Fresh Glang Chutney

Fresh Glang Chutney! You see… well… there’s a bit of a story…

Regular readers of Ya Mismo: Thirty Minutes North of Zero might remember this teeth-gritting post from not so very long ago: As Long As You Pay Your Disturbance Tax (newcomers to Ya Mismo can catch up by clicking the link).

So… with that in mind, I find myself one bright Sunday morning with a nice bunch of freshly acquired green papayas and quite a large collection of recycled glass Gatorade bottles: I usually collect these from the street where they’ve been thoughtlessly discarded or swipe them from people’s garbage bins. After being washed and sterilized, they’re great for bottling my three kinds of chili sauce, organic chocolate syrup, fresh mango jam and organic passionfruit jam. Most of the ingredients come from my garden – which is a whole other story… Seems I’m building a saucy organic empire on recycled Gatorade bottles… But (getting back to the story) on this sunny day, armed with all the right ingredients, I’m all set to make a batch of chutney…

Green papaya, chili, ginger, garlic, raisins, spices, vinegar, brown sugar… Everything is topped, peeled and chopped and put into the largest pot in the kitchen. While it starts to heat up I wander around cleaning up, washing the dishes, sweeping the floor, and going back to stir the pot every so often. After the pot has been bubbling for a while, one of the neighbors passes. (Yes, it’s one of those neighbors!)

“What are you cooking?” he asks. “It smells good!”

“Sauce!” I say, not exactly keen to confess that the main ingredient of my incredible smelling sauce was pilfered from his side of the fence at the crack of dawn while he was rolling drunk and sprawled unconscious in the middle of the path with the stereo turned up at top volume; I believe I’m the only person who was listening to the music blasting from the speakers at 5.45am – did I mention it was a Sunday morning.

“What kind of sauce?” he insists, standing outside the gate, sniffing the air, which by now is filled with the amazing combination of aromas from the fruit, vegetables and spices bubbling away in the chutney pot.

At this point, I’m wishing a hole would open in one of the mud puddles in the middle of the street and swallow him whole. What does he care what I’m cooking now? He’s never cared before! I know… I know… It’s the smell!

My brain works overtime until I spit out: “GLANG Chutney!” Then, I turn to stir the pot, hiding in the deepest recess of the open kitchen, behind the passionfruit vine, where he can’t see me from the street.

“Hmmm,” he mumbles and wanders off, still unsatisfied, wondering what kind of strange foreign vegetable a “glang” might be… “Ever heard of a glang?” he asks whoever is inside as he enters his own house next door.

He’d probably freak if he knew what glang is and where it comes from, and that I sell Glang Chutney for $5.00 a bottle all over town. Even though, until now, he’s never missed a single fruit.

GLANG: Greens (or Goods) Lifted Anonymously from Neighbor’s Gardens… (also known as Disturbance Tax)