The Watermelon Patch

My grandmother's vegetable garden was a wonderland. Tucked inside white planked fencing covered with grapevines, rows and rows of vegetables flourished in the well plowed clay-packed soil of our western Kentucky farm. Meticulously attended to and lovingly cared for, her garden was a lush and harsh workhorse of a garden that provided fresh food for our family during the summer months and  cellar provisions for the bleaker months. As a  newly transplanted city-to-farm boy,  her garden felt like a beautiful secret garden. The stuff of dreams. Emotionally naked and eager to please, I was the fetcher of the family. Tomatoes. Green beans. Corn. Potatoes. Summer squash. Zucchini. Onions. Beets. Carrots. I didn't harvest. I fetched. Roaming her garden with my list  drew me into her secret world, filling me with a sense of belonging I didn't know I needed or wanted. Her garden enveloped me like one of her worn tattered bed quilts. Wonderland.

My grandfather's watermelon patch, on the other hand, was a whole other story. Yards from the farmhouse and vegetable garden, the watermelon patch covered a large portion of a cow field. Surrounded by a single row of barbed wire to keep the cattle at bay, the patch was left mostly unattended through the long summer growing season in wait of the August through September harvest. Out of sight and out of mind, dozens of  watermelons were left to meander and grow through the dusty patch. If one split open from neglect, the wet beady seeds fell into the soil for the hovering hungry birds. As it wasn't my charge,  I didn't tend to the watermelon field. I played in the field of melons. I was the watcher. I knew their every move.  I watched them grow, roam, ramble, roll, split, and sometimes rot. Most importantly, under my watchful eye, I knew when it was watermelon time.

Here's the thing, we didn't fuss over watermelons. On our rural Kentucky farm, watermelons weren't utilitarian. They didn't need to be prepped, processed, preserved, canned, put up, or cooked. They were simply grown for pleasure. Big fat pleasure bombs. We'd throw a few newspapers over an outdoor table, slice open a watermelon, chop it into wet wedges, slurp the sweet juices, spit the seeds, and drink in the long hot summer.

Right now, varieties of watermelon are hitting their stride. Summer might be waning, but there are still picnics, cookouts, barbecues, and tailgates to be had. Stop by a local farmers' market and bring the watermelon patch home. Slice. Slurp. Spit. Repeat.

Or, think outside the box
and take a walk on the Thai side.

Watermelon plays well with others. Salty feta. Briny black olives. Cucumbers. Tomatoes. Basil. The sky's the limit, really. As a wet blank canvas, fresh watermelon can take the tart heat, acidic punch, and earthy funk of a balanced Thai vinaigrette.

Thai Watermelon Salad.
Aside from the vinaigrette, garnishes (accessories) are key.

Crispy fried garlic.
I sliced 5 cloves garlic into paper thin discs and tumbled them into a cold skillet along with 1/2 cup olive oil before turning the heat to medium to gently poach/toast the garlic. As the oil heated, the garlic slowly started to brown and crisp. Just before it went too far, I scooped the crisped garlic chips onto a paper towel to drain and  cool. When completely cooled, I crumbled the garlic into pieces and set it aside.




Vinaigrette.
Few things match the addictive mysterious tart/sweet/funk of a Thai vinaigrette.
Embrace the fish sauce. It's transforming.

After dissolving 1 tablespoon light brown sugar into 5 tablespoons fresh squeezed lime juice, I added
1/4 cup fish sauce, 1/2 cup water, 2 minced garlic cloves, 1 teaspoon crushed fresh ginger, 3 thinly sliced Stonehedge multi-colored Thai bird chilies, Thai basil, purple basil, and fresh mint. I mixed the vinaigrette until combined and set it aside.

Chopped salted roasted peanuts. Check.

Thai. basil. Check.
Sweet basil. Check.
Purple basil. Check.
Mint. Check.

Watermelon. Double check.
After slicing and sectioning a 5 pound Pulaski County Sugar Baby watermelon, I removed the rind and sliced the firmer flesh closest to the rind into 4" by 1/2' batons, reserving the remaining looser watermelon flesh for snacks. Leaving a 1/4" space between pieces, I stacked the batons across each other Jenga-esque and drizzled the vinaigrette over the watermelon until it spilled through the crevices and puddled underneath. After splashing the melon with fresh lime juice, I finished with bits of crispy fried garlic, crunchy roasted peanuts, basil, mint, and additional chilies.

Simple.
Fresh.
Unexpected.

Find a watermelon patch.
And play.