Eating From the Ground Up

in which our hero makes 8 mangos taste like bad and salty fish

by

Yesterday, Joey told me I was the “Don Quixote of food writers.”

I demanded an explanation, but once he saw the challenge/panic in my eyes, he shut up and changed the subject. But what he meant was that I bumble about and make hilarious mistakes so that other people can gain insight from laughing at me.

All he could really say was, “Don Quixote is one of my favorite books!”

If you’re one of the seven people who follow me on Instagram, you’ve witnessed some of the adventures of the last few weeks. Joey’s birthday cake, delicate and exactly what he asked for–until it was 5:00 and I had a few minutes before I had to run out to a meeting, and I thought, “how about I spiff this up with a little mango filling?” Which of course I didn’t finish making in time, and so when I got home at 9:30 and got to work filling the cake, it was too late to effectively act on the realization that although mango puree+ricotta=delicious, it does not have nearly enough heft to hold up cake layers. I fought with those layers as they slipped and slid, and then we just ate great mounds of cake and called it a trifle. There was also a birthday cake of a few weeks earlier for Aurel, a recipe I’ve started working on for the new book, which although in previous incarnations had been chocolatey and luscious and wonderful, was this time dense and not so yummy, covered in what I can only describe as curd-y chocolate water. But of course, since I was late to the party, I served it anyway. One six-year-old guest said “I hate this cake.” And then let’s not even talk about the the 1st round of eclairs.

This whole mango condiment thing started off innocently enough. Last year at our Farmers’ Market, the lunch options drastically increased with the arrival of Aba’s Falafel, a family affair from somewhere in New York State who would arrive pita-ready to serve the hungry masses. My friend, Ilana, admitted she was dreaming of the falafel all week long in between markets, a confession I heard quite often, but in her case it was because of the spicy mango sauce perched on the side of the stand for self-service. Ilana has spent time living in Israel, and said she had never had that hot sweetness outside of Israel until now. “I don’t even know what it is! Can you find out? Can you make it? I’ll do anything!”

Can I find it? That’s what Google is for! And can I make it? I’m Alana Chernila, and I can make anything!

If Cervantes was telling my story, this chapter would be called In which our cook does not read the recipe and gets overzealous with the salt. Beginning, of course, with the amassing of many recipes on the internet for Amba, most certainly the magical condiment in question. Then, the purchasing of many beautiful perfectly ripe and on sale (!) champagne mangoes before going home, opening up the recipe again, and realizing that the mangoes should be hard and green. (See above, where our cook decides to make a failing mango filling for said birthday cake.) The purchasing, again, of 10 hard and green mangoes, which proceed to sit on the counter while I’m too busy to make Amba. Every day the girls say, “Can we have a mango?” and every day I say, “NO! Those are for my magical mango condiment, which I will absolutely start making after you go to bed.” (Except then Joey says “How about an episode of The Walking Dead?” and then, well…) And then there is Easter morning when Joey makes waffles as a way to honor the holiday (often a challenge for we in our Jewish-ishness), then proceeds to cut up two mangoes for waffle topping, while Sadie, the great truth teller of our family, hollers “Daddy! Those are for mommy’s magical mango condiment!” And of course he rolls his eyes and carries on, because he’s heard this all before and he’s trying not to swear around the kids. And although I’m down from 10 nice green mangoes to 8 semi-ripe mangoes, I tell Sadie it’s okay, and Joey says to me “You’re damn right it’s okay! Eat your waffles.” And I do.

I love the idea of this condiment. The process involves preserving mangoes in salt (a lot like lemons) so they can release all their juice. The salted fruit is separated from the liquid, so it can be dehydrated a bit. The dried fruit then gets cooked with lots of garlic and hot pepper and fenugreek (yes! I even bought fenugreek!), and then the salty fruity liquid is added back in. It has all the elements and processes I love, and just thinking about it made me feel triumphant.

