Carve and feed:
My melon calling, baby
Last summer, I somehow found myself delegated to fruit salad duty for my mother-in-law’s 70th birthday party. Secretly, I was delighted. Sometimes I thought if it weren’t for my silly PhD in marine biology and a steady job as an educator, I might have styled fruit for a living.
My first experience with decorating food came as a youngster. Ever since I could follow orders, my mother had me and my younger brothers help prepare for our annual multicultural Japanese New Year celebration. “Okay, cut the kamaboko zig-zag like this,” she would say, handing me a semi-circular bar of fish cake. I also cut flowers out of radishes so they spread out after leaving them in water. A big part of Japanese cuisine is making things look good.
satisfied myself with carving a decent scalloped edge without suffering any digital reduction.
Then one day, probably after reading her latest Chatelaine magazine, Mom found a new challenge for me.
“Carve this to put fruit salad in,” she said, placing a big round watermelon on the table. Green in the ways of carving fruit into containers, my first efforts were mechanical. I satisfied myself with carving a decent scalloped edge without suffering any digital reduction. Eventually, I worked my way up to more challenging designs that included words. Carving out “HAPPY NEW YEAR,” I developed a greater appreciation of the structural implications of the letters in the alphabet and the value of a sharp knife.
But that was all long ago and far away. I was feeling a little intimidated when my wife’s aunt brought over the fruit supplies. She and her offspring ate pizza and watched Shrek on video, while I set to cutting the first watermelon in two and scooping out each half and making them into melon balls. I decided to warm up by scalloping the edges. I now know to mark out the notches evenly, taking advantage of the radial symmetry of the fruit.
whale? How the heck do you make a whale out of watermelon?
“Hey, that’s not bad,” said a cousin-in-law. “Can you do anything else?”
“Yeah, how about something interesting,” said the insatiable aunt, “like a whale.”
“A whale? How the heck do you make a whale out of watermelon?” But even as those incredulous words slipped from my lips, a vision filled my head. Of course! The mouth could be wide enough to provide access and deep enough to hold fruit. The removed wedge could become the tail. I decided to sleep on the challenge and let my subconscious sort out the details.
The next day I was restless in anticipation of the task ahead of me. I knew the slightest error in the angle of the first cut could spell disaster. Yet measuring out the appropriate line is not my style. Finally, I took a deep breath and plunged in.
The taut skin yielded to my blade in the steamy heat of the summer afternoon. Again, the knife entered the pink flesh. Before I knew it, the deed was done. Sweet ichor dripped down the handle of my blade. I licked it off my trembling fingers. I stood before the great watermelon, a pound of its flesh in my hand. Its near-perfect mouth gaped in astonishment at my audacity.
accepted my shortcomings, recalling some cultures that intentionally leave small errors in their work, to acknowledge that perfection is reserved for the gods.
But what was this? A canker sore on my craftsmanship! The downward cut on the left side had gone too far. It split ahead of my cut. Served me right for over-confidence. I accepted my shortcomings, recalling some cultures that intentionally leave small errors in their work, to acknowledge that perfection is reserved for the gods. Anyway, I figured, if I just left it thicker there when I scoop out the insides, it should be fine.
I moved on to the eyes. I could have just scraped away the rind to form the whites of the eyes, but decided to cut all the way through, as is the custom in that more common craft, the jack-o’-lantern. It looked like a three dimensional Pac Man. I needed a blowhole to make it a whale. My education intruded. If this was a baleen whale, and given the proportion of the mouth to the body it does seem to be more like a baleen whale, then it should probably have a double blow hole.
Fortunately, my artistic license prevailed. A single opening looked fine.
I filled the mouth and two other bowls with balls of watermelon, melon and cantaloupe, grapes, pineapple, raspberries and blueberries. That should be good enough. I covered them with clear wrap and carefully brought them to the in-laws.
Dinner included a whole roasted pig, baked salmon, specially preserved scallops and other Chinese concoctions for which I don’t know the names. The evening was spent laughing, chatting and eating, eating, eating.
n a final artistic flourish, I twisted the clear wrap into a funnel and stuffed it into the blowhole...
Finally, they brought out dessert, featuring four different kinds of cake and the two regular bowls of fruit. I set up my pièce de résistance on a large blue serving plate, positioning the wedge removed to form the mouth so it formed an upturned tail. In a final artistic flourish, I twisted the clear wrap into a funnel and stuffed it into the blowhole, capturing my watermelon whale in a lifelike pose coming up for air.
“That’s great,” said my mother-in-law, with a big smile.
“What is it?” asked a little in-law. “A frog or something?”
Good thing I kept my day job.
This article was originally published in the July 7, 2004 edition of the Globe and Mail.