Every summer, when mangoes were in season, my mother would make a batch or two of her chutney, a recipe given to her by her friend, Phyllis, in the mid-1960's. I remember how the tart, fruity aroma of mangoes and vinegar would waft through our house. My mother would cook it all day in her big cast iron Dutch oven. She had her pot of boiling water filled with jars and lids.
Once my folks retired and moved across the country to my turf, we made batches in our respective kitchens and taste-tested results. Special friends earned a precious jar, but we made sure to save one for that turkey sandwich after Thanksgiving, when the guests had gone and the cooks could relax.
I lost my mother to cancer over Thanksgiving 2007, our favorite holiday. I couldn't bear to make chutney during that long, sad summer of 2008.
Last year, when the mangos were big and juicy, I made two batches. As I stirred the simmering chutney, I could hear Mama, "...just a little longer, darling...turn the filled jars over for five minutes to seal them...they're hot, be careful." I wasn't alone in my kitchen any more. Mama was right there, reminding me that I will always be her daughter. —Lizthechef
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