Goat Cheese & Mango Quesadillas

When that time of year came around, the yard would be littered with mangoes. So many, in fact, that we'd walk around on our tippy toes as not to step in the squishy, rotting, sticky landmines.  They'd drop from above with a hard thump all day long, like the tree had it in for us. The thump was a loud warning: Beware. Stay away. The mangos are coming for you, and the thump is even louder when it hits you over the head, kid.  It was mango warfare.

To Abuela though, the thumps were like a knock at the door, an invitation to pick up as many as we could take inside and start the Mango Feast. I remember her eating mangoes over the sink, juice dripping all the way down to her elbows until there was nothing left but a big, sticky seed with it's fuzz all matted down like a little yellow kitten that had just been given a bath by its mama. Her housecoat would be dotted with faint orange speckles that wouldn't wash out. Even her fingernails would be slightly stained orange underneath where the pulp would stubbornly lodge itself.

And then, when everyone had had their fill of fresh mangoes - when they'd been distributed to friends and neighbors in bulging Publix bags, and somehow the tree branches weren't any less bare, still dripping ripe red and orange fruits like someone forgot to turn off the faucet - the cooking would begin.

Mango jelly. Mango jam. Mango desserts. Mango bubbling and stewing on the hot stove and permeating the air with a sickeningly sweet aroma. That's where I decided that if I had a choice, I'd never eat another mango as long as I lived. {A bit dramatic for an 8 year old, you think?} I'd had enough of mangoes.

Until this week. No, really. I can't remember the last time I purposely ate mango. {It may have snuck its way into a sip of smoothie or some form of dessert here and there throughout the years, but I promise, I didn't knowingly choose to eat it.} I was browsing one of my many issues of Martha Stewart's Everyday Food {don't you love the portable size of these?? I carry them everywhere.} and came across a non-recipe recipe for Goat Cheese and Mango Quesadillas. The adult in me thought, "Mmm, that sounds good.", but the bratty child within shouted "Ewww. Mangoes!!! Bleh!". Still, I dogeared the page.

After giving it some thought, I figured I would buy ONE mango, just one. And in the event that the smell made me gag and I couldn't bring myself to put it in my quesadilla, I would save it for Steve to throw into one of his smoothies. It wouldn't go to waste. 

When I cut into the mango, the memories came flooding back with the smell, but I wasn't disgusted. I was kind of nostalgic, in fact. And the taste of the mango in my quesadilla was a perfect addition for adding a touch of sweetness {both literally and figuratively} to each savory bite.

Maybe this quesadilla won't transport you back to childhood, but it'll certainly serve as a light lunch or snack that signals the arrival of summer. That alone will be enough to appeal to the 8 year old within. 😉