Man Just Go!

What’s your one unforgettable memory? Is it a trip your parents took you on as a child? The way your dog hopped up and down uncontrollably when greeting you for the first time before adoption? Or maybe the day you met your significant other?

Personally, I have a few memories that act as the core foundation to my world. My fondest? Well, that revolves around a particular fruit that’s loved across the entire globe: The mango.

There’s just something about slicing up a gigantic mango that melts my heart. The unique sweet flavors of citrusy buttery goodness act like a flight attendant serving treats on my trips of nostalgia back to my childhood visits at my Grandfather’s house in Santa Isabel, Puerto Rico.

Grandpa’s backyard was like a jungle. You could walk past the lemon bushes, look up and see the most beautiful papayas and mangoes hanging off of trees that I swore were as tall as the Himalayas. There could have been monkeys. Loose mangoes spread across the garden grounds as if maneuvering control of a chess board.

Inside the house was no different. Mangoes sat in a fruit bowl on the dining room table and cut and packed in zipper bags in the refrigerator. I’m sure they existed elsewhere throughout the home. It was like Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory but with mangoes…well that and Grandpa could definitely kick Willy Wonka’s ass.

A few months ago, while going through my morning routine, I ran across an article the New York Times published on Indian mangoes. The size, color, and taste profile of the mangoes in the article were similar to what I recalled from my childhood. Lightning then struck as I remembered a couple blocks of Indian businesses down by Baruch College in Manhattan and planned the trip from my Bronx apartment.

A few days, couple of train rides, and a walk through Manhattan later and I’m home surfing the web on ways to slice my recently purchased mangoes. I settled on making scoopable diced flower designs out of the slices and enjoyed some pretty great tasting mangoes with a cup of coffee (just like the Times article suggested). Soft, velvety, sweet, and refreshing. Not sure if they’re the precise mangoes from my childhood but they were amazing.

I then went on to create glamorized fantasies of my grandfather having a relationship with a wandering Persian merchant who traded him the seeds to our mango trees, though, he was just as likely to have purchased them at Trader Joes. The Persian merchant story does sound way cooler. The man, the myth, the mango.

The world is constantly on the move and moments just aren’t as remarkable as they used to be. The memory of Grandpa’s mango trees will alway remain the humble hero of my thoughts. It’s comforting and acts as a building block to who I am. The next time you peel and/or slice a big beautiful mango, remember: that soft, velvety deliciousness is more than just a fruit – it’s a story of legends.

-Giovanni Alvarado