I think this salad is one of the best parts of Summer. I'm not just obsessed with it, I'm a little evangelical. And with no small amount of success. Since my initial discovery several years ago, I've been privileged to make the olive-studded melange of fresh herbs, juicy watermelon, briny feta and sharp red onions for NarBan's wedding, Three's rehearsal dinner, and countless family suppers in the park. Alas, Mr. One has yet to join my little culinary cult. He'll tolerate the stuff, if there's roasted lamb or some nice salmon on the plate. But he won't go for seconds, and certainly doesn't get reverentially misty-eyed when he sees me picking mint and squeezing limes. So I generally only make it when I know I'll have lots of other help finishing it off.

When we were invited to a foodie friend's birthday barbecue last week, it was a perfect excuse to whip up one more bowl before the weather turned chilly. So I did.

Then this happened:

Mister Tambourine Man
No amount of begging or greasing or pulling could get the thing off. Thanks to wise, long-distance advice from my sisters, I tracked down a neighbor with a pair of tin snips -- and, in case that didn't work, a die grinder -- to remove some of the little cymbals so the thing would slide back over Tiny's Olympic-sized noggin. By this time, we'd been delayed by nearly an hour. Exasperated, I explained to the adorably-accessorized tot that we were missing our party. He looked horrified and pulled the thing right off. I made a mental note to examine the psychology of the incident later, and piled the kids in the stroller for the quick stroll to our friends'. By the time we finally arrived, most of the other partyers had moved on gastronomically to another perfect slice of summer, this one in the form of a six foot long ice cream sundae(!!!).  It was a lovely evening, but as I made my way home and looked at the still-rather-full bowl clutched in Princess H's lap, I couldn't help but regret the wilted awesome that would inevitably greet me the next day.

Which brings me to my point. (And here you were thinking I didn't have one).

Mind-Blowing Watermelon Gazpacho

2) Eat some of it.

3) Let the rest it sit in the fridge for a day or two.

4) Eat all the olives (because you used really good olives, and those always have pits. Incidentally, Tiny is very good at helping with this. In fact, if you turn your back just long enough to send a text message to your neighbor asking if he has tin snips, Tiny will complete this step even before you take the original bowl of salad to the barbecue.).

5) Blend it up.

6) Put a fresh olive on top and serve to Momo or Z or other people who appreciate this kind of thing.

7) Mourn the end of Summer.

8) Plan a trip to Greece (optional).