Of Mangoes and Zucchini

A friend once told me while standing in a parking lot in Down East Maine, "Mainers never lock their cars." Never? I asked. "Well, except for August." Why August? "If you don't," he said grinning, "Someone will fill it with zucchini." Most Americans can relate to that. Here in Thailand, it isn't August, but early summer, in March. And it isn't the green squash, but mangoes.

Our tree is heavy with the popular fruit. Since February it has become a hazard walking from the door to the gate, as mangoes drop regularly when they ripen, or often as the squirrels yank them off the branch and snack on them. We salvage what we can, and when feeling industrious, raise a picking basket ten to fifteen feet (3-5 meters), fastened to a bamboo branch, fixed to it by a bungee cord. I'm pretty proud of the contraption I pieced together. Two years ago we watched helplessly as the fruit splattered on the driveway all throughout February and March. If eaten green, the mango has the sourness of lemon, but if wrapped in newspapers until yellow, the pulp is soft and sweet.

Mangoes are the zucchini of Thailand. This time of year they are sold everywhere, from the tiny mobile street carts to grocery stores. One large mall has row upon row of mango merchants vying with each other to sell the tropical fruit of the season. Riding recently with colleagues, I listened to them explaining the various ways to eat mangoes: Mango pie, mango chutney, mango jelly, and a favorite of Indians, mango "lasseh," blended with yogurt and ice, and just a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg. We have a constant supply of mangoes in our refrigerator, peeled and sliced for breakfast. I never thought I would tire of eating it, but in truth, I am. A little. And with a bit of guilt, for it is a luxury when we are back in the northern tier of U.S. states. One saving grace: we have no car here, so we needn't worry about the free bags of mango that might show up in the back seat in early summer.