My jackfruit diaries: Mango may be the king but jackfruit rules Kerala kitchens in summers

Jackfruit? Oh yes — that colossal green beast that looks like a rugby ball on steroids, clad in a spiky, reptilian jacket. No, no, not durian. This one’s bigger. Much bigger.

If you’re from Kerala, you already know this summer superstar inside out. But for the rest of the country (and world), let me paint the picture: Jackfruit is the fruit of Kerala summers. It’s everywhere. From March through August, trees droop with dozens of them, from top to bottom.

Every household has at least one tree. There were a couple at my parents’ place. Two more at my uncle’s house. And at least one in my neighbour’s backyard. That leads to a classic tropical dilemma: Too much jackfruit.

The excess supply means sharing is inevitable, and it’s tricky. Because everyone else is drowning in jackfruit too. Gifts of jackfruit aren’t always met with glee. More like polite panic.

Jackfruit’s biggest foe? The sap. That clingy, gluey, milky mess that refuses to let go. Peel it without care, and it’s like wrestling with sticky lava.

But here’s the hack: Coconut oil. Slather it on your hands, and you’re good to go. A soapy scrub afterwards and voilà.

How does a jackfruit taste?

Here’s the thing — you can’t really describe jackfruit. It’s sweet, yes, but not mango-sweet. It’s fruity, but not pineapple-fruity. It’s... jackfruity. A taste of its own. You’ve just got to bite into one juicy bulb and let your taste buds take over.

The fun doesn’t stop with the ripe ones.

Raw jackfruit is a culinary marvel. Chakka puzhukku is a household classic — raw chunks steamed and mashed with spices, usually served with a fiery fish curry. Finger-licking stuff. My personal favourite is chakka avial — the dry, coconuty version. My mother’s speciality.

And those large, glossy seeds (chakka kuru)? They’re more than just filler. Chalky, mushy, and flavourful, they show up in curries, stir-fries, and snacks. Just don’t overdo it. Too many and, well... let’s say your digestive system might stage a protest.

Jackfruit chips? That's in a league of its own. Sliced raw bulbs fried golden in coconut oil — crisp, addictive, and a hands-down competition for the more famous banana chips. I could snack on them all day.

But if I had to choose one form, it’s the ripe jackfruit — chakkapazham. Versatile, juicy, irresistibly sweet. Eat it fresh or turn it into something magical.

Chakka varatti? That’s legendary! Slivers of ripe bulbs simmered in ghee, jaggery, and slow-cooked until thick and dark. Cool it, store it, savour it later.

Chakka ada and jackfruit frittters

You can easily turn chakka varatti into payasam. Add some coconut milk and a dash of cardamom, and you get pure bliss in a bowl.

Then there's chakka ada. Yes, ada with jackfruit filling. Kumbilappan too. We call it therali appam, since it's wrapped in bay leaves before steaming.

Just when I thought I’d tasted every jackfruit creation out there, a friend dropped this: jackfruit fritters. What? I’ve had banana fritters. Date fritters too. But jackfruit fritters? That’s a new one. I’m intrigued.

And so, the jackfruit journey continues.