I am one of those very lucky people who live in an area where we have the opportunity to try many different food types. This weekend we have had the pleasure of enjoying a different variety of mango. The honey mango.
It has a glorious dusky yellow skin and smells divine. As you cut into it, you realise that the stone is not the usual mango shape but smaller in terms of width, and therefore so much easier to cut. Which in itself is an absolute joy, however, for me it is the taste that will blow you away. It strokes your palette in a way that only the sweetest fruit can, lingering around your mouth long after the fruit itself has gone.
And perhaps the piece de resistance is the packaging. Glorious bright colours and absolutely no fancy words. Honey Mango, Produce of Pakistan. That’s it. Quite frankly, what more do you need?
Meanwhile the wee boy and I had the most wonderful conversation this evening.
Like all young children, he has gone through a phase of wanting to know when I might die, and what will happen. I have reassured him that I am not planning to leave any time soon, but when I do I would like to be planted in the ground with a tree seed so that I can continue to grow.
Tonight, after asking once more when I’m going to become a tree, and being reassured that it won’t, hopefully, be for a long time yet, he said,
‘When I die I want to be buried under your tree’