Fonzy Melon

I found the coolest melon of all time at the co-op this weekend– the Fonzy Melon!

Fonzy Melon! Ayyy!I’m not sure where the Fonzy Melon got it’s name (the Happy Days character is technically Fonzie), but after looking into it, I found that this melon is a variety of Canary melon, which is a winter melon that not so surprisingly gets its name from its bright yellow rind.

1. Peeling

These Seattle spring days have been warm, sunny, and jam packed full of fun, so a melon was the perfect pick for a cool, easy, evening snack. When I cut the melon in half, I was surprised that it was very similar in color and texture to a pear.

Fonzy HalvesI continued by seeding the melon and slicing it into eighths. The rind was very thin, but I took a few test bites, and in the areas where I hadn’t peeled away enough of the meat with the rind, it was disappointingly crunchy and chewy.

2. Wrap and Drizzle

I didn’t follow a recipe this week. My mom makes an hors-d’oeuvre with cantaloupe where she wraps it in prosciutto and drizzles it with a little bit of olive oil and adds a sprinkling of salt. I used it as my game plan for this melon.

Prosciutto wrapped fonzy melon

 3. The Verdict

I carried the plate of prosciutto-wrapped Fonzy Melon out to the back yard.

“What kind of melon is it again?” Chops asked, following me.
“A Fonzy Melon.”
“So it’s a melon you throw against a jukebox to get it to play?”
“Yep,” I smiled.
We took a seat. The sun had dipped below the roof line, but the air was still warm. The rhododendron in the corner dropped its blooms one by one. The once vibrant pink petals had faded and grown limp like used up pieces of bubble gum.
“A melon’s a pretty safe bet,” he said. “No one’s ever gotten killed from eating melon. I think we’re probably going to live through this one.”
“Well, there was that E. coli outbreak that was traced back to cantaloupe last year…”
“I’ll be fine. I drink too much jaeger to be taken down by E. coli,” he took a bite.
“What do you think?”
“It tastes like cantaloupe.”
“So it’s good?”
“Yeah, but not really weird.”
“Not weird, but good.”

For better or worse, the rest of the night our conversation was punctuated with Fonzie-like Italian-American exclamations:
Chops walked into any room I was in: “Ayyy!”
I dropped a piece of melon in the grass: “Oo-ooh!”
Or I would ask Chops for a glass of wine: “Come-ooon…”


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