I don’t know about you, but it’s been a crazy week post the 4th.
The gates of hell – otherwise known as high summer in Texas – have opened fully on our little hideout in the countryside, SWMBO has been buried alive at work and I’ve finally had all the ducks align in a project that has been simmering for six (yep, six freakin’) years, culminating in a burst of mind-bending, frenetic activity.
Wednesday found us on the road with short notice running to check on an issue with a real estate project we’re involved with about three hours away; it was even hotter over there and schedules didn’t allow an early or late bass outing along the way (dammit).
Along the way we passed a ramshackle fruit and vegetable stand, tucked back in a little stand of towering oaks, piled high with watermelons and decorated with signs boasting fresh shelled peas and “zookeene”.
Like the proverbial thunderbolt, I had one of those out of the blue, vivid flashbacks to the summer evenings of my youth, chasing lightning bugs and fiddler crabs along the banks of the tidal Colorado where it emptied into the Gulf of Mexico just outside my grandparents beach house.
Those summer evenings seemed just about endless way back then; the only thing that made them even better was seeing our grandfather pull up in his old Plymouth with four bags of ice and two (in the eyes of a 6 or 7 year old) giant watermelons in the back seat.
He’d saunter around to the shed in back of The Camp, dig out his beat all to hell, rusting in spots galvanized tub and bury those babies in a sea of ice. We watched in awe as if he were revealing one of the long-hidden secrets of life, and then endured the several hour wait until he’d pull the first watermelon, head to his fish cleaning table and start cutting.
Hot damn, there was simply nothing better on the face of the earth than those ice-cold slices of South Texas watermelon heaven, sprinkled with a whisper of salt from a blue Morton’s can, eaten on the run as the last rays of summer sun graced the western horizon.
Then, as now, seeded watermelons were essential so as to supply a ready supply of seed-spitting ammunition for any and everything within target range.
Then, as now, there’s nothing like an ice-chilled, fat summer watermelon with a touch of salt, though we’ve taken to sprinkling with a bit of ground ancho or Aleppo pepper to spice things up a bit.
Forget the fridge, you need those puppies on ice; your kids will remember the experience with relish too. Simple is almost always better.
See you at the watermelon tub, and I’ll bet you a beer I can spit a seed farther than you can.
2 big watermelons, seeded (see note above)
Kosher or flaky sea salt
Ancho or Aleppo pepper, ground
3 or 4 bags of ice and a big galvanized tub
Dump a bag of ice into that big tub, then lay your watermelons in and cover with the remaining ice.
Fish, sleep, eat, drink beer, chase lightning bugs or just porch sit (folding woven porch chairs only) for at least 2 hours; occasionally walk over, stare at the watermelons, thump at least one and move some ice around. It makes your watermelon zen appear all the more potent.
Cut ‘em up. Pending the size of your watermelons, and your watermelon eating preferences – are you a round slice guy or a quarter-long slice guy – cut into appropriate slices, sprinkle with a bit of salt and a dash of the pepper of your choice and go to it.
As noted, seed spitting is an essential part of the festivities.
Enjoy.
