Ever thought about jam that smells like smashed watermelon seeds and summer gripping your fingertips? Don’t laugh. I made a batch yesterday—failed at making soup, got sidetracked, and ended up spooning warm, sticky melon essence into the jar instead. It’s like biting into a melon on a humid day, but more… condensed. No pectin, just pure, raw watermelon sugar thickening itself. It feels almost rebellious, like breaking a fruit’s hard rule of being only juicy. Right now, I keep thinking about how this simple, goofy experiment is precisely what I need. No fancy fuss, just watermelon’s raw pink heartbeat in a jar. Somehow, it feels like a secret between me and the summer, waiting for a moment to surprise someone, or myself.

Watermelon Jam
Ingredients
Equipment
Method
- Place the watermelon cubes into a large, heavy-bottomed pot.
- Bring the watermelon to a gentle simmer over medium heat, stirring occasionally with a wooden spoon or silicone spatula until the fruit is soft and begins breaking down, approximately 15-20 minutes. You'll notice the liquid becoming more vibrant and syrupy.
- Add the sugar and lemon juice to the mixture, stirring until the sugar dissolves completely. Continue simmering over medium-low heat, stirring frequently, until the mixture thickens and reduces by about half, which will take approximately 30-40 minutes. Look for the jam to become glossy and to pass the plate test.
- Optional: For a smoother consistency, strain the mixture through a fine mesh strainer or cheesecloth, pressing gently to extract excess liquid. Return the strained jam to the pot and simmer briefly to ensure it reaches desired thickness.
- Transfer the hot jam into sterilized jars, filling to within ¼ inch of the rim. Seal the jars and allow to cool to room temperature. The jam will firm up further as it cools, resulting in a shiny, gel-like spread with visible bits of crushed watermelon.
So maybe this jam is just my way of holding on to watermelon’s fleeting season. Or stealing a little something unexpected from the fruit’s quiet, elusive sweetness. Guess I’ll see in the morning if I remember to spread it on bread, or just spoon it straight from the jar while no one’s looking.