time flies like an arrow...

but, fruitflies like (pause here for effect, when spoken), a banana. ba dump bump.

i love mangoes, and sometimes enjoy the organic or conventional ones available in supermarkets, a lovely treat. of course there will be an occasional dud, but not often. i have heard that the mangoes we find in the produce aisles here in the states are just nowhere near as good as the tree ripened ones in country x, y, or z. 'no,' we are told, 'the ones in z are even better than in y - and huge!' mr. x will change the subject... 'you really have no conception of what papaya means in your country,' he'll say.

i've never heard nepalis talk like this. here is what would happen in my village at the start of mango season. the mangoes would be hanging tightly to their stems and tree limbs, maybe the size of a fist. they were about as hard as a baseball, and bright green. the children would climb the trees and begin to harvest, maybe two at a time, nibbling tart bites on their way back from school, spitting out the skin. i was offered such fruit, but would claim no appetite. an honest statement, but not necessarily for the reason they might have guessed.

why did they do this? they genuinely seemed to like the flavor. my guess is that over the millenia, as people would harvest mangoes from the communal trees, the early 'bird' would end up with more fruit, and gradually their taste preferences adapted. the tangy, spicy, and salty pickle made from such unripe fruit i did find quite delicious. same for the lemon and lime peel pickles. still love those with the occasional daalbhaat meal.

but let me tell you about the amazing fruit in village homes, davis, california (country xx). climbing up the old fig trees and picking the black mission figs that have been hanging weeks past ripe, they were just incredibly soft and sweet, shriveled up like raisins, but smooth and creamy like butter - something you truly can never find in a store. or the jojobe tree in our backyard. what, never heard of a jojobe? (not the candy, 'jujube.') middle eastern, it was a golf-ball sized brown fruit, tasted kind of like dried apple. same back yard, a tall apricot tree. in my country, xx, let me tell you about tree ripened fruit. or how about feijoas? they ripened in december or january, and were ripe only after they had fallen off the bush. tasted a bit like quava, a bit juicier like pineapple. and there was the cherry orchard, the plum orchard, the grape vineyards... x, y, and z people have no idea, them was the days, i'm telling you.

spring is here, the cherries are ripe. bon appetit!