Kenèption

A moment of pure Proustian bliss, courtesy of a strange flash of Haitian-Venezuelan synergy

This was published in Montreal’s Le Devoir today. Here it is in English:

How often do you go into Haitian grocery shops? Montreal has tons of them, mostly to cater to its large and well-established Haitian community. However, I have the sense that a lot of white Montrealers have never set foot in one because they are unsure of what to do with all these unfamiliar tropical products. It can be intimidating to be surrounded by weird plants whose fruits you wouldn't know what to do with unless someone shows you.

For us Latinos, it's different. Throughout the Caribbean basin, farmers tend to grow the same few products: corn, beans, cassava, plantains, and a dozen tropical fruits. They have different names in different places, but even if we don't know what Haitians call them, we recognize them by sight.

That's why I love browsing the Haitian grocery store in my neighborhood here in La Petite-Patrie, scanning for fruits that remind me of my childhood: guanábanas, nísperos, lechozas, and plenty that nobody knows here, except for the Haitians, of course.

Just, I hit the jackpot. To my astonishment, I noticed the man behind the counter of my Haitian shop packaging... mamones. I had never seen these little green fruits in 14 years living in Montreal, and my heart skipped a beat. I asked him if I could try one, just to confirm that it was indeed what I thought it must be.

"A kenèp? Yes, of course!" he said, offering me one of his little green gems. I sank my teeth into the skin to separate the shell, revealing its vibrant yellow pulp.

Then, I started sucking on the fruit, and first the grocery store, and then the whole world, dissolved around me. It was a moment of pure Proustian bliss. The sensation? Imagine your favorite childhood treat, a delight you haven't tasted in decades, suddenly flooding your mouth again. I almost cried with happiness.

Later, on Wikipedia, I learned that the tree we call mamón or mamoncillo in Venezuela, but which Haitians call kenèp, is known to science as Melicoccus bijugatus. It is native to northern South America, just like me, but is now cultivated throughout the Caribbean basin. The taste of a kenèp is difficult to describe: sweet, tangy, and aromatic. Above all, it is recognizable by the dry sensation it leaves in your mouth, almost like a tannic wine.

But its most... distinctive feature is the fact that the pulp is very securely attached to the seed, which makes up maybe 90% of the fruit by volume. Long story short, this is a snack that demands a certain level of determination for those who would eat it: you have to suck hard to extract the pulp from a mamón. Rather than a snack, I think of eating mamones as a pastime.

I gave one to my 11-year-old daughter, who had never tasted one in her life. "What is this?" she asked me. I showed her how to open one, and then instructed her to suck as though her life depended on it

Her eyes widened when she tasted the mamón’s vibrant, fresh taste, for the first time. After a few minutes working on it, she still hadn’t managed to suck all the pulp from the fruit. She looked up and concluded, "wow, you gotta have patience to eat these things!"

Caught up in the joy of continuing to share my discovery, I checked my phone to see which Venezuelan I knew lived closest to me, and immediately cycled over to deliver some mamones in person.

"In Haiti, they call them kenèp, and apparently, they import them here during the summer," I told my friend Armando before opening the package with the coveted fruit. His eyes widened, just like mine had done a little earlier. He immediately put one in his mouth, cracked the skin with his teeth, and began to suck.

I saw a beatific happiness spread across Armando's face as he meticulously separated the pulp from the seed. "These are so good," he said in ecstasy, before adding, "We have to let everyone know."

Paradoxically, in these days of impeccable political correctness when we’re constantly urged to celebrate the diversity of our communities, we remain wary of asking people to venture too far out of their comfort zones. It's a shame because it means that many Montrealers will continue to deprive themselves of the pleasures of kenèp for no good reason.

So, I would like to issue a challenge to all my readers: if you have never set foot in a Haitian grocery, take 30 seconds to look one up on Google Maps. If you're in the city of Montreal, or even in some relatively far-off suburbs like Bois-des-Filion, you will be surprised at how close the nearest one is.

Call them. Ask if they have kenèp in stock right now.

If the answer is yes, go there immediately and ask the staff if they can show you how to eat a kenèp. You will make their day, that's for sure! But the experience will also make yours. You will not only discover a completely new taste sensation but also a new pastime that will bring you closer to your Caribbean neighbors.