In the spirit of spontaneity, I went to a nearby Japanese market known for its fresh produce/fruits to scavenge for a reasonably healthy dinner. As thoughts of a fresh spinach salad with walnuts swim in my head, I brave the South Coast Saturday evening traffic on my quest.
Among the throngs of well-dressed OC-ites on the cusp of an evening on the town, I must have looked silly in my smelly flip flops, jogging shorts, and t-shirt advertising the health benefits of ursine urine. But I don't care because I'm stubbornly on a mission to satisfy gastronomic desires.
Entering the market, I am hit with a smell not common to supermarket. Instead of the subtle smells of bread, fragrant fruits, and cool steel cans of fava beans, I smelled the inside of a Hello Kitty store, the notorious merchant of overpriced stuffed animals and cute Japanese accessories for the stylish 8 year old girl. A mix of bubblegum and car air freshener causes hesitation and I wonder if I am in the right place.
The single watermelon sitting on an empty display bring my wandering nose back to reality, and the task at hand.
This was not just a watermelon sitting among oblong companions, crushing each other like hatched baby chickens. This watermelon was a loner, the remnant of a big sale sitting there watching its fellow melons get picked up by shoppers. No doubt this guy had been tapped, nudged, and squeezed all day, only to be pushed aside so that another melon could be selected.
At that moment, I felt a connection with that watermelon. Me on my solo quest to get something tasty to eat, hoping the right food will tempt me to take it home. And the watermelon, sitting there hoping to catch the eye of a shopper willing to look past the smudges, bruises, and pale outside - which no doubt hid a sweet tasting inside. I could only imagine if the watermelon were conscious, overcome with the feeling of loneliness and inadequacy like the last kid picked in a game of dodge ball.
Last week I was surprised when a tiny Japanese couple hauled away the last watermelon with I turned my back. Their look of, "you snooze, you loose" will forever be etched in my mind and I swore to never lose another fruit again. So even without the requisite squeeze to ensure its sweetness, I quickly lay claim the watermelon by putting it in my shopping cart.
Straight to the checkout line I go. No perusing the Pocky Sticks, day-old sushi, or weird Japanese soft drinks.
The watermelon tipped the scales at 39lbs! This sucker is huge and I immediately thought of all the ways I could enjoy watermelon for the next week: Soup, sorbet, frozen, juice, and of course my favorite, standing over the sink at 1am chomping down the icy sweet melon - the best cure for insomniacs, better than warm milk.
Could too much of a good thing ruin the experience?
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