So when the recipe said to “salt well” I filled the jar as I would with preserved lemons. I packed the mangoes in lots of salt, dropping great snowstorms of David’s Kosher in there. I scanned the recipe for some sort of salt quantity, but I didn’t see it. So between 2 half-gallon jars, I used a few cups of salt, just as I would with preserved lemons. And the next morning, the mangoes had released so much luscious juice that again, I felt triumphant. I started posting pictures of my gorgeous jars on Instagram, excited and a tiny bit smug about this exotic awesome condiment fermenting on my counter. Amba, Day 1. Amba, Day 2. And so it went.

On day 5, I strained the mango from the juice, carefully reserving every drop. The recipe said to dry the mango in the sun for 4 or 5 hours, but with current New England weather conditions, that was a silly thought, so I put them in the dehydrator. I popped one in my mouth, just to see what salt-cured, skin-on mango tastes like.

It was so salty, it pickled my tongue. It burned and pinched as it went down the hatch, and then it instantly started to pickle my stomach, too.

But this is my weakness when it comes to fermentation and new kitchen projects in general: I am always hopeful.

I told myself that condiments are salty, that the drying might help, that this would all turn out well! I rinsed the mango, I spread it out on the dehydrator, and I envisioned the beautiful final product that was so close- I could taste it! That night, I tried a piece of the dehydrator mango and again it burned the taste buds right off my tongue. “Try this,” I said to Joey, and good sport that he always is, he ate it without question. Or at least he put it in his mouth before spitting it out again.

“What kind of batshit crazy fermentation is this? How on Earth did you make mango taste like fish?”

We shared a beer to get the taste out of our mouths, and we talked about the food misadventures of the past few weeks. “You’re just getting really experimental, and that’s awesome,” Joey tried to console me. “You’ve come a long way from granola and crackers. Like, what is that big slab of meat that’s been curing in the fridge for the last 2 weeks?”

Let’s not talk about that big slab of meat. It’s going fine. We’ll talk about it later.

And still, I was hopeful. I soaked the mango in water overnight to draw the salt out of it. I put it back in the dehydrator. I felt triumphant for being able to be resourceful and to follow a project out until its end. I imagined the instagram pictures of falafel with my very own Amba. I thought about the look I would see on Ilana’s face when I brought her a big jar of the magical mango condiment. The dehydrator buzzed and whirred.

After a few hours, I tried another piece. It was just as salty, but with every ounce of mango flavor soaked and salted and dried right out of it. I considered inventing a cocktail with them. I thought about grinding them into a salty spice mix. And then I lovingly transferred every last salty square into the compost. I’m a little nervous about what they’re going to to do the pH in there, but there’s no way in hell I’m THROWING THEM AWAY.

Over the course of this condimental journey, I referred back to the main recipe I was working with many times. But it wasn’t until the mangoes were dead and gone that I saw that line in the recipe that I swear hadn’t been there before: 5 tablespoons salt.

Let me know if you find any mangoes on sale. I can’t wait to start again.

 

 

 

Comments

    • Well at least I succeeded with that! And guess what- I have 10 NEW mangoes on the counter, so you’ll have your Amba one of these days.
      🙂

  2. OH MY GOSH!! I am laughing so much right now!!! The hubbies reaction was just the best!! Thanks Alana, you’ve lightened my day.

  3. I’ve totally been there. Why do the important recipe lines elude our gaze until the last minute, when they jump out and ruin everything? I misread cooking times all the time – we’re often in the middle of a dinner recipe when my husband will read “refrigerate for four hours” and groan. Those words are never there when I read the recipe through beforehand. I swear. But I suppose that’s what keeps take-out places in business.

    • I have been a victim of the “refrigerate for four hours” so many times! I try to write that into headnotes whenever I can, just because I’ve been burned by it.

  4. I was totally intrigued by the Instagram photos… This is a perfect cap to a frustrating week. Most importantly it made me smile!

