English
Looking back at a lifelong love affair with the totapuri or kilimooku, which revels in chaats, gravies and desserts alike
Come summer and drawing rooms are abuzz with mango talk: pedigree, quality, quantity and price. The arrival of various exotic varieties is awaited with bated breath. But in this land of connoisseurs, the most ordinary variety has been my favourite — the kilimooku manga aka totapuri or kilichundan manga.
This year, my Valentine’s Day gift was the first bunch of kilimooku mangoes of the season from our farm. The first mango chutney of the season was prepared that night, and eaten with gusto. The fragrance of jeeraga samba rice combined with the freshness of mangoes and sweetness of coconut milk was indescribable.
With its greenish-yellow colour, reddish spots on the outer skin and the light yellow inner flesh when raw; its crunchy sweet-and-sour taste when mature; and its yellowish-orange outer hue with creamy inner pulp when ripe… no other variety has the impact of this ‘ordinary mango’ with a beak.
It is my good fortune that the otherwise treeless plot of land we bought has a few kilimooku mango trees. It’s mostly relished by our neighbours and passersby, but we do get a few dozen every year, some years more than the others. The trees are not too tall: easy for me to climb and pluck the mangoes.
I first fell in love with these mangoes when we moved to Mumbai two decades ago. The hour-long daily commute made a quick evening snack at the local railway station necessary. The totapuri, sliced and arranged enticingly on the plate, with bright red chilli powder sprinkled atop, was irresistible. I would invariably ask for the bhel puri as well, with chopped mango giving it a distinct flavour.
Another unforgettable experience was my first aam panna, a cooling Maharashtrian drink made from raw mangoes. On that hot day, I drank the refreshing concoction made by women who had pulped the uncooked green totapuri with sugar, mint, and roasted and powdered cumin.
That was the day I decided this was my mango.
In season, kilimooku mangoes go into almost everything we make at home. Starting with the chutney made with coconut, pepper and curry leaves — what else can you expect from somebody born and brought up in Kerala? — right to the raw pieces on a plate.
The gravy we make with pumpkin or ash gourd and drumstick is made with half a mango, which gives it just the right amount of zing. The sambar and aviyal are cooked with mango pieces, and tamarind is relegated to the back shelf till the raw mangoes run out.
They go into pachadi, with mustard and grated coconut. They work beautifully in salads and, of course, are ideal for sweet-and-sour mango rice.
Despite being a lackadaisical cook, raw kilimooku gets me into a frenzy of making cut mango pickles. I make this in sesame oil with just red chilli powder, mustard, salt and curry leaves.
And this year, finally, the kilimooku mangoes inspired me to make my first batch of homemade thokku and chunda. Armed with simple, easy-to-follow recipes, I made spicy mango thokku and sweet chunda — both organic, local and seasonal.
