There’s not much that says summer better to me than a freshly cracked watermelon. As a kid I preferred them to a cake for my summer birthday and still hold my own private melon celebration annually. My grandfather used to grow acres of them and I can still remember him ‘accidentally’ nudging one with the tractor tire on hot summer afternoons. All we could do was hop down and make use of the two giant spoons he kept in the pocket of his coveralls for just such emergencies. The agony of farming at its juicy best.
Canada’s domestic melons from the Ontario Valley usually ripen late, a full month behind the overpriced imports from the rest of North America, but arrive they did last week. Seven dollars each is a far cry from the the ones you can pick yourself in the field for a buck a piece down south but such are the perils of cross-continent shipping I suppose. When my local megamarket offers them for half price to attract customers as they did last week I go into red and green overdrive.
My first few simply get chilled in the fridge for an hour or two and served with nothing but a pocket knife on sweltering farm afternoons where the seeds can land where they may. On those that might be a bit less sweet than I’d like I’ve always reached for the fine sea salt since very scant sprinklings can actually boost the flavour.* That’s always the roulette wheel of ripeness you spin with watermelons grown in cooler zones. They stop ripening when picked so if you get shortchanged on sweet, you’re stuck with uninteresting melon until you get back to the farm. I’ve heard every possible method for predetermining readiness you can imagine in my extensive watermelon life. Thumping, weighing, colour divination, stem soothsaying, bump massaging… most of which are just guessing. The only real test is to break it open like Mother Nature’s fortune cookie. You never quite know what to expect which is part of the fun when you win big on flavour. Like melon Vegas in a way.
* If you’re really unlucky in the melon lottery and have guests on the way only to find that the one you bought simply isn’t ripe enough, you can use sugar in borderline cases as you would salt (in tiny, tiny pinches) to try to rescue the menu. Or break out the greens and make a feta-laced salad. I’ve also made pickles from peeled watermelon rinds but that’s a story for another time.
After the first seasonal fills of melon sink in I start thinking about other flavours to add to the party. Every few years the ‘melon and feta’ salad craze takes hold as people cotton on to the chic culinary version of my old-time salt meets sweet trick. Celebrity chefs all have a version, e.g Jacques Pepin, Ina Garten, Jamie Oliver, et. al., some simple some complex, that predictably inject another main ingredient-of-the-day to differentiate their versions. Usual suspects include olives, sweet onion, or rocket (arugula) each of which I find pleasant enough as well as mint which for me seems a bit strong in context, especially when picked out of the garden minutes before serving. My notoriously heavy hand when adding herbs might also be to blame there.
Asian cooks have an affinity for coriander leaf (“cilantro” to the Americans) in the melon salad context but often bring distracting additions along for the ride and rarely opt for feta. Latino cooks also use coriander successfully alongside jicama and chile for an interesting if not crowded approach. Coriander leaf is my third flavour of choice, used sparingly, for a more simplistic course of melon action. I take the time to marinate the feta in a few bonus flavours before assembly but don’t make it into a grand production piece. I really don’t even like to call this a salad as much as a plate full of interesting tastes piled together. You’ll catch me eating it standing next to the sink or sitting on the front stoop just as often as serving it to dinner guests on pretty plates.
To avoid those plates drowning in a juicy flood drawn out of hiding by the salt, I put naked chilled melon on the table in one bowl and everything else in another. Spoon the latter onto the former when people have forks in their hands at the ready.
Watermelon, Feta, & Coriander Salad
1 large seedless watermelon
300 grams feta
1 particularly small bunch of coriander leaf, stems removed and chopped fine
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil (i.e. the good cold-pressed stuff with flavour)
Freshly ground black peppercorn to taste
Several drops high-quality balsamic vinegar* -or- 2 teaspoons fresh lime juice
* I’m talking about real Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale from Modena. If you have only ‘grocery store’ balsamic, skip vinegar entirely and go with the lime juice.
Yield: Four finished plates plus extra left over if you have huge melons (insert your own joke here)
On a large flat work space use your biggest knife to cut three-inch wide rounds from the melon. Lay each flat and cut the outer rind from the flesh in sections as you rotate each round. Cut each round of trimmed melon into three-inch chunks and place in a large bowl to chill for an hour.
Meanwhile cut or crumble the feta into any size you like and place in another bowl with the remaining ingredients. Mix lightly with fingertips to coat completely and refrigerate until ready to serve.
Serve separately at the table by spooning the feta mixture over the melon at the last moment. A few extra wedges of pristine feta on the side always seem welcome additions too. People delight in experimenting with the salty cheese meets sweet melon combination.
