Roots and Recipies: Rough Draft

Gotta Have Grandpa's Pickled Mango

One of the best parts of going to my grandparents house was that they always had pickled mango ready for everyone to eat. I can remember when my mom and dad dropped me off in the long, narrow driveway of my grandpa's house, I would sprint inside the house right when I got out of the car, catching myself from tripping on even the tiniest cracks in the concrete.

Running into the house, all out of breath, I would say hi to my grandma, grandpa, and anyone else who would be there as quickly as I can. While walking causally into the kitchen, I would search high and low for the shiny, glass jars of pickled mango. Once my eyes spotted the jars, I would sneak around to grab a piece. As I took a huge bite of the crunchy red, sweet vinegary piece of pickled mango, I could feel my taste buds burst with sweet, but sour flavors. My jaws clenching slightly from the tangy taste of the sweet vinegar liquid. My fingers were stained by the red juice the mangoes were stored in. I felt like I could eat the whole gallon jar of pickled mango.

Throughout the day, the full jar of pickled mango would mysteriously get emptier, no one admitting they ate a piece from time to time. Sometimes, I would hide in the kitchen under the brown koa table watching family members coming and going, taking more than one piece of sweet vinegary mango goodness. But it would not have mattered to my grandpa because he would make a couple of full jars more whenever we ran out.

Hardly ever did I stay with my grandpa when he made more pickled mango. But the one day my parents were running late to pick me up, my grandpa decided to make it. I watched as he was picking the greenest, not fully ripe mangoes out of the mango tree, making leaves fall down on our heads. Then, when we walked back into the house, he would get the dull razor and start peeling the skin off and then slicing it into fours. He then would mix ingredients that make the sweet vinegar juice for the mango to soak in for three days.

It seemed simple and easy to make, yet no one except my grandpa would make it. I suddenly had the urge to start following in my grandpa's footsteps and make pickled mango for my family. I was disappointed shortly because I was too young to be using anything in the kitchen yet; everything was sharp and dangerous to use.

Unfortunately, I never had the chance to make pickled mango for my family like my grandpa did. After my grandpa died, no one really felt like making pickled mango. I still did, but the thing was, I never really learned how to make it. My brother also said that after my grandparents cut down the mango trees to extend their house, we did not buy mangoes to make pickled mango anymore.

Heart aching and tears flowing down my eyes like a waterfall is all because of the fact that no one wants to continue the tradition of making pickled mango. Since the memorable stories of my youth, til this day, my goal was to learn to make pickled mango and renew the tradition. I want to smell the sweet vinegar aroma everyday, see my fingers turning red from the food dye, and bite into that crunchy, tangy mango again, only to crave for more.