My house has been strangely quiet lately. After a whirlwind of packing and birthday parties and school picnics and dance and music recitals and library-book-returning and next-year-medical-forms-filling and all the end-of-the-schoolyear madness that Covid spared us last June (maybe one of the few good things about this pandemic), my older two children are gone.
We dropped them off last week at their camp in Northern New England, an all-American summer ritual that I embraced happily when my older son expressed his interest a few years ago. And it warms my heart to imagine him and his sister running around by the lake and giggling with their friends in their cabin at night, away from school and family obligations and from any form of screen – especially after a year that my middle-schooler spent mostly on Zoom, turning into a sort of a pre-teen zombie with limited communication skills.
But that leaves me, and my husband and our two little boys, waiting for them in the city until we can finally leave together. It used to be that not being in New York in July was out of the question. In pre-Covid times, my husband had to be in his office, and so did I for the few years when I worked for the French foreign department in addition to my teaching job. But last summer - another unexpected and mostly favorable Covid twist of fate - we were fortunate to be able to spend two months in France, taking our camp-deprived children with us. Which makes the next three weeks even harder to face, as I find myself melting in the hellish mix of heat and humidity that New Yorkers politely call “muggy,” and wondering what on earth I am going to do with myself.
These weeks of supposed freedom, which I have been dreaming about for the past nine months, suddenly fill me with a sense of dread. I have spent the entire school year fantasizing about this very moment, when I would be free of my teaching obligations and would only need to look after two children, not having to hear the older two constantly squabbling, not having to worry about their sharing a bedroom, not needing to cook for a seemingly increasingly hungry pack of five wolves (my husband being by far the hungriest wolf of the lot) every night. And yet here I am, feeling a deep void and missing my children as I never thought possible. After complaining for the past sixteen months that I could never get a break, that my children were ALWAYS home, after looking with envy at my French counterparts whose kids were in school ALL DAY, EVERYDAY except for a couple of weeks in the Spring, here I am with these long-coveted TIME and SPACE on my hands, and feeling like I want to run back to the woods, kidnap my children at night and sail away to the French island that has become so dear to my heart.
I have never been a big fan of New York summers in the first place. I usually do not handle heat very well, quickly becoming a sweaty mess of flushed cheeks and irritability, and the signature New England humidity just kills me. For years I tried to convince myself that this “sultriness”, as some will describe the mix of dampness and garbage smells that pervades the city from late May to late September, was actually glamorous in its own way. And before I had children I did enjoy many fun late-night summer outings with my husband, walking for hours through the Village and all the way back uptown, talking to strangers and stopping at random jazz bars. But deep down I always dreaded this time of year, and never as much as when I was pregnant. My ten-year-old daughter was born at the end of July, and my younger son in the first days of August. Which means that I had to spend two summers integrally in the city – the second time a couple of hours away in Long Island, which, despite the hefty price tag on this coveted summer destination, remained just as miserable to me. At least, this year, I do not weigh a million pounds and do not need to drag myself to various gymnastics and soccer camp pick-ups when I would just like to curl up in my fridge and die. I can hop relatively lightly from place to place and rely on the help of my god-sent baby-sitter. But still, I find it hard to keep my motivation going and to vanquish the torpor and disorientation that never fail to overcome me at this time of year.
I find it hard, also, to cook, when I would just like to sit at a pretty wooden table that would have been set for me under the trees. This is the time of year when all anybody wants to do anyway is cut up some tomatoes and mozzarella and call it dinner, and that is indeed what I do for most meals. But I am not sure that is what one looks for when reading a blog, and I have nothing revolutionary to offer on the topic of tomatoes and mozzarella, so I thought I should do a little better.
Inspiration struck yesterday in the form of the watermelon that was sitting on my kitchen counter, and I suddenly remembered a recipe I had seen featured recently in the New York Times - my main source for any weeknight dinner ideas. It was a watermelon Panzanella of sorts, something I was dubious of because I am not generally crazy about watermelon, and even less crazy about watermelon salads, which I always find a bit too sweet and slightly sickening when eaten in large quantities. I did go ahead with this recipe however, first because I had all the ingredients on hand, and second because the only amount of heating required was baking some bread croutons for a few minutes in the oven. And I have to say I enjoyed the result, which was not as sweet as expected and just the perfect, hearty but refreshing salad that I was hoping for. My two little boys devoured it and requested seconds before going to bed with only a minimal amount of fuss, which is more than anyone can ask for on a sticky, sweltering night in the city.
You can find the recipe here, or below.
Country Panzanella with Watermelon Dressing
Courtesy of the New York Times
I left out the thyme, which I didn’t have on hand, and used frozen ciabatta that I did happen to have (I know - but I live in New York City, not Paris everybody, and since all Kayser bakeries shut down in NYC during the pandemic there is absolutely nowhere I can find proper fresh baguette anymore). It turned out more than fine. FOR THE DRESSING:
½ pound piece of skin-on watermelon, seeds discarded
¼ cup granulated sugar
Kosher salt
2 garlic cloves, peeled and grated
1 tablespoon whole-grain mustard
1 ½ teaspoons fresh thyme leaves
½ teaspoon red-pepper flakes
½ teaspoon ground black pepper
½ cup white wine vinegar
½ cup olive oil
FOR THE SALAD:
½ loaf day-old ciabatta, cut into 1/2-inch cubes (about 4 loose cups)
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 ½ teaspoons fresh thyme leaves
¼ teaspoon fine sea salt
2 pounds watermelon, rind discarded cut into 1-inch pieces (about 4 packed cups)
3 medium heirloom tomatoes (about 1 3/4 to 2 pounds), cut into 1-inch-wide wedges (about 5 loose cups)
1 medium seedless cucumber (about 1/2 pound), trimmed, halved lengthwise then sliced 1/4-inch-thick (about 2 cups)
1 small red onion (about 4 ounces), peeled and sliced (about 1 loose cup)
1 cup fresh basil leaves
½ cup crumbled feta
PREPARATION
Make the dressing: Using a coarse grater set over a medium bowl, grate the watermelon flesh then rind, grating the rind all the way to the skin. (You should have about 1 cup grated watermelon.) Discard the firm skin. Add the sugar and 1 teaspoon salt; stir to dissolve the sugar and salt grains. Allow the mixture to sit for at least 10 minutes.
Add the garlic, mustard, thyme leaves, red-pepper flakes, ground black pepper, vinegar and oil. Whisk together (or transfer to a mason jar, cover and shake vigorously). The dressing makes 2 cups, and will keep, refrigerated, up to 1 week; shake before use.
Make the salad: Heat the oven to 425 degrees. On a small sheet pan, toss the cubed bread, olive oil, thyme and sea salt together. Spread in a single layer and bake for 8 to 10 minutes, until toasted and golden brown.
In a large serving bowl, combine the watermelon, tomatoes, cucumber and red onion. Drain any excess liquid before adding the toasted bread cubes and half the basil. Drizzle with 1/4 cup of the dressing and season with salt and pepper. Divide among individual bowls, if you like. Top with crumbled feta, remaining basil leaves and spoon additional dressing over the top.
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