Try a taste of Fandango

Watermelon is quintessential American, Fourth of July food. But it’s also, appropriately, an immigrant, and for years the question was, where did this all-American classic come from?

Scientists worldwide couldn’t figure out where the watermelon plant originated and would, therefore, be found growing in the wild. They knew that the Egyptians were growing watermelon more than 5,000 years ago (its seeds and leaves were found in Egyptian tombs) and that historically watermelons had long been cultivated in countries along the Mediterranean trade routes. It wasn’t until the 1850s that the world learned the origin of the mysterious melon. That’s when the British missionary and explorer David Livingstone (the very one of “Dr. Livingstone, I presume?” fame) came across watermelon vines growing wild in the Kalahari desert of southern Africa. It’s not recorded whether he proclaimed, “Watermelons in the wild, I presume?” when he found them.

Still under continuing discussion is whether watermelon is a vegetable or a fruit. It has seeds (the usual signifier of a fruit), so it’s the fruit of the watermelon vine, says one faction. No, no, it’s related to squash and pumpkin, so it’s a vegetable, says another. Oh, just call it a “fregetable” and enjoy it, says a third contingent. (I’m firmly with the fregetable folks.)

Watermelons these days are served up in a range of sizes, huge ones that can feed a crowd and cannonball-sized babies that can serve two, max. The inside flesh can be red, pink, yellow, even orange or white. And the names of watermelon varieties are wonderfully evocative — Congo, Calsweet (a variety from California, of course), Charleston Gray — and those are just a few of the ones that begin with “C.” Just listen to the rhythms and imagine the tastes of Summerfield, Black Diamond, Fandango, Moon and Stars, Firecracker, Little Baby Flower, Sangria and You Sweet Thing. And then there’s Sorbet Swirl, a watermelon with flesh in pastel swirls of red and yellows — how cool is that?

Indisputably, whatever the size or color of watermelon, it’s a delicious and glorious part of summer. “When one has tasted it,” wrote Mark Twain, “he knows what the angels eat. It was not a Southern watermelon that Eve took; we know it because she repented.” (Make that Watermelon 1, Apple 0.)

The sweet-fleshed watermelon assays at about 92% water — which surely is how it got its name — and ends up being a cross between a drink and dessert; it often gets served both those ways. Watermelon now also finds its way into appetizers, soups (try watermelon gazpacho to put a smile on your face), salads and main dishes.

But it’s hard to beat the relaxed, messy joy of a simple wedge of watermelon eaten with friends outdoors. Eat the slice straight, or go upscale by rubbing a slice of fresh ginger across it, maybe with a squeeze of lime. Ah, the classic backyard pleasure of watermelon amid fireflies or fireworks. You gotta love it.

Ellen Ficklen is the author of Watermelon, published by the American Folklife Center of the Library of Congress. She is a writer and editor in Washington, D.C.