 The ribbing is seductive. I leave it on the table until I smell a jasmine aura. When it’s juicy as a peach and there’s no struggle scooping out the guts. Eat it all in a day so that it won't sour or, worse, need refrigeration. Ripeness turns quickly to rot. The first time I went to the market in Cannes and bought a melon the woman asked me when I would eat it. I was confused. Why did she need to know that? It was like a lesson in magic. Knowing when it was ripe was her job. Ripeness is a state at odds with travel. Consider the care needed to drive anything ripe and tender the few short miles from roadside stand to home. It's like transporting a stack of porcelain tea cups. Growers who ship their produce might harvest fruit before it reaches its "last, intense phase of life."[1] The essential pleasure remains in the field. The natural cycle foreshortened. Edward Behr writes that "a melon that's picked only partly ripe will gain in juice off the vine but not in aroma or sugar."[2], so under ripe specimens will never realize their potential as a "feast for our eye and palate."[3] Niki Segnit in The Flavour Thesaurus writes, “Melons…share cucumber’s green, grassy flavor notes.” I want to make melon jam according to Christine Ferber. You should see my mom’s smile when I talk about cantaloupe and ice cream. We like a scoop of maple walnut or pralines and cream in the glorious orange bowl made by nature. To amplify the fruit’s caramel finish. It tastes like a rocket ride to childhood. Blanket flowers and cantaloupes share the season. In colour they’re cousins. I took that sexy photo. Found inspiration in a refreshing Syrian beverage: Cateloupe + organic plain yogourt, + lime juice + rosewater + too much ice + sparkling water or kombucha + mint. *** When I pull over to park on the shoulder of Highway 8 or a Lincoln County Road near a roadside stand something snaps in me. I want it all — six of this and two of that and a basket of something. I remember the region in an earlier agricultural time when the fruit trees towered over you and people from all corners of the globe grew grapes for Brights, or for wine at home, and had big gardens. When E.D. Smith was booming. My dad was always a solid gold passenger in the country around Grimsby. We'd drive through orchards near the Lake Ontario shore and past wineries heading toward the escarpment. Behind the wheel of his Black Buick Regal with the red leather interior. My family has lived in the Niagara region since the 1930s — closer to the locks and shipyards. I’d give a lot to do that with my dad again or with anyone in my family. *** "I’ve tried everything but therapy." We know. Thank you, Teddy Swims. [1] McGee, Harold. On Food and Cooking. The Science and Lore of the Kitchen. (New York: Scribner, 2004) p. 353 [2] Behr, Edward. 50 Foods. The Essentials of Good Taste. (New York: The Penguin Press, 2013) p. 84 [3] McGee, p. 353 19932023Comments are closed.
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