Ka Wai Ola - Office of Hawaiian Affairs, Volume 20, Number 8, 1 ʻAukake 2003 — Papa's Mango Seed [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Papa's Mango Seed

By David J. 'lmaikalani Wallaee

Growing up on Moloka'i, nothing stirs my memories of small-kid time like making Papa's mango seed. This activity also meant that school was almost over and summer break was just around the corner. Making Papa's mango seed began just as the mangoes were turning orangeyellow on the trees. Picking mango was like celebrating Easter. Dad, Mom, and my brother would take long bamboo poles and knoek the mangoes to the ground as we little ones scurried after the fallen fruits like they were Easter eggs. When we got home, the mangos were unloaded and placed in a large tub filled with warm water. We sat around the pākini with scrub brushes and washed the mangos. The elean fruit were then placed into a larger pākini where Dad sat with a huge cleaver, chopping eaeh mango in half and removing the seed. After the mangos were peeled, Dad took out a large paekage of Hawaiian salt and started stirring it into the fruit. After all the fruits were salted, two cups of vinegar were added and the mixing continued as before. Finally, a large white cloth was tied securely around the pākini and the mangos were allowed to marinate for two days. For the next two days, it was absolute torture to awake in the morning to the aroma of salted mangoes and vinegar. Every one of us was tempted to risk our delicate bottoms just to sample a slither of the marinating mix. Late one night after everyone had gone to bed, I slipped out of my room and headed to the kitchen to sneak a pieee of mango. There to my surprise in the light of the kukui hele pō was my Dad, kneeling over the pākini. He was munching on a big juicy pieee of fruit. As I stepped into the kitchen, I

startled him. To cover up he said, "Just testing to see if it's ready or not ..." He gave me a huge ehunk of mango to make sure I didn't say anything to anyone, then sent me to bed. I ate all of the meat on the seed, then sucked on the husk like a pacifier. If a few pieces of mango disappeared during the marinating stage, even more vanished when the mangoes were placed out to dry. There is nothing finer than the flavor of half-dried, vinegar-laced, salted mango. Da bugga is 'ono! Onee the mangos were dried by the sun, they were put into a huge cooking pot. Following instinct and aroma rather than recipe, Dad began adding the ingredients to the mix: mounds of brown sugar, a touch of lime juice, a smidgen of five-spice, a fistful of lemon rinds, a comb of honey, and a squirt of red food coloring. When the time was right, Dad got the first gallon out and popped open the lid, releasing the familiar sweet-and-sour odor of vintage mango seed. Saliva filled out mouths, making our jaws aehe in anticipation. Using an old wooden spoon, mounds of precious mango seed were spooned out to eaeh of us as we joyfully feasted upon the long-awaited delicacy. In a few short weeks, all the mango seed was gone and school was done for the year. The memory of mango seasons long since past still lingers with me. When our family is together now, we still take time to recall those times with fondness in our hearts. We realize how we have changed, just as Hawai'i has changed. We wonder if our children's childhood will be as memorable as ours. Now would be a perfect time to make some mango seed ... if I could only find a tree! ■

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