Melons
I got "stuck" in WholeFoods last night.
This is nothing new. I frequently freeze up when confronted by too many options, and it is most common at the grocery store, where one typically buys a large number of items, all of which come in multiple versions, brands, sizes.... So if you come across a 26-year-old brunette picking up and replacing the same three cartons of milk over and over, or just standing there in front of the bagged salad like a statue for a freakishly long period of time, that would be me.
This time, though, I got stuck because I saw something I recognized.
Ever have a Charentais melon? I had some about a decade ago, during my first trip to France, and they are about the most wonderful things ever. The outside looks like a small round watermelon, the inside looks like cantaloupe, and the taste is just...it's like the Platonic ideal of cantaloupe: that taste and texture you hope for with each bite, but never quite get. Actually, it's like that but sweeter.
So, ten years ago, my host sister cut into one of these luscious little things, and started the obsession. See, all she knew to call it was a "melon." Ever tried to Google "melon" to find an obscure type? I knew they came from southern France and Spain, and I knew how they looked, and for eight years I kept my eyes open. Then I went on my Great Europe Trip, when I knew them by sight in Barcelona. My mother agreed that they were...special. I spotted them again on the Paris leg of the trip; Nick was underwhelmed, but he's abnormal. Two years later, someone hacked into one on Iron Chef America, and I finally had a name.
Of course, when it came right down to it, I didn't need one last night. Even though the colors were reversed, like the negative of a melon, I knew what I was seeing immediately. Charentais melons, in the winter, right in my own grocery store, and for only about eight times what Nick would pay if he walked about a block this morning.
They were from San Juan, they looked pretty mutilated, and it was practically December--I had doubts. So I found the most intact one, and sniffed it, and then I was stuck. I stood there for a good long time, lost in the middle of two different summers in the middle of WholeFoods, and I felt the Earth turn for a while.
Conveniently forgetting how difficult it had been for Nick to open ours (Mom, remember when we brought the coconut back from Florida? Remember Ben, with the hammer and the cursing?), I found myself unwilling to let the thing go. I made a complete fool of myself to the cashier, who asked about it, but, in retrospect, probably wasn't curious enough for the amount of description I responded with. I spent the subway ride monitoring the air for any hint of melon smell--could it be a little overripe? Or was that just the guy across the aisle?
But I'm back, and it's perfect, but it really can't wait any longer. So I'm off to raise my biggest knife over my head, and hope for the best.
This is nothing new. I frequently freeze up when confronted by too many options, and it is most common at the grocery store, where one typically buys a large number of items, all of which come in multiple versions, brands, sizes.... So if you come across a 26-year-old brunette picking up and replacing the same three cartons of milk over and over, or just standing there in front of the bagged salad like a statue for a freakishly long period of time, that would be me.
This time, though, I got stuck because I saw something I recognized.
Ever have a Charentais melon? I had some about a decade ago, during my first trip to France, and they are about the most wonderful things ever. The outside looks like a small round watermelon, the inside looks like cantaloupe, and the taste is just...it's like the Platonic ideal of cantaloupe: that taste and texture you hope for with each bite, but never quite get. Actually, it's like that but sweeter.
So, ten years ago, my host sister cut into one of these luscious little things, and started the obsession. See, all she knew to call it was a "melon." Ever tried to Google "melon" to find an obscure type? I knew they came from southern France and Spain, and I knew how they looked, and for eight years I kept my eyes open. Then I went on my Great Europe Trip, when I knew them by sight in Barcelona. My mother agreed that they were...special. I spotted them again on the Paris leg of the trip; Nick was underwhelmed, but he's abnormal. Two years later, someone hacked into one on Iron Chef America, and I finally had a name.
Of course, when it came right down to it, I didn't need one last night. Even though the colors were reversed, like the negative of a melon, I knew what I was seeing immediately. Charentais melons, in the winter, right in my own grocery store, and for only about eight times what Nick would pay if he walked about a block this morning.
They were from San Juan, they looked pretty mutilated, and it was practically December--I had doubts. So I found the most intact one, and sniffed it, and then I was stuck. I stood there for a good long time, lost in the middle of two different summers in the middle of WholeFoods, and I felt the Earth turn for a while.
Conveniently forgetting how difficult it had been for Nick to open ours (Mom, remember when we brought the coconut back from Florida? Remember Ben, with the hammer and the cursing?), I found myself unwilling to let the thing go. I made a complete fool of myself to the cashier, who asked about it, but, in retrospect, probably wasn't curious enough for the amount of description I responded with. I spent the subway ride monitoring the air for any hint of melon smell--could it be a little overripe? Or was that just the guy across the aisle?
But I'm back, and it's perfect, but it really can't wait any longer. So I'm off to raise my biggest knife over my head, and hope for the best.
posted by Caroline | 12/01/2006 05:31:00 PM
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