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Mango Morning
by Rita Gardner
Excerpts:
In the chilly kitchen, I survey the fruit I plucked out of the bins at the Lucky supermarket, picking up the mango first. It’s oversized, probably cultivated especially for California tastes, and I expect it won’t measure up to the ones I remember from my youth in the Caribbean. A neon sticker is slapped like an insult on its swollen side, proclaiming “$1.09 each” in bold print. I cut lengthwise, with the grain, releasing long slippery slices. Juice oozes on the cutting board, and even here in the cool morning I am surprised by a sweet remembered smell. I’m transported instantly away from a gray winter Bay Area morning, right back to the Dominican Republic and the trees and fruit that grew insatiably -- pineapples, bananas, avocado, citrus . . . and mangos . . .
