Alphonso, Kesar or Rajapuri.
Indian, South American or Pakistani
It matters not. They will do the job, fit the bill, satisfy the palate.
Fruit this sweet and succulent should only be enjoyed in private.
I sink my teeth in and praise the creator, an insulin shot at the ready,
Amber flesh drips down my elbow onto my jeans staining them irrevocably.
I am a child of the colonized so I daintily spoon the thinly cut slices with cutlery.
My luckier native Asian born brethren will attack with thirsty lips and tongues.
They cast aside well licked skins,the tell-tale orange glow surrounding their mouths
As though a crazed cosmetologist had attacked them with an orange lip pencil.
Rubenesque, rotund and ravishing- tempting you with its robust flavorful strands.
Pregnant and moist with taste, ripened on heavy trees, eagerly awaited by schoolchildren in Kerala and Mexico alike.
But the holy of holies.
The gootlee.
The core, the pit, the stone. The juiciest ripest portion.
No metal utensil should touch this shrine.
You close your eyes and firmly, longingly and fruitfully surrender.
As Allah intended.
6 comments:
You are what you eat.
You are what you eat.
Gee I never thought of her as a gootlee but now it all makes sense.
This brings back memories of the mangoes in West Africa (Peace Corps in the mid 70s - does that date me or what?) - we would make ourselves sick during mango season - the record was 30 consumed in one day (not mine : )
And also, of course, the mangoes in Egypt... also only eaten in season.
My husband has instructed me to stop buying the imports from Mexico, picked too early and almost totally devoid of flavor. I continue to buy them from time to time, however, in the hope that somehow a miraculous authentic batch will have slipped through. But I am always reminded, in the end, that he is right - again, darn it - and that Allah's miracles are best appreciated at the point of origin. (Is that a metaphor worth exploring? I wonder...)
I'm gonna have to do me sum butt kickin' if youse all don't get sommor of those danged poetries out thar, buckaroo.
Srsly I AM DROOLING
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