It’s the 4th of July weekend. I’ve bought (not made) hamburgers, potato salad, corn-on-the-cob, and even raspberry cookies for my husband. So where is my favorite food? It is missing-in-action. Watermelon – and just not any watermelon – no, watermelon that actually has a taste.
Thus begins yet another year’s pursuit of what I’m sure I experienced earlier in my life. My current theory is that in breeding out the seeds, the flavor has disappeared. So, logical conclusion – find a watermelon with seeds. How hard could that be?
Take it from me – it’s hard. Don’t bother heading to your local grocer, not even Fresh Market or Whole Foods. No, there lie pristine, green-rind, beautifully and brightly pink, and, need I say it, seedless fruits. Undaunted, I head to our Farmers’ Market. Surely there I would find someone, somewhere who understands, even if it means that I have to figure out how to carry the weighty melon without the aid of a grocery cart. But wait, no. Even they, when asked, do not even blush when they tell me that their customers don’t want seeds. Too messy, they say.
Alas, they are right. It is messy, and in fact the mess kept me from watermelon binges until the ones I hungered for assumed their place in the pantheon of gone-but-not-forgotten memories.
So, today, a sing-out for watermelons, and an apology for the superabundance of dashes in this post.
Another Sunday, a novel of historic Baltimore, http://www.cynthiastrauff.com