AMAZING HEIRLOOM MELONS
THE TASTE OF MELONS at their peak, oozing honey-like sweetness, is incomparable. And no other homegrown “fruit-vegetable” seems to kindle as much love and laughter as a watermelon. Picture yourself with friends and family at a farmhouse kitchen table or in the backyard, picnicking in the shade of a catalpa tree. Everyone is sated from Sunday dinner. There’s a pause in activity, and a somnolent lull. But soon enough, it’s time for dessert: an heirloom watermelon, harvested fully ripe and allowed to cool overnight in a tub of water. When thumped, it makes a dull punk sound. When cleft with a knife, it snaps and rumbles, cracking open to reveal an expanse of crisp and juicy red flesh with glistening black seeds.
The ‘Santa Claus’ casaba was my first melon love. For weeks, I’d waited for the fruit to ripen, until one morning it was ready, lolling in the garden like some outlandish hot air balloon, its wrinkled yellow skin covered
