Melon-choly Baby

For me, any melon is always on a roll...

Is there a more perfect fruit than a Cucumis melo var. cantalupensis? I love that last word. Sounds like something one would be wary of catching, but I catch all I can!

In the early 20th century, the Charentais melon was introduced to Cavaillon, France. Now known as “the Cavaillon melon,” this coveted variety of melon actually originated in the Poitou-Charentes region of France, most known for its cognac production. Maybe put a little booze in the hollow of a melon and get…well…mellow.

The cares of this very disturbing world slide away for me when the famous Cavaillon melons hit the markets in late April, heralding the summer and its bounty of stone fruits and berries, but the Cavaillon remains queen. And here in the Pyrénées Orientales these little webbed rounds of goodness are often cut in half, cleaned of seeds and filled with our local sweet wine, Banyuls, a little lake in which to bathe morsels of melon.

Years ago, as we wandered through Provence on a lovely June jaunt, the air perfumed with the smell of Cavaillon melons, we often stopped at tiny markets everywhere overflowing with succulent globes. A little park bench and my Swiss army knife were a perfect combination for a mid-morning melon stop.

Best to have lots of paper napkins in the purse, too.

And back at our hotel, I placed two small perfect melons on the windowsill overnight for a picnic the next day and could barely sleep as I imagined slices of our Cavaillons with smoked salmon and the dark beautiful bread we had found in a local bakery.

You see what matters in our lives, no? Museums, events, slick restaurants, exotic concerts all pale beside a perfect slice of melon, tasting of summer and honey.

And for easy and pretty aperos in summer, I wrap melon balls with strips of smoked salmon secured with toothpicks, sprinkle them with fresh pepper and lime juice and serve them in their original home.

Alas, when the season changes, with woodmoke in the air and melons replaced with sweet onions and greens and beets and potatoes, I feel such sad nostalgia for my melon-filled spring and summer that it’s hard to imagine the months ahead without our little globes. There is also the guilt for having had such a long melon season when in other parts of the planet, a melon is a rare and precious jewel!

But, miracle of miracles, this past winter our local vegetable purveyor offered large crisp-fleshed melons from Morocco, winter melons called by many names but ours were from Spain, just down the road, oblong and pale green with litte yellow stripes, the ‘pied di sapo’ or toad skin melon. Love the name. I let it sit for three or four days to settle itself before attacking it with my trusty melon-baller and gracing our breakfast, lunch and dinner with vitamin-packed morsels.

Their crisp minimal sweetness was a healthy addition to our bleak grey days, but of course, they will never be a stand-in for the Cavaillon beauties that are now driving us mad again.

Still, any melon is okay on my table. And now in these warm and welcoming Spring days, I can forget my melon-choly of winter.