Spicy Jalapéo Watermelon Margaritas

Late August humidity. The kind that makes you reconsider every life choice. Anatomy lab three days this week. The cadaver work is what they say it is. I am holding up.

Drove to Baker Saturday morning. MawMaw Shirley was at the stove already. We made gumbo. Thirty-five minutes of roux. The lesson keeps unfolding.

Fried catfish Friday. Cornmeal coated. Cast iron. Hot grease.

Bedtime at ten. The next clinic day at seven. The rhythm.

Tanya's tomatoes were in this week. She brought a sack. I made a sandwich for lunch every day for four days. Heirloom tomato, white bread, mayo, salt. The summer lunch. The simplest pleasure of summer.

I sat on the porch Saturday afternoon with iced tea. The neighbor's kids were playing kickball. The Louisiana evening is its own kind of Sabbath. The cicadas were starting up. The light was the gold-going-blue light of the southern dusk.

Sunday service at Bethany. The choir sang. The pastor preached on Hannah and Samuel. I sat with Tanya and Marcus. The hymn at the end was the one Mama used to hum. I cried into the bulletin. Standard.

I drove past the gas station where DeAndre died. I do not stop. I do not avoid it either. The drive past is the drive past. He is twenty-eight in my head. He stays twenty-eight.

I sent MawMaw a photo of my gumbo Tuesday. She replied, "too light, baby, keep stirring." She has not changed the critique in twelve years. The critique is the love.

Tanya brought a casserole over Wednesday. The Tanya casserole. Half went into the freezer. The other half fed me Wednesday and Thursday. Mama's casseroles are the silent backup of my entire adult life.

I went to the gym Tuesday and Thursday this week. Twenty minutes on the treadmill. Standard. The body is the only equipment I have for the rest of my life and I am trying to maintain it.

The apartment kitchen is small but it cooks. Two burners. One pot. A cutting board balanced on the counter because the counter is too small for both the cutting board and the toaster.

Friday night Darius and I watched a movie I have already forgotten. We fell asleep on the couch by ten. The dog (we got a dog last year, did I mention) slept between us. Standard.

Reading something light at night. A novel by a Louisiana writer. The voice was familiar. The voice was home. The book ended on a small kindness. I appreciated that.

Daddy sent me an Amazon receipt accidentally Sunday. He bought a power tool I do not understand. Standard. He texted twenty minutes later, "wrong thread, sorry baby." I told him don't worry about it. He said thank you. The exchange was the exchange.

Crawfish boil at a friend's place Saturday. Twenty-five pounds. The shells filled three trash bags. Standard Louisiana spring. We sat at the picnic table for four hours. The corn was the best of the boil. The corn always is.

MawMaw Shirley's recipe cards in the wooden box on the kitchen counter. I copied another one Saturday morning at her kitchen table. The collection is growing. She watched me copy. She corrected my Cs. She has always corrected my Cs.

Anatomy lab three days this week. The cadaver work is what they say it is — not gross, not romantic, just human. I went home after Friday lab and made gumbo because the only thing that quiets the body after a day in the lab is the slow stir of a roux.

I texted Kayla about her latest design portfolio Tuesday. She is good. She has Tanya's directness and Daddy's eye for proportion. The design field will know her name eventually.

The crawfish boil Saturday — twenty-five pounds, three trash bags of shells, four hours at the picnic table — was the kind of afternoon that earns a proper drink. Something cold enough for the August heat, with just enough bite to match the cayenne still on your fingers. This Spicy Jalapéo Watermelon Margarita is the one I’ve been reaching for all summer: it’s bright and sweet the way Tanya’s tomatoes are sweet, and the jalapéo heat lands the same way a Louisiana evening does — slow, then all at once. Make a pitcher. The porch is waiting.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 5 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 cups seedless watermelon, cubed
2 jalapéos, thinly sliced (seeds removed for mild, kept for hot)
3/4 cup blanco tequila
1/4 cup fresh lime juice (about 3 limes)
3 tablespoons triple sec or Cointreau
2 tablespoons agave nectar
Kosher salt or Tajín, for rimming glasses
Ice, for shaking and serving
Lime wedges and thin watermelon slices, for garnish

Instructions

Juice the watermelon. Add cubed watermelon to a blender and blend until completely smooth, about 30 seconds. Pour through a fine-mesh strainer into a bowl or large measuring cup, pressing to extract all the juice. Discard the pulp. You should have roughly 1 1/2 cups of juice.
Infuse the jalapéo. In a cocktail shaker, add 4–6 jalapéo slices and muddle firmly for about 20 seconds to release the oils and heat. Taste as you go — more slices means more fire.
Build the margarita. Add the watermelon juice, tequila, lime juice, triple sec, and agave nectar to the shaker. Fill with ice and seal.
Shake hard. Shake vigorously for 20 seconds until the shaker is very cold to the touch.
Rim and fill the glasses. Run a lime wedge around the rim of each glass, then dip into a shallow plate of Tajín or kosher salt. Fill each glass with fresh ice.
Strain and serve. Strain the margarita through the shaker’s built-in strainer (or a fine-mesh strainer) evenly over the four glasses to catch the jalapéo pieces. Garnish each with a lime wedge and a thin watermelon slice. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Spicy Jalapéo Watermelon Margaritas — The Crawfish Boil Deserved a Drink Like This