Fruit of the day: Marañon

On a recent trip to Managua, I met the sweetest, oldest fruit vendor on the planet, and she gave me several "new to me" fruits to try, and explained many recipes and preparations for each of them. One of the most interesting was marañon. Unfortunately--soft tropical fruits and a day of bumping around in a hot van in Managua equals nothing but a smear on the van floor and an odor you don't really want to know more about. So, I was doubly delighted when my friend Caryn dropped by just to bring me a weird fruit she had come across. You guessed it: marañon!

In English they are called cashew apples, and yes, that weird little tumor on the end is a cashew nut.

In what is beginning to feel like a theme around here, I found once again that the flavor and the aroma of the fruit (or should I say "pseudo-fruit") are completely unrelated. This thing does not smell good. Once you cut it open, there is a distinctly sweet I-think-I-smelled-that-before-when-the-trash-bag-leaked-brown-water-everywhere kind of smell. The kind of smell that makes you not want to take a bite.

But you can't ask people to bring you weird foods and then not eat them--so I tried it, and it was not a bit like the smell. The flesh is very fibrous and almost sticky. You can't cut a slice from it very easily--it is both mushy and tough at the same time--the stringy bits are surrounded by slimy bits that kind of re-congeal together when poked with a knife. It tastes sweet--but not in a familiar fruity way--maybe more like the aftertaste of pudding? The most striking thing about the taste is how astringent it is. That's the dry-your-mouth-out feeling that can be kind of a strange experience when you aren't expecting it. Imagine a very very strong black tea: that drying feeling it leaves behind in your mouth is the most prominent part of the tasting experience.

Another important note: it says here that due to their very thin and delicate skin cashew apples don't travel well (I know, Managua van ride) and that they only last at room temperature about a day. How true, because by the time I was finished with my tasting/photo shoot, the fruit which had been perfectly beautiful an hour before was already molding.

OK: I know. You're dying to know about the nut itself. Maybe you've even heard about how dangerous it is. (No? Well, think to yourself, have you ever bought unshelled cashew nuts? No? there's a reason for that)

The nut (or more properly seed) is incased in a double shell with a framework of cavities which are full of a dark resinous oily stuff, that evidently is a really bad thing unless you are a chemical manufacturer of commercial lubricants, and stuff.

I was worried that opening was going to be one of those "Indiana-Jones-villians-open-the-ark-against-all-advice-and-their-faces-are-immediately-melted-off" kind of moments. But I am happy to report that I opened the shell and 0% of me was melted.

this was not me

I had previously read that normally the shell is roasted to de-activate all the caustic, slimy, goo. But I was determined to  just bust the thing open and see it in all it's natural glory.

Look at that gigantic cashew inside! I wonder if roasting them makes them shrink, because I've never seen one that big in the Planter's can.

Now, I read that the wet slime in side the hard black shell is technically called urushiol oil and is in the same family of chemicals as poison oak and poison ivy. Here I am valiantly touching the slime and thinking of two dear friends with severe poison plant allergies who would literally fall over dead if they knew I was doing this.

And then came the best part of all: eating a raw cashew! I mean, this is not an opportunity available to everyone. So, I peeled off the papery husk on the nut...

Yum! Raw cashew! It tasted...you know, like a cashew. I tried and tried to get Jonathan to taste it with me. He was convinced I hadn't read carefully enough about appropriate handling procedures, and other stuff about "fool-hardy self-poisoning". Which seemed not only melodramatic, but an over use of hyphenation for one sentence.  In the end, he insisted he needed to stay away from the cashew, in case I suddenly needed medical assistance. Or, as he put it, "To explain your demise to your mother when you suddenly keel over at the keyboard."

How silly. I explained that there was no real dang.. jkloiou    uuugpoisdjkk

Oh.