  6. We’re not laughing at you. We’re laughing at ourselves. Thanks for sharing a story that belongs to all of us.

  7. If YOU can make a mistake, it gives ME a lot more permission to experiment and maybe fail. I’m often so paralyzed by the idea of not getting it “right” that I don’t try anything really unusual. Thanks. I have to honor your family’s respect for your work, too, by not touching those mangoes for so long.

    • I know, right? In some ways, that’s really the craziest part of the story. All those mangoes uneaten on the counter! That took some major willpower for the girls, especially since they are totally unexcited by the prospect of a spicy mango condiment.

  8. I have to confess, I laughed and laughed over this post. In the library, no less! Because yes, WHY do those crucial lines of instructions always mysteriously vanish until it is too late for them to be of any use?

    And I am so relieved I am not the only one who buys food for a specific experiment and then … gets distracted by silly little things like RELAXING in the evening instead of working. Ah, life! Thank goodness for laughter.

  9. Oh, Honey…that’s the best, most HONEST thing I’ve read all day. Maybe all week…Next time – and there’ll be a Next Time, no doubt – it’ll work. And your Sweet Joey will NOT make rude references (in the guise of “jokes”) every time you pass the mangoes in the market until you’re both 60…
    But I’ll warn you – the girls might… 😉

  10. > “I’m Alana Chernila, and I can make anything!”

    I can’t stand mangoes, but that sentence made me read this whole post all the way through.

    ~MS

  13. We would NEVER laugh AT you….. although we will laugh along WITH you. And Joey.

    Thank you for sharing this, I was curious when I saw the pictures on Twitter. And then puzzled when I saw the last view. Now I am relieved to know that even Alana Chernila who “can make anything!” experiences these episodes of adventure. Just like the rest of us.

  14. Loved the post, and what we do in the spirit of experimentation. I just made your hot sauce today with some ballistic chillies I picked yesterday. Muttering all the through about how long they were taking to take skins off and seeds out of (I did ha be pickled jalapenos and tomato passata on the go as well as it is early autumn here in NZ), I had one taste and have vowed to make it again.

    • Well I’m glad at least YOUR sauce had a happy ending. And I’m so jealous it’s chile season where you are. Someday…we’ll be there too.

  15. Loved this story! I hate it when I realize, like you did, that even after reading through a recipe 10 times (or more!), I have skipped an ingredient or the measurement for said ingredient. Then, like you, I swear that it wasn’t in there all those times I read through the recipe!

  16. I. Adore. This. Post.

    I laughed with tenderness and warmth and felt like i was in your home as you were telling the tale. I follow a few blogs – well…many, but there are a few that i look forward to and read as opposed to glancing over. Your blog is one of them. In fact, and at the risk of feeling like I am back in elementary school asking the girl who has been sitting beside me for the past school year if she would be my best friend, your blog was my first blog crush. I found it after I had discovered your book, displayed in my local library.

    I particularly have enjoyed the timing of this entry. I have been talking about starting up a blog forever and while i am closer to doing it i am totally nervous about the whole thing. However, I will get there and when I do I want to keep it real and personal and would hope that the reader would get the same kind of feeling I get when I read your blog – that they have stopped in for a cup of tea and we’re having a chat about life and all that is meaningful .

    Thank your for keeping it real.

    • Oh, Cat. Thank you for such kind words. I feel so honored to be your first blog crush. And you’re comment made me think of the first time I sat down to write a post almost 5 years ago. I think I really just closed my eyes and hit “publish” and there it was. It was terrifying! But always worth it to put yourself out there in the world. Jump in! (and don’t forget to send me the link, too)

  18. At last a kindred spirit. It is always good to know that I am not the only one that has good intentions but life gets in the way. At this moment I have a pile of plums that were destined for a canning experiment but have now gone soft so will be roasted instead. And next to that is a new pile of plums for the canning experiment : )

  19. Is the slab pancetta? I hope so. We’ve been making it for a about a year now, mostly w/ organic pork. It is amazing. We cut up a 7-lb. roll and freeze it in slices, until we need it for recipes. And the pix of it hanging in the basement is priceless. Recently my nephew “posed” with a big cleaver and about five that were to be gifted for Xmas. Quite the grisly scene! But it lends amazing flavor to pasta sauces, soups, stews, and a egg and cheese sandwich w/ a fried slab on a hard roll! Go Alana!

