Mango salsa on a fish taco. The Accidental Balabusta enjoyed her husband Harvey’s salsa with quesadillas, marinated salmon and broccoli. (photo from jamdownfoodie.com)
Forgive me. I am late to the party. The one that happens on May 5. While Cinco de Mayo is not exactly what you’d call a national holiday in Canada, it is cause for celebration for many people. Note: I am including my husband Harvey. He loves anything Mexican, especially the food. Tamales – excelente! Enchiladas – muy bien! Chile relleno – la mejor! But the food that garners the most points is salsa. Any and all types.
In the spirit of all things Mexican, Harvey decided to make his famous mango avocado salsa. He was swayed in his decision by the fact that we had four-and-a-half very ripe avocados languishing in our fridge, just waiting to be transformed into something fabulous. Who am I to say no to such a perky side dish?
So, off Harvey went to Whole Paycheque to shop for the other key ingredients, which should have included a few limes, cilantro, one jalapeño, a red onion (optional) and a few mangoes. A couple hundred dollars later, Harvey arrives home. He waltzes in, all proud of himself, with blue organic tortilla chips, tequila, all the makings for quesadillas and some MANGOES. I capitalize this fruit because they feature front and centre in this Mexican-Canadian drama. These were not just any old mangoes, bought in bulk with the odd imperfection, scrawny in stature from early picking and a long journey north. These were capital M mangoes. Probably flown in on a private jet.
My first tip-off that these were indeed fruit royalty was their house. Yes, each organic mango came in its own dwelling. Not a mansion, but a respectable-sized condo, made of slatted wood, so the mango could breathe on its journey, nestled among shredded paper (probably also organic). Not only that, but each mango was encased in Styrofoam-like padding.
I took one look at the MANGOES and asked Harvey the fatal question (central to this drama): “Harvey, how much did you pay for each mango?”
Harvey: Silence.
Me: “Seriously, what did they cost?”
Harvey: “They’re worth it.”
Me: “Spill it. Now.”
Harvey: “Look at the bill.” (Harvey slinks off into the living room.)
I feared what I might see. (Note: self-fulfilling prophecy.) After a few minutes of silence, Harvey returns.
Harvey: “I went up to the cashier at Whole Foods and she scanned the first mango. Then, in a hushed voice, so as not to potentially embarrass me, she asked if I knew how much it cost. Proudly, with head held high, I said I did. Then she asked me if I still wanted to buy it.”
At this point, I realized that my husband’s dignity and masculinity were on the line. There was no way he was going to decline buying the mangoes, as though admitting that he couldn’t afford them. He was damn well going to buy those mangoes, even if it meant getting a bank loan or selling a kidney. In true macho fashion, he told the cashier – with mock enthusiasm for these extravagantly priced fruit – “Of course I want them!”
Once he escorted his royal fruit (and other plebian ingredients) home, he entered the house looking like a Golden Retriever who’d just eaten his owner’s socks. Very, very sheepish. Yet somehow triumphant. Once I heard his long, drawn-out confession and his assurance that this would be the greatest salsa ever (do I hear echoes of Trump – “Make mangoes great again!”), what could I do? I might have threatened divorce if he ever did this again.
Without further ado, he got to work. And I hate to admit it, but it was the best darn mango avocado salsa I have ever scarfed down. And I’ve scarfed a lot of salsa in my day. Thank you, Harvey.
MANGO AVOCADO SALSA
2 ripe avocados, peeled and diced into 1/4- to 1/2-inch pieces
2 cups ripe mango, pitted, peeled and diced into 1/4- to 1/2-inch pieces
2 tbsp lime juice (or lots more, if you prefer)
2 tbsp cilantro chopped (or more, if you really like cilantro)
1/2 jalapeño, finely chopped
2 tbsp red onion, finely chopped (optional)
1/4 tsp kosher salt
Other recipes for mango avocado salsa call for diced red pepper and grated lime zest. Use your tastebuds as your guide.
The salsa was the star of our belated Cinco de Mayo dinner, which also included quesadillas, marinated salmon and broccoli, none of which came in its own house. A few shots of tequila later and we were all dancing the samba, la bamba, the rumba and the danza de acatlaxques (just kidding about this last one … I have no idea what it is, but it sounds festive). I no longer cared what the mangoes cost. My anger had subsided (as had their capitalization) and Harvey was no longer in danger of being divorced. Our guests were cheerful and well-lubricated, and a good time was had by all.
Will I ever let Harvey buy mangoes again? Hell, no. But I do let him loose in Costco once a month. I suppose I run the risk of him potentially coming home with a kayak. Or an $8,000 massage chair. Or a $20,000 golf simulator. But he knows in his heart that I’d rip his tonsils out through his ears if he did that. Using common sense (and his fondness for his tonsils) as his guide, the most exorbitant thing he ever purchases at Costco are ribeye steaks. And I’m not going to argue with that! Also, how can I get mad at a man who comes home with a 48-pack of two-bite brownies and chocolate truffles, just because? I realized later that I had no business berating him about those diva mangoes. After all, I wasn’t paying for them. And I did reap the benefit.
The takeaway is this: when hubby overspends on something, let it slide. Unless he comes home minus a kidney. Then you can start worrying. In case you’re wondering, each mango was $13.50. Enough said.
Shelley Civkin, aka the Accidental Balabusta, is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review. She’s currently a freelance writer and volunteer.