|Mangoes, my favourite fruit|
This morning I had the perfect – I tell you, the perfect! – mango for breakfast. Not too juicy; not too hard. Neither too ripe nor too green; too big nor too small. Perfect for a late season fruit! When Husband got tired of all the slurping yum noises from the other side of the table, he asked, “What is it with you and mangoes?”
When I was growing up in Zvishavane, a small town in Zimbabwe, we had the biggest, greenest, most prolific mango tree in our back yard. During mango season, we’d walk out into the shade and pick our lunch: mangoes as big as my head (or so I thought!). Mom would then strip my sister and I to our naked selves, dump us in a large galvanised iron bath filled with cold water, and let us slurp our mangoes to our hearts’ content. When we were finished, she’d take the hose and spray us down until we were squeaky clean.
And the fun wasn’t finished, either. We’d then wash the hairy pips and, when they were dry, we’d comb the hairs into fancy styles and paint happy faces on the pips. Violá - we had new toys every time we ate a mango!
No wonder I love mangoes so much.
Image from Australia Primary Industries. Please contact me should there be copyright issues.