How many mango varieties are there?

I have been eating mangoes every day since I landed in Delhi five months ago. Surprisingly, I am not bored of them yet, despite eating them the same way every day – cut into chunks and served with other seasonal fruits such as lychee, watermelon, papaya and musk melons - for breakfast.

I know that I should get a little more creative and add them to firni (Indian rice pud) or make ice cream, but I have only ventured as far as a homemade sweet mango lassi. To be honest, I prefer their silky, sweet flesh in its purest form. Plus living in this Indian summer heat, I am avoiding the kitchen at all costs. Thankfully, there are other ways to get a mango fix in this city, as mango burfi (an Indian milk sweet) from my favourite Haldirams in Old Delhi, mango ice cream from our local Big Chill, and mango smoothie in my regular coffee shop. I never miss a chance to have mango.

Also preventing any kind of mango overload is the vast range in variety of this indigenous fruit. On passing any fruit stall or shop in the city, I scour the goods for a mango whose sweet flesh I have not yet savoured. The variety has been incredible – I certainly had no idea there were so many - from fat large yellow skinned, to medium mottled green fruits, and tiny, cardamom scented ones so small that they are mostly stone. Unfortunately, my Hindi has not progressed much and I still know none of their names.

But what I do have are photos of a few of the varieties I have tasted, with incredible and yet somewhat indescribable differences in taste, texture and juiciness. As Madhur Jafrey in her book A Taste of India says “I often think summers in India would be unbearable without the God-given compensation of mangoes, Alphonsoes in particular ”. I agree.

One of my early blog posts about Indian food recalled my first taste of Indian mangoes and back then I thought I had tasted Alphonso that looked similar to those found in UK supermarkets. But, how wrong could I have been? The difference between what I was eating then, compared to my box of true Alphonso mangoes direct from Maharashtra on the West coast of India... well they were incomparable.

This humble box of Alphonso mangoes or apus as they are known across India, was actually a very expensive gift from Jack. Visiting Mumbai and Pune for work, the team took a long detour via the wholesale fruit market with the sole purpose of purchasing the “King of mangoes” to bring home to Delhi. Some thought it was a strange gift to receive, and Jack too was a little unsure if they would really be worth the money (they are the most prized and therefore expensive type). But me being me, I was totally thrilled.

Quickly I prepared the ripest beauty, with juice trickling down my arm and the flesh slicing off the stone with ease. The fragrance just on piercing the skin made me salivate, something our local varieties had yet to do.

The ripest one in the box

A taste test was in order to see just how good these babies were compared to what we had tried so far, so I chopped up one of the regulars too. Just looking at the fruit (and apologies for the lack of photos) the Alphonso flesh was a deeper, darker, more orange colour with a firmness that meant it was easily cut into chunks. On eating... well there was truly no contest. The flesh had a meaty bite, but was the juiciest I’d ever eaten, with pure mango nectar dribbling down my chin. The flavour was strong but not overpoweringly fragrant as some varieties have been, and sweet but not sickly. All in all, it was perfect and worth every Rupee.

We had a week to eat a dozen mangoes before we left for a holiday in Goa, which meant we had two for breakfast every day. Getting better as the week progressed, I found they got sweeter and juicier and I was sad when we ate the last one, licking the plate for the remaining drips of juice.

But what I didn’t know was what the local fruit guys had in store for me. Even more varieties coming into season... there were even more treats to come.

Oh, and to answer the title of this post... how many varieties are there? Thousands apparently, with new cultivars being developed all the time. So I have a lot of tasting before the season is out.

Related posts:

Alphonso Mangos

Are you sweet for Mithai?

I have discovered the sugary world of Indian sweets (mithai). I must have bought about 4 or 5 boxes containing my own selection from the glittering, colourful counters, aiming to try all of them – for research of course. But by the time I have brought them home, tried each of the different ones and intensely discussed which ones were best, what they were called and re-told the comedy moment in the shop, as there is always one... they are gone.

My excuse is they have to be consumed within two days, being made from fresh and unadulterated ingredients. However, sneaky nibbles and midnight tastings at the fridge means they quickly eaten before I can take photos of the beauties, or even remember what they were.

So, I promise to delve into the seemingly polarised world of Indian mithai... if only for the chance to return for both the funny story of what happened when I bought them, and the intense milky fragrant sweets to devour alone.

Indian Cookery Classes

Indian food is an ancient and varied cuisine, totally dependent on the region, terrain, and weather from where it originates. Ingredients, cooking methods and accompaniments vary enormously as you travel from north to south, let alone east to west... So it was essential for me to enrol on some cookery classes on arrival in New Delhi, to try and begin my education of in Indian cookery.

Researching extensively before I left the UK, I found only a handful of classes in Northern India, and cruising the internet forums and foodie websites, I came across very few in Delhi. Most of the cooking schools featured foreign cuisine classes such as Italian, Lebanese, Spanish and Thai, or speciality skills such as cake baking and decorating – not what I was looking for.

