Hami Melon

I have only discovered this melon very recently, though the vendor at the Cavite City public market says she's been selling the fruit for quite a while now, year-round. A website about China states that this variety has been in cultivation since the 13th century, in Hami, precisely, which is in Xinjiang.

The Cavite City vendor has the lowest price, at Php90 per kilo, while the Seaside Market and supermarkets around Metro Manila tag them for as high as Php145/kg. But the total price goes up, because the fruit is huge - the smallest won't go less than two kilos. 

Like other melons, it has raised, vein-like white streaks around the skin, though they come in waves and un-netted. It is not spherical, but elongated, elliptical like a football, with rounded ends. And unlike cantaloupes, with their pastel pink-orange hue, the rind of Hami melons ripen to a bright, deep yellow.

The flesh is cantaloupe-colored, like the common melon, and tastes like so. But the huge, huge, life-altering difference is the sweetness. Common melons cannot aspire to even come close. When I first tasted it - served on a bowl peeled and sliced, I thought the cubes had been steeped beforehand in some sugar syrup.

I had to buy the fruit to make myself believe they are naturally sweet. And they really are. Sometimes I get sore throat with the sweetness, but my kids beg me to keep buying it. They have bowls and bowls of it cold, and my youngest daughter brings cut-up slices to school for baon, proudly declaring afterwards that she had finished all of it. 

Hami is also a summer fruit, and since summer in the higher latitudes follows our own summer nearer the equator, it means we'll have two seasons of melons every year. Half the year! But I'm afraid by the time of our own summer next year I won't be very happy. I'll be eating cantaloupes and finding them wanting, and I'll be anticipating the coming of the Hamis. 

I'm buying what I can, this season. I'm expecting I'll find them cheaper at Binondo and Divisoria, which is now the more weighty reason for going to Chinatown today instead of the mooncakes. They keep well at the kitchen counter, and crawlies can't seem to bite through the skin. Despite the inner sweetness, Hami melons don't smell like the common ones even when ripe. So it's hard to tell when they're ready to eat - we just wait until they're yellow all over.

I hope I'm not tempting my diabetic genes. But life is short, and it's a waste to spend it worrying. 

   

Chili Garlic Oil

Many little things like to sprout at the back of our kitchen. Guavas, tomatoes, squash, saluyot, papayas that grew to six feet. The narrow patch of soil becomes a repository of the dregs of what we regularly consume. Eager to show how alive the things that I lug back from the market are, they shoot out curly young leaves, unburied, unwatered, unminded. And in the blink of an eye they are bearing fruits.

There was a small shrub of sili, from which we sometimes gathered some young shoots, for tinola or sinuwam. But not regularly, as it was still a trifling, and slow to thrive. But suddenly it was five feet tall, slender branches reaching sideways and burgeoned with dark green leaves. And bitty buds.

The buds developed, taking over every square inch of each flimsy branch. The tender young plant breathlessly flaunted its fertility, proliferating with hundreds of miniature reproductions of itself. In the mornings it came alive with mayas fighting over the young fruits, and I was agog to discover these birds had the same level of heat appetite as mine.

I was loathe to harvest the sili, for they were so small. I wanted to give them time to grow a bit more. One day I told the househelp to gather some leaves for tinola, and she proceeded to strip the plant of its fruits. I was aghast, and in a frenzy to come up with what can be done with the sili. The househelp reasoned we might as well make use of it rather than let the birds exclusively feast on them.

The next day the storms came, and the sili plant was reduced to thin bald twigs. Poor thing, it stood there, swaying with the howling wind, and it was like those claw-like trees in horror movies. But I wasn’t horrified, but glad, that we got to the fruits in time.

The fruits quickly went to rot, though, with the cold and wet days that followed. So I swiftly went to work with them, making chili-garlic oil to heat up the chilly nights. Following instructions from an office colleague, I had a bottle of hot, garlicky seasoning that went well with almost anything. Dinners were finished with sweat copiously flowing down our throats, our tongues tingling.

Now I can’t eat properly without it. It’s typically mixed with the bagoong-kalamansi or toyo-kalamansi dip for siomai, grilled and fried meats, fish and seafood. But I go beyond that. I spice up sinigang with it, and use it to enliven arroz caldo. It even goes great with misua. Even paksiw and tinola and adobo are not spared. And my husband begs for a few spoonfuls to bring to drinking bouts with buddies. So that my bottle is now in dire need of replenishment.

The downside is, I get garlic breath. I brush to the point of abrasing my gums and smoothing my tongue, but no relief. But it's nothing that a small square of dark chocolate cannot cure. All the more valid reason to indulge.

I am eyeing the sili plant closely. I fervently hope it recovers fully. And this time I will be fighting with the birds.

---

Chili Garlic Oil

a handful of chiles (about 20 pieces)
5 heads garlic
½ to 1 cup cooking oil
 disposable hand gloves

1. Peel each clove of garlic, and pound finely in a mortar.
2. Wash and dry the chiles. Using gloves, slice thinly, discarding the stems.
3. Put a half cup of oil in a thick-bottomed wide pan and heat over medium fire until smoke rises. Add the garlic, spreading them over the pan to a thin layer. Let cook, stirring occasionally so all bits are frying evenly.
4. When the garlic is starting to color but not yet brown, scrape the sliced chiles including the seeds into the pan and mix. Stir occasionally.
5. Fry until the chiles have wilted and the garlic have almost crisped up and golden brown. Add more oil if the mixture is drying up. Do not overcook, or it will taste bitter.
6. Let cool in the pan, then transfer to a small glass bottle and cover tightly. Keeps well for about two weeks at room temperature, longer in the refrigerator.
7. Be sure that hands and all equipment used in preparation and cooking are washed thoroughly afterwards.

---

Related Posts
Siling Labuyo
Turmeric Bloom
Papaya Efflorescence