Admittedly, the night was memorable for more than just the food: it was in Israel, where I had also travelled at 15, that I experienced freedom and independence for the first time. In hindsight, I think that every step I took in that country as a teenager was adorned with magic. Having said that, I have had many wonderful and defining moments in Israel over the years, from hiking in the Negev desert, to exploring archaeological excavations, to a short stint studying law at the Hebrew University, to running around Tel-Aviv day and night, to spending time with wonderful family and friends and of course to being asked hilariously personal questions, often very thoughtful, by abject strangers from the nation of people who know no social boundaries, to name only a few.
Of the defining moments, that night was one. When I eat, or think of eating, watermelon and feta, I always think of that summer night and countless others like it.
In case it isn’t clear, the revelation was that watermelon and feta are an incredible combination: my introduction to the sweet and savoury union.
Since my awakening, it’s been sweet and savoury this and sweet and savoury that. I’ve had the underwhelming Nature Valley Bars (be warned! The balance is off! You can hardly taste the savoury!) and the unquestionably successful Lindt sea-salt chocolate. Lindt was right on the money as were the guys who invented maple syrup on bacon. In fact, just last night I had maple bacon ice cream (Ed’s Real Scoop) and while I entered the situation a skeptic, I came out a believer.
To be fair to other sweet and savoury combos, part of what gives watermelon-feta its winning edge is the genius at play with texture and “state”. Watermelon is essentially a sweet liquid and feta the saltiest and chalkiest of them all. The watermelon cuts the intensity of the feta perfectly. It’s catharsis at its best.
That’s really the essence of this post. Perhaps you’re thinking, “Leora, dedicating an entire 500 words to such a simple dish is crazy.” You may also be thinking, “Leora, dedicating an entire 500 words to such a sublimely simple dish is sheer brilliance.” And I think it’s open to debate which of you are correct. Let me get the dialogue flowing: on the one hand it’s true; there is nothing creative or particularly skilful in slicing up watermelon and feta and eating them in concert. On the other hand, simple food is almost always amazing and almost all amazing food is pretty simple.
If you fall in the “crazy” camp, you can jazz up your watermelon and feta as a salad. I’ve in the past added red onion, kalamata olives and a drizzle of olive oil. This time I’ve added nothing. It was smouldering outside when I made this (clearly I did not make this today) so you can imagine how refreshing it was.
No recipe needed this time.
