Can Watermelon Get Any Better?
Sep. 6th, 2009
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Though summer isn’t officially over for a couple more weeks or so, Labor Day weekend is the final blowout, and the perfect chance to showcase late summer bounty. All those gorgeous tomatoes, sweet juicy corn on the cob, and of course the quintessential summer cook-out treat – watermelon.
I remember as a kid at summer family gatherings looking forward to a stone-cold chunk of flamboyant pink watermelon, studded with black seeds my uncle Dennis told me would turn into watermelons in my tummy if I swallowed them. It was some years before I recognized his ploy to get my cousins and me to sit on the porch step and spit seeds.
I’ve long considered myself a traditionalist when it comes watermelon. Salt is a sacrilege. Sweet, sticky watermelon needs, and should have, no embellishment. An overnight in a fridge and a carving knife is all that’s needed to enjoy.
But I tried a friend’s watermelon at lunch recently, yellow melon bathed in lime juice and basil. It was a revelation. Watermelon needn’t be consumed in wedges gripped with sticky fingers. So with my farm share melon recently I decided to try my own watermelon salad.Recipe searches online turned up lots of varieties with feta – this falls under the category of salting your watermelon in my book, so I passed. Instead I made a mint-infused simple syrup (much like I make for mojitos). A quarter cup of sugar dissolved into a quarter cup near-boiling water gets a handful of fresh mint leaves stirred in. After it cools, remove the mint for a lovely minty-sweet syrup. My obliging husband chopped and seeded the melon, and I tossed the bright red chunks in the mint syrup, freshly squeezed lime juice and some more mint, thinly sliced.
The result? Different indeed from the wedges I attacked with such abandon as a kid, but a fun and tasty addition to any late summer party. I’d have it anytime – just hold the salt.
//Photo by Dana McMahan
Dana has eaten her way from Inverness to Istanbul, and from Monaco to Morocco. A food and travel writer, she lives to explores the world and tell stories of foods discovered and meals devoured in far-flung lands. She once hand-carried a tagine across three continents in order to recreate a Moroccan feast, her backpack smells of spices, and she has been known to smuggle butter home from Paris. Her most recent adventure was learning all about the duck at Camp Confitt in Gascony, France. When at home in Louisville she dishes on restaurant news for her column in the Courier Journal.
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