Round, shiny, yellow, with a little belly button — that is how I always saw this delightful and wonderful fruit called nanche.
The first time I got to know them was in my grandma Marce's yard. She had a tree planted in her garden, the one she watered every morning at exactly 5 o'clock. So when harvest season came around — sometime in June and July — the yard would fill up with tiny yellow dots. Several of her grandchildren who lived with her knew that our job was to pick them up, one by one, either in our hands, which was more tiring because we had to make so many trips, or in some container that could hold a larger amount, since they were so small. Our mission was to gather the day's harvest — sometimes up to three or four times in a single day — and bring it to my grandma's kitchen, where she would collect them and later transform them. That part I loved dearly: being witness to the transformation of the nanches. She made nanche popsicles to sell, five pesos each, I remember, and she sold every single one. We would put out a piece of cardboard that read:
And the neighbors, people passing by on the street, were our customers — they always said the popsicles were absolutely delicious. And why wouldn't they be! My grandma had the perfect recipe: first, she would let the nanches ripen; then, with some sugar, she would mash them with the bean masher, leaving the little pits right in.
Once the nanches were well mashed, she would add milk, sweetened condensed milk, and evaporated milk. The mixture was blended together, and then with a funnel we would fill the small bags used for popsicles, tie them off with a knot, and put them in the freezer to set.
My grandma is no longer with us now, but in my own yard there is a nanche tree that keeps me connected to her, to our story, to our roots. And I am so grateful to her for everything she showed me — her work ethic, her creativity, and her love.
Isabela Mora / Tierra Blanca, Veracruz
