Picking out a watermelon is like having a child, or so I’ve heard. You go to the grocery store and locate the pile of watermelons. You turn each one over, inspect it for bruises, knock on the outside to hear if it’s hollow, maybe even shake ‘em a little bit. Finally, you find the perfect one. You cradle it in your arms, look at it with eyes filled with instant love, and eventually take it home. It’s exactly like having a kid.
|I know what you’re thinking…MILF, right? Right?|
(I’ve just been informed that this procuring a watermelon does not in any way shape or form resembling shoving something of the same size out your hoo-haw. This is news to me, but I figured I should be the good samaritan and publicize this info for others.)
Once the perfect watermelon is in your possession, it’s customary to hold it up to the sky and sing, “Nah sa wen ya ba de bee say bobo zu tu nen na no!” (I’m positive this part really is exactly like having a kid. I’ve got a reputable source.)
|It’s the circle of life.|
Normally, I can spot a plump, pink, and round cherub of a melon from a mile away, but this time, I came home from the grocery store with the watermelon equivalent of a teenager. Like the sweet babies I’m used to buying, this melon was perfectly green and unassuming from the outside, even sweet around the edges. Below the surface, however, it was rotten at its core.
Okay, rotten’s a bit of an exaggeration, but it was white, dry, and inedible. After carrying this watermelon for five minutes on my walk home, putting a roof over its rind, and nurturing it (i.e. leaving it on my counter) for three days, you think it’d have a little more respect for its mother. It’s moments like these I’m reminded of the wise words of Sebastian the Crab: “Teenagers, you give ‘em an inch, and they swim all over.”
While this watermelon didn’t talk back or try to get away with going to school scantily clad, it did mess up my special watermelon cutting method. Cutting watermelons quickly and relatively easily is one of the only marketable skills I have, which is why it’s so important to me that some spoiled brat of a melon doesn’t mess it up.
I begin by stabbing the watermelon. That might seem a bit harsh, but I brought this watermelon into my kitchen, and I can take it right out.
Next, I cut the watermelon into fourths.
Then, I carve the watermelon away from the rind. This is the most difficult part of cutting the watermelon, akin to potty training, I assume.
Then, I cut 1″ slices widthwise over the wedge.
Then I do the exact same thing lengthwise on both sides of the wedge, creating instant squares.
Normally, the best squares are the ones that easily fall out as soon as you tip the wedge over the bowl, but I couldn’t do that this time because those were the pieces that were going through puberty. (If you’ve ever gone through puberty or seen anyone else ever on Earth go through puberty, you know it’s not pretty…or, in this case, yummy.) Despite the rotten inside, I was able to salvage the majority of the watermelon and made fruit salad with it.
Of course, my ideal fruit salad only contains one kind of fruit.
You know that jerk who only eats the watermelon out of the fruit salad? She stands over the bowl, methodically picking out each plump, pink piece, purposefully tossing aside the cantaloupe and honeydew pieces, meanwhile disregarding everyone waiting in line behind her who might also like some watermelon. Yeah, that’s me. I like to think I’ve outgrown most of my selfish teenage brat attitude, but not when it comes to watermelon. I love the dash to the giant bowl, the hunt for the tiny, perfect pieces, and the rush of adrenaline that comes when I snipe an especially ripe piece.
Lindsay’s “Because I Said So” Fruit Salad
- 1 watermelon
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