However, further digging led me to Gourmet Desire in South Delhi, where I now live. Jyoti, a passionate home cook took two of us through some essential Indian ingredients, and then demonstrated northern Indian dishes on the free standing gas hob on her sheltered balcony. Armed with some very loose recipes – I think Indian women are born with the essential family recipes inscribed on their brain - I began my culinary adventure.

Indian women have always learnt to cook from their mothers and / or mother in laws, involved in food preparation for the family from an early age. Clearly there is no need for a cookery class if you are on a permanent food education at home. However, with modern times banging at the sub continents doors, fewer and fewer young women are learning to cook, choosing to study or work instead. When I was recently in my local market, searching for our favourite dosa mix, 2 Indian women asked me what I planned to do with it. “I’ll make Masala Dosa” I replied slightly amused by the question. “Whaaaat, you cook dooosaaa?” cooed the two ladies. “I don’t know how to make dosa” one laughed, “wow” said the other in admiration as I walked away with my new found foodie respect.

In the end, due to the lack of Indian courses available, I created my own schedule of “teach yourself Indian cookery”. Then, just in the nick of time, Amita called with a space on her last class before summer I had enquired about when I arrived. With my new found foodie guru I have learnt more than I could have wished for; rich Mughal influence north Indian dishes; lighter never tasted before southern ones; kashmiri home cooking; ingredients, names, cooking methods and history.

So if you are looking for Indian cooking classes in India, here is the benefit of my research. Whilst I haven’t tried all of them out, I was willing to part with cash if I had to... and they also had great reviews elsewhere. Make the decision for yourself, and if you try any, let me know what it’s like – there is always more to learn when it comes to Indian food.

Cooking with Amita - Delhi

Gourmet Desire - Delhi

India on the menu – Goa

Nimmy Paul – Kerala

Haritha Farms – Kerala

And just for the record, they will all happily take people with dietary requirements.

Old Delhi Spice Market

Even before I arrived in India, I had a longing to see and smell the Spice Market of Old Delhi. A thriving wholesale market at the heart of the North Indian spice trade, merchants come from all over the country to buy the sacks of chillies, turmeric, cloves and lentils for their own shops and restaurants. My Indian foodie guru whisked me from the relative peace and quiet of New Delhi into the choc-a-block heart of Old Delhi via the serene air conditioned metro which spat us out onto Chandi Chowk. Translated it means “Moonlit Square” and is the main street of Old Delhi built by Mughal King Shah Jahan’s favourite daughter as a prestigious thoroughfare from their palace (Red Fort) to their place of worship (Jama Masjid – India’s largest mosque). Lined with grand merchant residences and shops along the way it was grand and peaceful heart of the city.

Fast forward to what is now Old Delhi and the place retains that old world feel. I love the magic, energy, hustle and bustle of the real working market – there’s no show put on for tourists here. Millions go about their business amongst a tangle of electricity cables, chai wallahs, cycle rickshaws, mopeds, porters and of course the odd cow.

As our rickshaw weaved expertly through the assorted traffic, we passed tiny shops proudly stuffed full of Indian crafts – saris, spices, sliver, stainless steel, wedding utilities and fabric galore. Left over from the old days, this old walled city is divided into product related bazaars – Kinari Bazaar (Wedding Market), Nai Sarat (Books and Stationary market), Dariba Kalan (Jewellery Market), Katra Neel (cloth market) and my favourite Khari Baoli Asia’s biggest spice market, perched at the end of Chandi Chowk.

The road which forms the spice market area is lined with narrow shops full of spices, tea, stainless steel cookware, nuts, dried fruits and rice available to buy in smaller quantities. Alongside these ingredients an eclectic mix of things are also for sale - pure almond oil used by Indian ladies as a moisturiser, natural loofa to scrub the city’s grime away, kitsch cloth bags to carry your shopping home, and gigantic terracotta pumice stones to smooth flip flopped feet.

After buying all of these for an insanely small amount of money, we darted into a dark archway and were slapped in the face by the intense aromas of chilli and cloves. This was the true wholesale market where merchants sell only one ingredient in various qualities by the sack load. Walking up some dark, grimy steps, we dodged the young boys lugging heaving sacks downstairs to arrive on a large veranda and a view of Indian spice wholesale in all its glory. Up here, amongst the old Havelis from hundreds of years ago, but now in tatters and wrapped in the workings of the spice centre, you could just see how grand this city and market once was.

All around us, sacks and sacks of spices were being stored, moved and sold. One merchant sold only cloves, and the variety in quality was incredible when inspected side by side. After much encouragement from my Indian Foodie Guru he agreed to sell me a small amount – perfect for my pilauo – a neat 500g!

Further along, chilli merchants sat alongside native dried mushroom sellers as sacks continued to be moved from storage along the narrow balcony to transport carts down stairs. The sight was incredible, some of the ingredients unrecognizable, and the smell got right in your eyes and up your nose.

