Xylem & Phloem

I am intensely passionate about gardening, cooking, and entertaining. Nothing is more satisfying than preparing a meal for my closest friends. Last night I gathered some of my favorite people at my home for a dinner celebrating summer's end. Three of us traveled China together in May, so the meal was a nod to those shared memories with recipes found in a great little cookbook called The $50 Dinner Party: glazed shortribs, Asian cabbage slaw, and cashew noodle salad. But the dessert did the real dazzling. With the help of my boyfriend's knife skills, we cracked open a Moon and Stars heirloom watermelon grown in my own backyard. I held my breath as the knife slid into the melon's rind; last year, I harvested my one melon before it was ripe. But disappointment was only a faint memory this year as the two melon halves fell apart to reveal fragrant, juicy, bright pink flesh. Though my friend Claudia, accustomed to my more elaborate dessert creations, playfully balked, "Watermelon for dessert? That's it?!", my guests and I gleefully devoured half of the 14-pound marvel with juice running down our chins and hands.

This morning I toted the remaining half to my parents house and shared a piece with my childhood caretaker Rosie, a fellow watermelon lover. An avid gardener herself, Rosie and I sat at the kitchen table swapping gardening advice and commiserating over our battles with cantaloupe-eating squirrels.

These are the reasons that I grow food. One watermelon spins a web of memories: coddling it to maturity, the anticipation of cutting it open, savoring it with friends, and making plans for next year's crop. Hopefully by next summer I will have figured out why my yard-covering sprawl of vines only produced one melon! Thankfully, it was a damn good one.