No one can agree on the number of varieties of mango under cultivation in the world. Based on my cursory research, there are at least 1200, of which India alone produces at least 1000. In India, the mango is known as the "phul ka raja"--the "king of fruits." Asking someone about their mango preferences is like bringing up religion or politics; it's controversial, heavily tied to one's geographic origins, bound up with personal pride, and is sure to generate at least half an hour of lively conversation. India is the world's largest producer of mangoes, yielding around 14 million tons per year. Each state, and even certain cities within states, has its own specialty mango.
According to Hindu mythology, the mango is a consolation prize given to us by the gods as an apology for the lousy weather of the summer and monsoon seasons, when it matures. While cursing the sweltering temperatures, Dave and I have been reveling in the consolation of mangoes since early June. We've calculated that we generally consume about 2 kg of mangoes per day between the two of us. By now, in other words, I've nearly eaten my weight in mangoes. My pregnant weight, for that matter. By the end of the season, it's likely I will have eaten double that.
Before the monsoon, the primary mango in the market was the Safeda, a large, bright-yellow not-too-sweet mango known as the "poor man's mango" because it's cheaper than most. These babies can weigh up to a pound or more per piece and really won a place in my heart during June. Another winning point of the Safeda is the fact that its peel contains low levels of urushiol, the compound that makes poison ivy poisonous. Too much lip-to-peel contact with a high-urushiol-content peel can create a nasty case of contact dermatitis. I've experienced this more than once, unfortunately. All mangoes contain some urushiol, but some more than others.
The monsoons arrived promptly in early July, and since then, the number of mango varieties in the market has proliferated. Gone are the days of the Safeda, so we decided it was time to branch out. A few days ago, we did a mango tasting. We included the 5 most easily-available varieties at our corner market: the Dasheri of Lucknow, the Langra of Banaras, the Neelam of various parts of South India, the Chaunsa of Punjab (Pakistan) and Uttar Pradesh, and finally the Malika, a hybrid of the Langra and the Neelam. As you can see, they vary in color, size, shape, texture--and, of course, taste.
We devoured all the mangoes you see here in under 5 minutes, with a brief swig of water to cleanse our palates between varieties.
Each mango was rated on a highly scientific scale consisting of marks for texture, citrus-y-ness or acidity, sweetness, and overall deliciousness. The results were surprising.
Neither of the most popular of the varieties we tasted, the Langra and the Dasheri, beat out the competition. Slightly musky, a bit fibrous, and tangy, the Dasheri had good taste but poor texture. The Langra, with its saccharine pineapple-ey taste, didn't do much for me. The Malika outstripped even the Langra in terms of sweetness, but carried some appealing floral notes. Its smooth texture reminded Dave of "a walk at the bay" (whatever that means), but it reminded me of cotton candy (and not in a good way). The Neelam was a bit of a letdown because the one we included in our taste test was unripe, but subsequent tastings have left me relatively satisfied with its citrusy, mild, and not overly sweet flavor. But the best? By far, the rather obscure (at least to us Westerners) Chaunsa. We agreed on this one hands down. It's tangy and citrusy, yet has a green, piney aftertaste that reminds me of a good sharp cheese or a freshly mown lawn.
I call a retest!
1 comment:
What's the water content of those mangoes? It might be an important source of clean water to people living in a country with scarce clean water. I'm looking at this for my dissertation in Bolivia --Asher
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