Cantaloupe with Tarragon Sugar

My sister spent the summer in Copenhagen, and the souvenier/birthday present she brought me was a cookbook from Grød. My interest in food makes me easy to shop for, and, this being a somewhat more obscure and unique cookbook, I’m sure it practically called my name. Grød is a small specialty restaurant focused on porridge, which makes its cookbook a timely gift for the season. What I like most about it however is its creativity, especially for what is essentially a type of dish that is already a mainstay here: Buddha Bowls. If Grød were looking to set up shop in the States, it would be right at home in Eugene.

The idea behind this gift was it would be nice for the increasingly cool weather, but as you can see from the title, it ended up inspiring a very summery dessert. It was right around my birthday that our CSA melons finally appeared, and my husband and I merely split them in half and went at them with a spoon. The most recent farmshare’s melon was spared though while I had tarragon sugar rolling around in the back of my mind.

One of the aspects of Grød’s recipes that struck me most was how adaptable they could be to Oregon and Pacific Northwest flavors. The closest they came on their own was a rice porridge topped with hazelnuts, pear, and tarragon sugar. Tarragon doesn’t get the love that it should and I’ve been trying to rectify that ever since I first opened my homemade tarragon vinegar. But aside from chicken salad and bearnaise, I was at a loss until that appeared. If tarragon sugar was good with pear, then why couldn’t it be sprinkled on a fruit salad? And why not other herbs? Suddenly a whole world of herb sugars opened up to me. In fact, I had been so caught up with finishing salts all this time, I didn’t even think about finishing sugars.

Cantaloupe, or musk melon, seems to pair well with tarragon. But this sugar intensifies its flavor, so finding the right balance still requires some work. There’s also the issue of texture, as the sugar’s graininess isn’t quite the right contrast to melon’s softness. I think the sugar ought to be finer, so it melts easily, or more coarse, so it provides crunch. All things I’ll just have to experiment with…

Cucumber Melon Ice Pops

I have a love-hate relationship with popsicle molds. The bundt pans of the freezer, they make such pretty ice pops, especially if you’re a food photographer. But then there’s the fact that they require a flat, open space in the freezer, and the tendency for the plastic sticks (if that’s the kind you’re dealing with) to pile up in the sink because nobody likes washing that kind of shit. Plus you’re kind of stuck with the same popsicles and a sticky mold until you finish all of them. One day when I have a big house and a large chest freezer in the garage next to my fermentation lab, I’ll make gorgeous popsicles for special occasions. Maybe. But for now, I’m going to enjoy my ice pop baggies, and try not to feel too bad about using more plastic.

Not so long ago, these baggies were impossible to find online, save for small quantities of over-priced zip-lock versions. Another blogger was fortunate enough to have family bring her a supply from the Philippines, and I was tempted to see if I could talk her into hooking me up. Fast forward a few years, and there’s more than one to choose from on Amazon. The ones I bought make ½ cup look like a generous serving, and still leave plenty of room to tie off the end.

My most recent CSA basket included a large cucumber, and it seemed a shame to do nothing more interesting with it than cucumber water or sliced onto salads. I enjoyed cucumber and lemon “spa water” ice pops while I was pregnant and couldn’t have sugar, and have been wanting to try more frozen cucumber treats ever since.

For these I chose honeydew melon, first because it’s one of my favorites, but also because I didn’t want to muddle the soft green color. Feel free to use any popsicle mold you might have in lieu of the baggies.

Cucumber Melon Ice Pops

• 1 small-medium cucumber (I used ½ of a large one)
• ½ small honeydew melon, peeled and roughly chopped
• juice of 1 lime
• 2/4-1 cup simple syrup
• pinch of salt

Peel and roughly chop the cucumber and add to a blender with the melon. Add the lime juice, salt, and enough simple syrup for the cucumber mixture to blend (or to taste). My batch needed about ¾ cup. Taste and adjust as needed. You should have about 4 cups of puree.

If using the baggies, insert a small funnel into the open end and pour ½ cup puree into the baggie. Tie off and repeat. Don’t forget to leave a little room for expansion. Otherwise, freeze in your desired ice-pop form.

Damn it! I wish I had toasted shredded coconut.

Honeydew is still my favorite melon, but Crenshaw isn’t far behind. It’s probably for that reason I was able to think about actually doing something with the Crenshaw I’d picked up, rather than just sitting down with a chilled half and a spoon; what tends to happen with any Honeydew I buy. Some chefs are put off by the whole farm-to-table concept exactly for this reason; you’re supposed to do something with the ingredients, but sometimes certain things are just so good that you can’t help but enjoy it as it is. I can understand and appreciate both sides, but whenever I buy fruit or something and just consume it as is, I can’t help but think of a moment in Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon, which probably stuck with me because it was about food.

In the scene, Pilot is being observed by her nephew, Macon, as she peels and eats a hard boiled egg while still standing over the stove top. Macon then describes Pilot and her family as eating “like children.” Though I read the book in college, I still ponder on the meaning of this tiny simile. Are they like children because they eat so simply? Is it the similarity to foraging? Is the farm-to-table concept childlike for an ideal of enjoying berries straight from the vine?

Certainly, in many circles farm-to-table just means not “farm-to-truck-to-artificial ripening chamber-to-store-to-table,” so I don’t let myself worry about it too much. But I do continue to feel a nagging push to actually do something with what I buy. What matters though is the challenge of elevating it, rather than simply changing it. “Anything that is simple to make, is equally simple to fuck up.” I’m infrequently sure which I manage to accomplish, but I’ll never know unless I keep challenging myself.

So, I took my Crenshaw, and I did something with it.

I’ve been around the food part of the internet enough, for long enough, that I’ve seen the coconut and melon pairings. With this heat we’ve been having lately, I was more than happy to start there. I also happened to have rose petal jam on hand again, and a little dollop of that fit right in. Photographs were taken; bowls of delicious Crenshaw, soft and sweet, laced with coconut and rose, were eaten.

Then it occurred to me some chopped, salted peanuts would be a nice addition. They were, and the next night photographs were taken, and bowls of Crenshaw, soft and sweet, laced with coconut and rose, intermittently giving way to the crunch of peanut, were eaten.

Then it occurred to me that some toasted, shredded coconut would have really made the dish. But I didn’t have any shredded coconut. Or anymore melon.

Crenshaw with Coconut and Rose

• 1 Crenshaw melon
• 1 can coconut milk
• 1 Tbs sugar
• 1/8 tsp vanilla
• pinch salt
• salted peanuts, chopped
• shredded coconut, toasted
• Rose Petal Jam

Peel and dice the melon, or if you prefer, harvest the flesh with a melon baller. Chill in the refrigerator.

In a saucepan over medium low heat, combine the coconut milk, sugar, vanilla, and a pinch of salt. Stir until sugar is dissolved, and remove from heat. Transfer to another container or bowl to chill.

Just before you’re ready to serve, chop the peanuts and toast the coconut. Set aside.

To assemble, portion the melon into bowls. Ladle a few tablespoons of the chilled coconut mixture over the melon. Sprinkle with chopped peanuts and toasted coconut. Top with a small spoonful, about 1 tsp, of rose petal jam. Serve.