    • It’s not- but I want to do pancetta next! And you’re totally inspiring me, too. I want a pic with my cleaver and pancetta for next xmas.

  20. I could not stop laughing when I read this…and then I cracked up all over again when I went to Whole Foods tonight and there are signs all over the produce department declaring “Mango Madness!” I actually wanted to buy them and send them to you!

    I have been there, though…misreading recipes and not wanting to waste whatever disaster I spent a ton of time making. Like my chai chocolate shortbread; somehow I missed there were two types of flours and I only added the one type…they were so greasy and un-dough like that they just spread into one giant cookie in the oven. I did attempt to eat them, but no one else in m family was having any of them thy were so bad!

    • Mango Madness! If only they had any idea what that could really mean…
      But I went back to the store yesterday, and we were having Mango madness of our own. I’m trying again!

  21. Haven’t we all been THERE, in one form or another! I’m so glad you are brave but not perfect. Makes me feel better about my scratch birthday cake for my brother yesterday that looked like it was made by a 12 year old. It tasted good and he was pleased that I went to the effort, but he’d have been just as thrilled by a box mix and canned frosting, I bet.

    And we do laugh at you, but with love and affection and identifying that you are just like most of us. Those that are willing to try and know that trying means taking a chance that you could fail. I made hot fudge sauce once and accidentally used baking soda instead of cornstarch (they were in identical glass jars.) It took forever to cook, but it looked gorgeous. And then I tasted it. Had to toss it and start over at 10:00 pm. (It was for gifts being taken to work the next morning.) I was just lucky I had enough ingredients to not have to go flying to the grocery store, too!

    • It makes me laugh to hear that phrase “that you’re just like the rest of us”–honestly I hear from all of you about all the beautiful things you make, and I aspire to be like you all! Mutual inspiration, I guess, or at least just a happiness that we’re all doing our best. 🙂

  22. Bless you. Seriously reading this gave me the best laugh I’ve had all week. Beyond the mysterious recipe instructions written in invisible ink (or something)–which happens to me, too–why is it that it’s always the recipes with expensive ingredients like mangoes? I had to throw away an entire batch of something a while back, and it had a good deal of an expensive gluten free flour (not to mention my favorite butter) in it. {Sigh.} C’est la vie. 🙂

  23. For me, it was baking soda. 3/4 of tbsp was misread as 3/4 of a cup. Worst cookies ever. I was 10 or 11 at the time. My family still hasn’t given up on teasing me about it. I’ll be 40 this year.

  24. You could always use them in a similar way to salt-preserved lemons? To add a touch of fruit & salt to a stew or curry? We wouldn’t get anywhere in the kitchen without one or two spectacular failures!

  26. You are Awesome! And your husband is a gem. I’m glad to know that shit happens to others as well. I made a loaf of feta herb bread on Friday simply because of the feta. Thing is, I forgot to add the feta. Dangit!

  27. I had a ****load of fun readin this entry. J is right- these adventures are great. I do believe you told me the very same thing- just get out there and experiment, doesn’t matter if you make mistakes as long as you learn from them. something along those line, right? Hope is your strength, my lovely.

  29. Oh dear, hilarious Alana…. how you have made me laugh! 🙂
    You give us all permission to goof up and then try, try again.
    Thank you!!

  30. You are hilarious. I lovingly threw out a failed batch of homemade fruit snacks last night. We cannot cook something truly great unless we sometimes cook something truly horrible. Right?

  32. Very late here, but all I can think is, base for vegan fish sauce.
    I love amba, but I’d blow a batch for the shimmering promise of vegan Thai food.

    • You know I think you’re on to something here? Next mango season, it’s vegan fish sauce experimentation time. Just remind me 🙂

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