So I experienced the most vivid food memory, one that made me laugh. Standing in our kitchen, doing the gloriously icky, painstaking, and enjoyable task of making aamras (runny squeezed mango pulp is the closest English approximation, often with added sugar to balance the sour, or with a dash of milk) for dinner, I stood with one fleshy mango seed (koy) in each fist and squeezed, letting all the juice and pulp from it run into the container below. When I opened my hands, the koyi were completely juiced out. No further processing required - just dump them on the pile of skins.
I giggled as I realized I'd finally attained one of two food related superpowers that as a child I used to think only grown-ups have: one squeeze mango koy processing! (Oh, and let it be said that no one, but no one in living memory, ever came close to juicing a fleshy mango koy in one squeeze like my grandma, Mai aaji.)
I was transported to a kitchen from my childhood, where like a starving doggie I would wait by my mom's and my aaji's side as they prepared the day's aamras. Every discarded skin, every processed koy was handed to me for a final, slobbery clean up job. I never wanted the koy that aaji processed, because it was far too well squeezed - mom's koy however usually had a few fleshy bits still on. She spoiled me rotten, that woman...
Mangoes were such a huge part of summer for me. I remember my dad would strip me down to either a buniaan vest or just a pair of shorts, sit me down in a suitably out of the way corner of our house, and only then hand me a mango to eat (even today, I made sure my t-shirt was a safe distance away on a hook!)
A demilitarized zone would automatically build around me as I proceeded to demolish that tiny thing and spray or stain any surface in reach. My partner in crime would usually be the older sister critter, making all the suitably dismissive yet disgusted noises, or a visiting cousin or three. As I remember it, she was as much of a slob as me. But hey ho!
There were never enough mangoes to go around, it seemed, regardless of how many were bought. We found a way to get grumpy about the most generous of hauls, always budgeting what form of eating got what number of mangoes, always cribbing about not getting enough to eat by ourselves.
My grandfather on my mom's side taught me to eat a mango a whole different way. Skinning a mango became a game I shared with him - the trick was to take the skin off in as few sections as possible, and then eating the lovely orange fleshy thing down to the core. Naturally the mango I skinned looked like I had bashed it with a cat-o-nine-tails by the time I was done, and I flayed the dang thing like I was doing a particularly feverish enactment of Ramsay Bolton! I never have managed to eat a mango with as much dignity as grandpa mustered (maybe one day - but not yet!). He taught me well though - this is still my favorite way to eat a mango; somehow seems to most perfect way to enjoy it whole.
It's crazy, the stuff you remember and the things you forget. Or perhaps the stuff you cease to do. There's no earthly reason why I can't skin and eat a mango, or make aamras every day in summer now. I can afford it, can have it home delivered, and it really isn't all that much work. But I think in some corner of my mind, I'm still that spoiled kid, waiting for an adult to do all of the hard work and leaving me to enjoy the mango! (Case in point, the mangoes we're eating for dinner tonight were a gift from my in laws, who we recently visited).
So here's a little blog-toast - to all those wonderful, loving people who are missed in all the good times. Now I'm off to enjoy my well earned aamras...
What's that you say? The second food related superpower? That'd be breaking a whole chapati down into a fine sawdust like powder, with one hand, and then mixing it up with the perfect amount of milk and sugar and cream to eat (like cereal). My dad's the Usain Bolt of making this doodh saakhar poli concoction. Seriously.
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| I make less of a mess now... |
I was transported to a kitchen from my childhood, where like a starving doggie I would wait by my mom's and my aaji's side as they prepared the day's aamras. Every discarded skin, every processed koy was handed to me for a final, slobbery clean up job. I never wanted the koy that aaji processed, because it was far too well squeezed - mom's koy however usually had a few fleshy bits still on. She spoiled me rotten, that woman...
Mangoes were such a huge part of summer for me. I remember my dad would strip me down to either a buniaan vest or just a pair of shorts, sit me down in a suitably out of the way corner of our house, and only then hand me a mango to eat (even today, I made sure my t-shirt was a safe distance away on a hook!)
A demilitarized zone would automatically build around me as I proceeded to demolish that tiny thing and spray or stain any surface in reach. My partner in crime would usually be the older sister critter, making all the suitably dismissive yet disgusted noises, or a visiting cousin or three. As I remember it, she was as much of a slob as me. But hey ho!
There were never enough mangoes to go around, it seemed, regardless of how many were bought. We found a way to get grumpy about the most generous of hauls, always budgeting what form of eating got what number of mangoes, always cribbing about not getting enough to eat by ourselves.
My grandfather on my mom's side taught me to eat a mango a whole different way. Skinning a mango became a game I shared with him - the trick was to take the skin off in as few sections as possible, and then eating the lovely orange fleshy thing down to the core. Naturally the mango I skinned looked like I had bashed it with a cat-o-nine-tails by the time I was done, and I flayed the dang thing like I was doing a particularly feverish enactment of Ramsay Bolton! I never have managed to eat a mango with as much dignity as grandpa mustered (maybe one day - but not yet!). He taught me well though - this is still my favorite way to eat a mango; somehow seems to most perfect way to enjoy it whole.
It's crazy, the stuff you remember and the things you forget. Or perhaps the stuff you cease to do. There's no earthly reason why I can't skin and eat a mango, or make aamras every day in summer now. I can afford it, can have it home delivered, and it really isn't all that much work. But I think in some corner of my mind, I'm still that spoiled kid, waiting for an adult to do all of the hard work and leaving me to enjoy the mango! (Case in point, the mangoes we're eating for dinner tonight were a gift from my in laws, who we recently visited).
So here's a little blog-toast - to all those wonderful, loving people who are missed in all the good times. Now I'm off to enjoy my well earned aamras...
What's that you say? The second food related superpower? That'd be breaking a whole chapati down into a fine sawdust like powder, with one hand, and then mixing it up with the perfect amount of milk and sugar and cream to eat (like cereal). My dad's the Usain Bolt of making this doodh saakhar poli concoction. Seriously.
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