I grew up thinking a cantaloupe was a cantaloupe.
In West Texas, July brought a windfall of Pecos cantaloupes, surely the sweetest melons I’ve ever tasted.
Shopping at the Scottsdale farmers market, I stopped at Seacat Gardens, and Carl Seacat asked me if I’d ever tasted a true cantaloupe.
Seacat, who farms an acre on the west side of Phoenix, says the netted melons we grew up with, and see in all the grocery stores this time of year, are really muskmelons — not true cantaloupes.
Front and center of his display, a bunch of orbs — some barely bigger than a softball — looked rather dwarfish, certainly nothing like the melons I thought of as cantaloupes.
Some were grayish green and others were marked with swaths of yellow streaks. The skins were smooth, unlike the webbed muskmelon-formerly-known-as-the-cantaloupe.
“These are Charentais,” he said, “a true cantaloupe — also called a French melon.”
And then he told me about the aroma, the taste, and before you know it, I’m handing over my wallet.
Seacat says Charentais (pronounced sha-rhan-tay, or in my best West Texas accent: Sharon-taze) emit heady floral fragrances and show pronounced yellowing when ripe. He told me to leave green ones on the counter a few days.
Back home, I sliced open the ripest one and immediately caught a whiff of honeysuckle — or was it jasmine or some blurred zephyr of the two?
The French wrap prosciutto around slices of Charentais. Seems rather Italian, doesn’t it?
My first inclination was to stand over the cutting board, which I did, biting into juicy slice after slice, sweet nectar dripping down my chin.
In my brain, the taste registered as cantaloupe, yet there was something marginally different about this melon.
The taste of honey filled my mouth. I swallowed and what lingered was sweet and floral.
At $3.75 a pound, perhaps it’s best to enjoy this melon alone, unadorned.
But I couldn’t help think of all the things I wanted to make with it.
Charentais salsa, with bits of red onion, jalapeno, mint and a spritz of lime.
Or a chilled Charentais soup, like the cantaloupe soup I submitted to Food 52.
Seacat told me that local pastry chef Tracy Dempsey was busy whipping up a Charantais sorbet as we spoke.
In the end, I decided to make a frothy Charentais frappé.
Still, I’m not sure anything beats eating Charentais straight from the cutting board.
Look for Charentais melons at farmers markets. In the Phoenix area, Seacat Garden’s will have Charentais at the Scottsdale Stadium Farmers Market through the end of the summer. You can substitute 2-1/4 cups of cubed cantaloupe or honeydew for the Charentais. And by “cantaloupe” I mean muskmelon — which I swear I thought was a cantaloupe until I met the Charentais.
1 (1-1/4 pound) Charentais melon
1 cup lowfat vanilla yogurt
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1/8 teaspoon ground cardamom*
Peel and seed melon. Chop into large chunks. Place in the freezer for 10-15 minutes (don’t freeze completely).
Place the yogurt in a blender. Place the chilled melon chunks on top of the yogurt. Add lemon juice and cardamom.
Blend until frothy. Chill until ready to serve.
*Cardamom adds an exotic note, but you can use cinnamon, or a dash of nutmeg instead.