Growing up, the highlight of every summer vacation in my hometown of Mangaluru was the wild mango curry. My cousins and I would abandon all dignity over plates of hot rice and the golden curry like it was our last meal.
Back then these wild mangoes were deemed far too rustic for professional kitchens. But that is changing. Last summer, the standout dish at chef Amninder Sandhu’s Bawri in Goa wasn’t a complex modern creation, but a wild mango curry from a variety that grows in the restaurant’s backyard.
Mainstream chefs have long favoured the Alphonso, Baganapalli or Badami as they have a uniform shape, buttery texture and a thick skin that survives the rigours of transportation. Their predictable sweetness makes them a perfect ingredient for kitchens where consistency is key. Today, varieties like Beeju, Patashio and Ghonta, once dismissed as either too sour or fibrous, are finding their way on to upscale menus.
At Fateh Garh, a luxury retreat in Rajasthan, chef Krishna Ameta works with the Patashio Ambo from the Rajsamand region. Named for its size (referring to the sugar candy batasha), it has a sweet-tangy profile and can be eaten in a single bite. It is reduced to a jammy consistency and cooked with khoya and coconut for a barfi. “This is a fibrous variety and it takes around 20-25 mangoes to get just 300-400g of pulp. But the unique flavour profile makes up for the hard work. When guests taste the barfi, they ask to see the mango,” says Ameta.
The push for control over flavour and texture is also leading chefs toward hybrids with specific traits. At the Jim Corbett Marriott Resort & Spa in Uttarakhand, executive chef Ashish Kandwal bypasses commercial favourites for the Amrapali. For him, the appeal lies in its intensity and texture: “It makes a smoother pulp, which gives us more precision.” He uses it across the menu—as a glaze for grilled meats and an aamras topped with saffron foam. Unlike the Alphonso and Banganapalli, the Amrapali matures later, usually in mid-to-late June, and extends the season.
In the backyard of The Goan Kitchen in Margao stands a Ghonta tree, bearing a wild, sucking mango that co-founder Oliver Fernandes describes as “the mango that nobody wants”. While its traditional fate is to be stewed into a tangy sasav (mango curry) or reduced to a thick doce (Goan fudge), Fernandes takes it a notch up and makes a mango truffle paired with coconut.
Local varieties, by contrast, present several challenges. One batch may be slightly sour, the next floral. Their high fibre content is a hurdle in achieving fine-dining standards, requiring labour-intensive straining. Also, while a chef can order a hundred crates of commercial mangoes over a single call, sourcing wild varieties often requires direct relationships with farmers and foragers.
In Uttarakhand, executive chef Pankaj Singh Panwar of The Westin Himalayas works with the Beeju aam—a seed-grown variety native to the Bhabar region. Since it is not grafted, the fruit lacks uniformity. “No two fruits are the same in size or flavour. It has a tangy-sweet taste and a strong aroma,” Panwar says. Unlike many local varieties that turn into pulp, Beeju aam holds its shape, allowing clean cuts required in modern desserts such as tarts or tiramisu.
This preference for local varieties is at times an economical choice as well. Chef and author Michael Swamy, who has previously consulted for Camp Utsav Sariska, the Marriott Group, and Pugdundee Safaris, prefers the Karel, a small mango from Goa to add acidity in fish curries. “The popular mangoes, when you add the GST, are so expensive. I don’t want to dump the cost on to the guest,” he says. While the fruit is notoriously fibrous, he strains the cooked pulp to create smooth purees, mango caviar (gels) for garnishes and oils for salad dressings.
At Farmlore in Bengaluru, co-founder and chef Johnson Ebenezer favours the Mundappa mango from coastal Karnataka. “It is sweet, has no fibre, and has a sour, tangy note, which works well to balance spices. It pairs consistently well with seafood, and we feature them in multiple dishes across our seasonal menus,” he says. He also prefers the Totapuri to prepare lobster and barramundi.
Perhaps nowhere is the emotional weight of the mango more evident than in Murshidabad, West Bengal, where it was nurtured under the patronage of the nawabs. At Bari Kothi, a centuries-old palace turned heritage hotel, owner Lipika Dudhoria boasts of Bimbli, Rani, Champa and Ananas, a cross-bred variety that looks like a mango, but startles with the taste of a pineapple. “We make dishes like aam ka laddoo and aam puri with Ananas. One of my favourites is aam kheer, where instead of rice, we use raw mango along with rose water, kewra, and saffron,” says Dudhoria.
While in Kolkata, chef Koyel Roy Nandy of Sienna restaurant recalls a visit to the Krishi Vigyan Kendra in Murshidabad, to discover West Bengal alone has over 700 local species. Among them are Saringa and Nungi, along with the legendary Kohitur. Nandy has incorporated a few into the dessert Aam Jaam, a custard with mango and jamun compote finished with gondhoraj-infused cream, for Sienna’s tasting menu Rannaghor. She also uses Fazli, Sindura, Himsagar and Langra to make mango crumble cake and aam doi.
While Alphonso, Kesar and Banganapalli continue to dominate shopping carts, the focus is now not on the perfect mango but on the rare and often overlooked local varieties.
Nivedita Jayaram Pawar is a Mumbai-based food and travel writer.