Chilled Watermelon Soup with Cucumber and Basil

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It is said that watermelon seeds can impregnate you, a method that failed me, but probably only because I didn’t begin eating watermelon seriously until a few weeks ago.  The obsession began on the terrace of an Italian country home in Sisters, Oregon.  The trip—based on the understanding that it is never too early to embark on a girls weekend, its very nature being restorative to XXs of all ages—marked Elinor and my first together.  For this biennial tradition, we met Annie, my food kindred, and Jen, my oldest friend, at Annie’s family house in Central Oregon.

Now a mother, I understand that certain practices change from similar weekends of yore.  Instead of browning your pale skin in the sun while devouring the latest literary weekly, you read, under an unfurled umbrella, about the visual acuity of technicolor animals.  Instead of swimming laps in the pool as a diversion from excessive relaxation, you walk laps around the pool in 95-degree heat to coax your sweet pea into a sweaty afternoon slumber.

But a baby’s sweaty afternoon slumber can also lead to unexpected phenomenons.  For instance, you may also get the perfect repose.  One afternoon after Elinor had fallen asleep and we girls had discussed what girls discuss—food, old friends, and food—and Annie and Jen had gone inside for a siesta, I lay down on a shaded chaise, closed my eyes, and listened to Elinor breathe deeply.  Eight perfect minutes did I spend in this state.  And then I came to, lamenting that I hadn’t brought a case of tomatoes with me—the only way to make tomato conserva, true tomato paste, is to slowly cook down a case of ripe tomatoes and then spread it on boards to dry in the hot summer sun for three days.  I will be here for three days, and the sun is scorching, I reflected.  Damn.

Restorative dinners should generally follow such arduous afternoons, a precept with which our hosts seemingly agreed.   We sat down at the long wooden table when Duncan, Annie’s father, a precise man with lively periwinkle eyes, announced that 13 minutes remained until the sun would set, this declaration in lieu of the dinner bell.  After pausing for a moment to take in the snow-capped mountains in the distance, Annie and Cindy, Annie’s mother, an elegant hostess with a knowing smile, brought out five shallow bowls.  Of watermelon soup.

The soup was an elixir—not that there was much to cure absent a pestering thirst—but I am confident it would remedy whatever ails you on any day exceeding 88 degrees.  (Having later tried this soup on a temperate 73-degree day, I cannot vouch for its restorative effects unless the mercury has risen as previously specified.)  I do not remember its color (was it red or yellow watermelon?) or how it was garnished (mint, or was it cilantro?).  I remember only the pure essence of delicately sweet watermelon and its grainy chill hitting my mouth.  I was later told that there were almonds in it—and that they are integral—and orange juice.  It turns out that the herb was basil, and it was chopped and added to the soup itself, not as a garnish.  No matter, I find these details trivial.  The point is that I could hardly stop myself from picking up the bowl and funneling it directly into my esophagus, which is more or less what I did the next morning when the soup conveniently made its way into beautiful little juice glasses for my, and only my, breakfast.  (Thank you, Cindy.)

And, on second thought, I do believe the watermelon was seedless; otherwise, I’d probably be expecting by now.  [/donotprint]

Chilled Watermelon Soup with Cucumber and Basil
Adapted from Annie’s version

I assume that part of the reason I had such a visceral reaction to this watermelon soup on that 95-degree day in Sisters was because we had spent most of the afternoon in such intense heat, and the watermelon helped me replace much of the water I had lost.  Thus, the name watermelon, I suppose.  (Have you ever tried squeezing a piece?  Elinor has.  She turned a ball the size of a marble into a mere fleck in one swift pinch.)  Also, I didn’t add the zest of the orange or lime, but I bet both would add extra intensity of flavor.

3 cups watermelon, diced in 1/4″ cubes
1 cup cucumber, roughly chopped
1/2 small orange, red, or yellow bell pepper, seeded and roughly chopped
1.5 cloves of garlic, minced (or, for a milder version, 1 medium shallot, minced)
1 handful of almonds, finely chopped (to make more digestible and nutrients more available, soak in water with a pinch of salt 24 hours in advance)
2 handfuls of basil (or cilantro), minced or julienned (layer basil leaves, roll like a cigar, and slice thinly)
Juice of 1 medium orange
Juice of 1/2 lime
A glug or two of extra-virgin olive oil
Unrefined sea salt to taste

P R E P . Puree 2 cups of the watermelon with the cucumber, bell pepper, garlic, and almond.  Transfer to a medium bowl and add the basil, orange and lime juice, olive oil, and salt.  Stir.  Add the remaining 1 cup of watermelon.  Chill for at least an hour.  Or 24.

E A T  A N D  D R  I N K . Eat on a hot summer day with sparkling wine, particularly brut rosé (a dry version to which a small amount of red Pinot Noir is added) or demi-sec (sweet).  Or, if you’re looking for the bottle, I have it on good authority that this is it: René Rostaing Puech Chaud Blanc Coteaux du Languedoc 2007.  While moderately rich and slightly nutty—who knew the watermelon could be so demanding?—this white is also nicely acidic and of medium weight.  Sip away.

R E F I G U R E .

• Sweet and savory cocktail. Press 1/4 cup through a sieve into a lowball glass with ice; fill with sparkling mineral water; garnish with a sprig of basil.  Optional: add a shot of vodka or tequila.
• Popsicles. Puree leftover soup and pour into Popsicle molds; freeze.  Consider adding coconut milk for a creamier version.

L I T T L E  E A T S . Itsy, bitsy hands: mash or puree watermelon with raw, cold-pressed organic coconut oil (babies need lots of saturated fat, which coconut is full of; plus, it has lauric acid, essential for brain development).  Little hands: drizzle the diced watermelon with coconut oil and dust with flecks of basil.  Older kids: eat as is.  You could also blend it, add coconut milk, and serve it as a smoothie.

Text and photo © Blue Egg Kitchen 2010

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