I was cruising through Fremont when a sign advertising “premium Indian mangos” compelled me to pull over. I knew the tales of South Asian mangos, which celebrated their splendor — and the difficulty of the quest to obtain them in most of the U.S., where they are available only once a year at food festivals or community meet-ups, or through underground networks. Often you’ll have to order in bulk, far in advance and sometimes even meet the dealer in the airport cargo bay.
AumPi is an Indian mango purveyor sandwiched between a 7-Eleven and a DMV Express. The interior is little more than an office crammed with mango boxes, which sit in clustered stacks against the walls, some as high as 6 feet tall.
The mangos included kesar, a varietal from western India’s Gujarat region that’s prized for its soft yellow-orange flesh, named after the Gujarati word for “saffron,” and rasalu, from Andhra Pradesh in the south, which is eaten in a specific manner due to its high fiber content: Less eaten than drunk, it’s massaged to loosen the pulp, allowing you to slurp juice from the fruit’s end.
The kesar has an intoxicating aroma that’s almost citrusy. Its flesh is soft, nearly gelatinous; its sweetness is bright, with sly notes of licorice. The best bit is the pit, which is incredibly satisfying to bite into as the flesh practically liquifies. Juicier still was the rasalu, with a mellow sweetness that almost bordered on creamy. I was surprised by how much liquid I was able to extract — enough to fill up a pint glass and then some. These were some of the best mangos I’ve ever had…