Once I had drunk it all in, it was time to shop. The quality is second to none at this market and prices so cheap they seem unreal, so I made the most of the trip and my guide asking what every odd ingredient was and how to use it. Lotus seeds – which make a good fried snack like popcorn, sundried spiced lentil balls – used to bulk up pilau, dried mango slices to make amchoor, pickles made to ancient family recipes, and sela rice used for big suppers as it doesn’t stick...

Exhausted by the heat and thrum of the city, we were in need of refreshment so headed to the stainless steel merchant, as shopping in the Indian fashion guarantees a drink and a seat in the shade of the shop. I had a list of essential Indian equipment to buy, so as we rest our weary legs, my purse took a beating instead. Paneer press, double lidded masala tin, milk urn, karahai (similar to a wok), pestle and mortar, tiffin, and nimboo juicer... Before leaving I had to nip out to buy 2 canvas bags (decorated with kitsch Indian advertising) to have some chance of carrying all our goodies back home.

As the day heated up, and pedestrian traffic expanded, loaded with spices, stainless steel and all manner of strange ingredients, we joined the masses heading back to the metro and its air conditioning. Possibly my best day in India yet, I vowed a return to Khari Baoli Spice Market, if only to drink in the sights and smells all over again.

How to use a pressure cooker

Using a retro piece of kit like a pressure cooker may seem like a bit of a faff, but I have to admit that I am a complete convert (although this could be due to the luxury of not working here in India and “running the home”). However, particularly in these cost and environment conscious times, pressure cooking is a great way to cook cheap ingredients (dried beans, pulses, lentils, slow cooking meat cuts) using much less energy and water. And whilst I remain a little jumpy at the Indian pressure cooker whistle, I know I will continue to use it for all the authentic Indian recipes I have learnt here (rajma, channa pindi, channa dal, mossor dal to name a few).

I have an old fashioned model, the cheapest and most straight forward to use (if you don’t like the look or cost the new digital style ones). Using this type, as my mother did when I was a child also means you have people to ask when you get a little uncertain about its behaviour.

So here are some guidelines for how to use a pressure cooker, but please note: these are mere guidelines, and you should always refer to the manufacturer’s instructions. Living in India, where everyone uses one and knows the intricacies how they work, my instructions were a little basic ... so much of this is based on my own learning, mistakes and frantic google-ing.

• First of all don’t be scared of it. Know that it will make a racket and with all the safe guards on even the most basic models, it is extremely unlikely to explode!
• Ensure that the rim of the pan is free from dents as this will affect the seal
• Ensure the rubber seal is intact and dry
• Ensure the hole through which the steam comes is clean
• Ensure the weight is clean and its holes are clean
• Have a timer / phone / alarm to hand for accurate cooking times
• Ensure you have the right amount of water to solids so that the ingredient doesn’t dry out and there is enough steam to release the pressure. Use this site for guidance and the amounts I often work further on
• Make sure the handle of the pan is secure (mine comes undone every now and again) and affects the pressure
• When you are ready to pressure cook, secure the lid on the pan as instructed and put on a high heat to bring the liquid to a boil
• When there is a gentle jet of steam (not a gushing of lentil water, as in my first attempt) place the weight on top of the spout ensuring it is firmly in place with a click (or not so much of a click like my baby Indian version). Run you hand above the spout and you should feel a stream of air.
• Leave the pan on a high heat and in a few moments the weight will start to wobble and spurt. Leave it alone (this was the moment that I got really scared and chickened out). You must wait for the “whistle”.
• Only when you get a right old spurt of steam coming from underneath the weight or a “whistle” should you then turn the heat down to a low setting.
• My Indian pressure cooker makes no whistle at all, only a noisy spurt, but I believe others actually whistle.
• Leave the Pressure Cooker to cook as long as required.
• You may get water or cooking liquid coming out from the weight, but this is ok.
• Mine “whistles” every 30 seconds or so, but I believe (or rather hope) the bigger ones are slightly less often.
• When the time is up, turn off the heat and remove the pressure cooker from the hob.
• DO NOT TRY TO OPEN THE LID. Leave the pressure cooker to cool down and pressure release until no pressure is released.
• This should take about 20-30mins but you can check the by lifting the weight GENTLY with the tip of the knife. If it’s still spurting steam, leave it alone.
• Most recipes include the cooling down time as part of the cooking time, as the ingredients are still under pressure and therefore still cooking, so it’s best not to try and rush this phase as you may end up with half cooked beans.
• Once the pressure has all gone, undo the lid and check you ingredient is cooked. If not, you can replace the lid and repeat the whole process again until what you are cooking is complete.

Water measurements and pressure cooking time for 1 cup of ingredients:
Chickpeas : 3 ½ cups of water - cook for 30mintues
Rajma (kidney beans) : 3 ½ cups of water - cook for 30mintues
Channa dal (chickpea dal) : 3 cups of water - cook for 30minutes
Arhar dal (yellow dal) : 3 cups of water - cook for 10minutes
Urad dal (black lentil) : 2 ½ cups of water cook for 30minutes

Note: Using 1 litre of milk to make paneer gives you just over what you need to make dal with the whey using 1 cup of lentils.