By an Indian in Austin, still chasing Alphonso summers.There’s a specific kind of joy that begins in the back of your throat and ends in your fingertips — that’s mango season. Not the kind where you pick up a firm, reddish-yellow “mango” from Whole Foods and pretend you’re fine. I’m talking about real mango season.Alphonsos. Totapuris. Kesar. Banganapalli. The sticky, golden madness that hits India every April like a delicious tropical storm.Growing up in Mumbai, mangoes weren’t fruit — they were event. The first crate of Alphonsos would arrive like royalty. Newspaper-wrapped, nestled in straw, with that warm, heady smell of ripeness and memory. My dad would sniff each one dramatically, as if assessing gold. My mom would hide the ripest ones at the back of the fridge, under spinach bags, as a form of parental rationing. We had rules. Mango was not to be wasted. Mango was not to be eaten with dirty fingers. Mango deserved silence.Then we moved to Texas.You know what mango season in Austin looks like? A bin at H-E-B labeled “Champagne mangoes” and one confused employee who thinks Alphonso is a wine. You pick one up, pray, take it home, cut it open — and it tastes like sadness. Or worse, like a raw papaya with aspirations.So now every spring, I go into mango mode. I check Desi grocery stores in Round Rock. I stalk WhatsApp auntie groups. One year, I ordered a box of Alphonsos online — Mangozz.com, bless them — and paid the equivalent of a small car’s oil change to have them FedExed from Mumbai to my apartment. I opened the box like it was sacred. And for one glorious week, my fridge smelled like home.
The Anatomy of the First Bite
The first bite of a ripe Alphonso mango is not casual. It requires:
A plate you’re not emotionally attached to (because it will stain)
Clean fingers, ready to get messy anyway
A willingness to close your eyes and shut up for 30 seconds
That sweet-tangy explosion. The smooth, saffron-colored flesh. The juice that drips down your wrist and forces you to lick your elbow like a confused cat. If joy had a flavor, it would be this.
Totapuri, the Underrated Hero
While Alphonso gets all the press, let’s talk about Totapuri. It’s the slightly elongated one with a beak-like end — and in many homes (mine included), it’s what you ate while standing barefoot in the kitchen, sprinkling salt and chili powder directly onto its tart slices. It’s the mango that hits back. The one you eat when you’re in a mood.
Totapuri isn’t about elegance. It’s about bite. Literally and emotionally. A reminder that not all mangoes are sweet, and not all cravings are gentle.
Mangoes as Time Travel
Every spring, I watch my son in Austin eat mango with a spoon, sitting upright, like it’s pudding. I smile, but inside I’m screaming. Mango is not meant to be civilized. Mango is meant to be slurped, sucked off the seed, and shared in a bowl that leaves your face sticky and your heart full.
So when May rolls around, and my South Asian grocery posts the “fresh Alphonso box – call to reserve” sign, I sprint. Not for the mango, but for the memory.
Because that first bite of the season isn’t just fruit. It’s childhood. It’s heat. It’s holidays. It’s chaos. And somehow, always, it tastes like home.
Born in Mumbai, now stir-frying feelings in Texas. Writes about food, memory, and the messy magic in between — mostly to stay hungry, sometimes just to stay sane.
Born in Mumbai, now stir-frying feelings in Texas. Writes about food, memory, and the messy magic in between — mostly to stay hungry, sometimes just to stay sane.
4 Comments on “The First Bite of Mango Season”
This made me realize why my dad gets so emotional every time he smells mangoes. I grew up in Jersey thinking “Champagne mangoes” were the real deal 😅
Reading this felt like sitting on the floor with mango juice dripping down my arm again. Totapuri with salt and chili was *my* summer too. Thanks for the nostalgia — and the reminder that mango with a spoon is a crime 🙂
This made me realize why my dad gets so emotional every time he smells mangoes. I grew up in Jersey thinking “Champagne mangoes” were the real deal 😅
Wait till you try a real Alphonso… your whole fruit worldview might shift 😄
Reading this felt like sitting on the floor with mango juice dripping down my arm again. Totapuri with salt and chili was *my* summer too. Thanks for the nostalgia — and the reminder that mango with a spoon is a crime 🙂
This hit me right in the gut. I could smell the Alphonso while reading. Grew up in Pune, now stuck with sad, firm mangoes in California.