My cantaloupe, my savior

I'm indebted to a melon tonight.

After a frustrating day with the kids (Fiona not napping resulting in the synapses in her brain short-circuiting, Ian being intellectually precocious and socially clueless), I made a disappointing dinner--calzones. I've tried making a decent calzone for ages and mine never turn out. Last time the pizza dough was too thick and thus rubbery in places; this time I wrestled with the dough until it was paper-thin and while it crisped up in the oven, it was still a pretty blah dinner. I stuffed it with ricotta, pesto, steamed broccoli, roasted red peppers and a few pickled hot peppers. It sounded like an ok filling to me, but it all just sort of sogged together. This may be the last time I waste energy on making calzones; why sweat it when there are perfectly decent, cheap take-out versions available?

So after the unfulfilling dinner, I found myself pacing the kitchen looking for fruit-relief and seriously craving something more than an apple or a banana. In the winter months, I turn to ruby red grapefruit and often consume 2-3 in an evening. I adore grapefruit. But grapefruit season is ending and it is too early for strawberries. A fresh pineapple or even a ripe kiwi would have been welcome, but none were in residence. I'm not really much of a melon fan, but I found a cantaloupe hiding behind the espresso machine (shy little melon) and cut it open and it exuded a wonderful flowery perfume and a good deal of juice, really a terrific example of melon-ness.

I can't decide whether it is pathetic to be comforted by a cantaloupe or if it is a sign of good mental health when a small pleasure, say, a fine piece of fruit, is enough to get me to let go of a frustrating day.