Waw-dee-mell-OWN, Tutti Frutti, and the Ladies from the Block

“Watermelon—it’s a good fruit. You eat, you drink, you wash your face.” —Enrico Caruso.

And you can’t get enough of it on the scaldingly hot nights in Brooklyn in the 40s. They are the nights when the fire escape becomes the bedroom; the living room floor, covered with a cool white sheet, becomes the campground; the roof becomes the beach. And the street becomes the playground, the ball field, and the banquet hall, a multipurpose family room, with embossed manhole covers standing in for area rugs.

The watermelon? It’s served from a bowl set atop a rickety bridge table, with two legs in the gutter, resting half on and half off the curb. The servers? Neighborhood moms, watched over by the nonnas who arrange their folding chairs at the curb—the better to catch a bit of a breeze.

The kids wear shorts, shirts, and sneakers; the moms wear sundresses and sandals; the nonnas wear black cotton housedresses, covered by printed cotton “front aprons,” black or flesh-colored, heavy cotton stockings, tightly laced orthopedic oxfords, and printed cotton kerchiefs to hold their permed hair in place. Whew!

The presence of the watermelon on the table begins with its purchase several hours earlier. That’s when the brawny young man with the horse-drawn wagon begins his serenade. “Waw-dee-mell-OWN,” he sings, under the open windows of the tenements along the avenue. And a not-to-be believed rush takes place before he can sing out, “Tutti frutti.” Yes, he has tutti frutti—plums, white peaches, strawberries, and, of course, watermelon. He also has an eye for the ladies. (Lady, the address used by every kid at every avenue intersection as in, “Lady, will you cross me?”)

And the ladies have an eye for him. A simple purchase of four peaches and a watermelon can take a particularly lucky lady three, maybe five, minutes. She bats her eyelashes; he lowers his gaze; she smiles sweetly; he responds in kind. When a nonna calls from an open window to remind a lady to buy lemons, the spell is broken. With that, the lucky lady hands over her coins, and moves on. And so it goes, until the last lady has smiled on him. As he leads the horse to the next block, he cries out, “Waw-dee-mell-OWN!” In seconds, a line of ladies forms.

Now the watermelon, surrounded by chipped ice, rests in its bowl—until each mom wraps a slice in waxed paper and hands it to her kid. In the meantime, the nonnas, from their vantage point, watch every game going on in the street. They call out warnings, curses, and blessings depending on whether or not a grandson playing stickball gets a hit, walks, or strikes out. They cluck their tongues when a granddaughter skins her knee playing potsy (hopscotch to the rest of the world). And they graciously decline their daughter’s offer of a slice of watermelon. “I’m full; I just ate,” each says.

To the nonnas, food is a guilty pleasure—not really something to be enjoyed—unless they’re preparing it for a family. Even then, they stab at forkfuls while carrying the serving dish to the table. In a mad ballet, they consume an entire dinner—without ever sitting down. Lunch? They eat over the kitchen sink or surreptitiously pop a morsel into their mouth when no one is looking. So, as soon as the moms are occupied, chatting with one another, the nonna closest to the table rises, motions to her compatriots and begins handing out slices of watermelon. They make sure to daintily wipe their mouths before the ladies begin to pay attention to them again.

The games end; the kids sit and sprawl on the curb, and enjoy a last slice of watermelon. The nonnas fold up their chairs. As they carry them away, they turn to one another and nod. And with a saucy wink, one reminds the ladies, “Don’t forget to buy more watermelon tomorrow.”

Watermelon Granita

Serves four

2/3 cup sugar
1/3 cup water
Pinch of salt
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 teaspoon grated lemon rind
1 teaspoon orange-flower water
3 cups watermelon, diced and seeded

Over medium heat, boil water and sugar together about 5 minutes, or until it becomes syrupy but remains clear. Allow to cool.
In a food mill, food processor, or blender, puree watermelon gently until it becomes pulpy.
Stir sugar syrup and remaining ingredients into watermelon puree.
Freeze in a shallow bowl for two hours. Remove from freezer; stir mixture with a fork, breaking up ice granules. Return to freezer for two hours. Stir again, and serve.