My uncle grew the most phenomenal watermelon. It was an event to pick one out from his roadside stand and enjoy its deep red goodness. In the middle of a hot afternoon under a shade tree during the tomato harvest my family would sit and gorge ourselves with multiple slices, throwing the rinds in a pile.
Watermelon is still a nutritional staple for many families. A NYT article discusses how the industry has changed. The big, seed varieties have made way for smaller and seedless.
In Arkansas a plant pathologist searches for the ideal signs. There's "a deep, soft pop, like a cork slipping free from a wine bottle. You hear it when a pocket knife cracks the green rind on a watermelon so full of wet fruit that the outside can barely contain the inside."
Also he’s searching for "deeply colored flesh that is crisp but not crunchy and so juicy that pools fill the divots left by a spoon.
The taste has to be exceptionally sweet but just slightly vegetal, so you know it came from the earth and not the candy counter."
"These days, a good watermelon also has to ship well, which means a thick rind and a uniform shape. It has to be small enough so people pushing grocery carts in big-city stores will buy it. And it can’t have seeds."
Some watermelon lovers in Arkansas lament the good old days when fields grew the 40 pound varieties. Now feasts come in smaller measures.
