build of your own one day. While this post has been focused on the craft of guitar building, I hope some of you are inspired to at least learn to play. You don’t have to start with a luthier-built guitar – in fact, you’d be crazy to do that! There are a few guitars I recommend for beginners – good guitars under $500 that you’ll be happy to own for a lifetime, and not afraid of the occasional dings and scratches – just contact me and I’ll provide some recommendations. Some of you have probably said “Someday I’d love to learn how to play guitar” – well get started! Make someday, today!
was always assumed that “someday” was still down the road. Something about this house was intriguing though. I called my wife and asked her if she wanted to meet me up in Maine for the weekend – I’d just stay on from my Board meeting., and we’d have a nice weekend on the coast – eating lobster, enjoying the scenery, …oh, and perhap
dreams that are attainable, and just waiting for action on our part. Little dreams (someday, I’m going to learn to play guitar), or big d
