It's that time again... the time of year when the watermelons abound. Does anyone else hear the word "abound" and think of objects bouncing around like bunnies, or is that just me? Anyway, I walked in to the office yesterday and in the break room (which is conveniently located right behind my cube, which makes my desk a very popular spot for random office-type congregations with a party-like atmosphere, or at least that's what I tell myself) and was greeted (metaphorically) by a huge bowl of watermelon wedges. It was bliss! Fresh, seedless watermelon for breakfast. Then they brought in barbeque for lunch and it was like a summer picnic had erupted in the office.
Then the debates began. To salt or not to salt one's melon, which isn't a euphemism.* I'm pretty sure I learned the wise and beautiful practice of salt-on-watermelon from my dad. Beyond that, I don't recall where the battle lines were drawn in our house, though it totally wouldn't surprise me if my brother were a non-salter, because he's also totally weird and doesn't like potato salad or baked beans, which pretty much makes him a great big downer at any back-yard picnic type function, except for the fact that he's really good at grilling, and honestly, since he doesn't like those things that just means I don't have to share with him and get more to myself, so I rescind the previous party-pooper accusation but still claim he's a weirdo!
Where was I? Oh yeah... salting watermelon. It's good. I'm not going to explain or defend its goodness, because it's one of those things that you're either for or against and can't really be talked out of. I mean, watermelon without salt is still good. Of course it is. I just think it's better with salt. It's not like the mayo-Miracle Whip thing. Miracle Whip is a weird impostor and I'm sort of sad that it lives in my house but I love my husband enough to put up with his weird "salad dressing" needs. I guess it's sort of like the pickle thing: Bread & Butter pickles are ok... but if given the choice, I'm always going to choose a dill, because... come on! DILL!
Anyway, we've already talked at length about some of my other food preferences, so I'm not going to go into that again, but I am surprised by how very vehement people can get about the way they like their food. I don't really care for olives, but I'm not going to make faces at people who eat them... well, not to their faces anyway. And sushi... it makes my eyeballs want to roll back into my brain to get away from it, but I am glad that there are other suitably cool people to eat it. I accept the fact that I am just not cool enough for sushi and bleu cheese and capers and stuff. Ok, I can't take the total moral high-ground here because I'm pretty sure I'd squirm and make faces just hearing about some of the stuff that people eat in other countries... and then I try to explain pickles and cheese and realize that maybe someone somewhere is totally freaking out that I let rotten moldy milk touch my food--ON PURPOSE! So anyway, all's fair in love and food. Except Miracle Whip. Ew.