By Popular Demand: I LOVE WATERMELON
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I do not think that words have been crafted that can describe my love of watermelon.
It is the taste of summer. When it is hot out the water in it will cool you down. If it is really hot out, you can take a wedge of it and wear it as a hydration hat (I've never done this, but lord I've thought it at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival when the temperature spikes.) It is light and refreshing, no matter how brutal the weather. It's around 90% water, so if you eat too much you'll be in the bathroom a lot, but that can make for a funny story so knock yourself out. And like all good things in the summer -- flip flops, coppertone, sand and sea spray -- it is pretty damn cheap!
It is the taste of the South. Where I grew up, the farms were filled in the summer with watermelon. And I would look out of the back window of my parent's station wagon greedily, wondering if I could escape and just run wild eating watermelon after watermelon, like a deranged Ms. Pac Man, until my stomach burst or the farmer peppered my ass with buckshot. It seemed totally worth it to me. On my grandmother's farm, getting to go pick a watermelon from her patch meant that it was almost time for lunch, the best meal of the day. Sweet tea, cornbread (the salty kind, not the honeyed abomination most of you northern southerners eat), fried chicken, crab cakes (from blue crabs that had been pulled from Alligator Creek that morning), sweet pickles, greens, etc. etc. etc....but alway, always watermelon for dessert. And then ice cream for the second dessert, because we're from the South, and we have to overfeed everyone as a sign of both prosperity and love. But honestly, I could have stopped with the watermelon, because I knew I was loved already and my stomach lining was ripping at that point. And Oh Sweet Jesus -- my grandmother's homemade sweet pickled watermelon rind? Heaven in a Ball Jar. Sadly, the recipe is lost to time, and the commercial pickled rind is shit.
It is all things wonderful to everybody wonderful. I have eaten watermelon cold, I have eaten it room temperature (including stolen from a farm, hahahaha.) It is delightful when savory (salted down with good sea salt), or sweet and teeth-numbingly cold. In Los Angeles I had it with fresh lime and chili powder from a street vendor in the Fashion District (my coworker was afraid that I would die from eating Mexican street food, but if it is watermelon that kills me I die happy.) I miss Wrapworks in Dupont Circle, but only because they had watermelon frappes with fresh mint added to the melon water. I've had amazing fancy salads at Occidental Grille and tapas at Jaleo that were watermelon based. Basically, it's hard to not do something fabulous with watermelon, whatever the cuisine and culture. And do I even need to say how awesome watermelon is as a vodka delivery device?
It is ephemeral, yet eternal. Watermelon is a summer fruit. It doesn't freeze well at all, and artificially flavored things like watermelon Jolly Ranchers are a monstrosity to me. But every summer, no matter how brutal the drought or waterlogged the flood, there will be watermelon. Just as daffodils and baby bunnies are the harbinger of spring and the promise that life renews itself, watermelon is the harbinger of summer, and the promise that no matter how hot it gets out, you won't die if you hydrate yourself with something tasty. It takes me back to my childhood, to the people I love, and to happy memories -- Proust had his lame-o foo foo Eurotrash cookies (which I know how to bake, so they ain't all that), but as long as there is dirt and water and sunshine in this world, I will have my watermelon.
Ladies and gentlemen, in conclusion: I LOVE WATERMELON.
Thank you.