Mango Lassi

One of my dearest friends from culinary school invited me to her wedding in India, and I arrived several days early to stay with her family as the celebrations took shape around us.

The house seemed to be in constant motion. By the time the wedding day arrived, I had shared so much time and so many meals with the family that I felt less like a guest and more like a long-lost relative.

The music grew louder as the night went on, and the dance floor became a rainbow of colorful sarees brushing my ankles and bangles catching the light. It was hot, my feet ached, and I smiled so much that my cheeks were numb.

Then cold glasses of mango lassi began making their way through the crowd.

My first sip was a rush of ripe mango and tangy yogurt, sweet enough to feel like dessert and refreshing enough to send me straight back to the dance floor. It was not a drink served apart from the celebration. It was part of its rhythm, arriving at precisely the right moment.

After that first taste, I could not get enough. I found an excuse to stop at a drink stall every day before leaving for my next adventure. Some were thicker, others sweeter, and a few carried a sharper yogurt tang. I loved discovering the subtle differences from one glass to the next.

Mumbai's mango lassi was a flavor worth experiencing again and again.

Tata,