For years I searched for a type of plum I grew up eating in Bangladesh, called jaam in Bengali (pronounced like “palm”). In English it’s called Java Plum or Black Plum (Syzygium cumini), and in India it’s known as Jamun. Unlike the large plums found in U.S. grocery stores, jaam are grape-sized, oval, with glossy purplish-black skin encasing juicy light-purple flesh around a single large seed.

The flavor is wonderfully complex and hard to describe — somewhat sweet, slightly tart, with a touch of astringency (like the feel in your mouth from drinking a high-tannin red wine, say a cabernet sauvignon). In Bangladesh, we make a smashed concoction with the jaam, a cross between an avocado smash and a salsa, which we call jaam bhorta (jamun bharta in Hindi). It’s not really like other Bangladeshi bhortas, but made this way it elevates the flavor of the jaam and is so addictive it’s hard to stop eating. Also, it has a large range of health benefits as it’s an excellent source of flavonoids, polyphenols, antioxidants, iron, and vitamin C.

In my childhood home in Dhaka, there was a towering jaam tree in our compound. We had a little private road that led from a main public road through gates that were always open, wound like an L through a second set of gates next to which the jaam tree stood like a sentinel, and ended up in our hidden compound that included just my grandmother’s house and our house when I was young. The property, which had been my grandfather’s, was massive and plantation-like with fruit trees all over, including guava, mango, jackfruit, tamarind, coconut, olive, pomegranate, custard apples, and of course the enormous jaam tree. In the midst of the big city it was like a little secret Eden for a child ­– I would spend my days climbing trees, sitting for hours comfortably ensconced in the branches of guava trees reading books, visiting the pond adjoining the property checking out frogs and butterflies, and picking whatever fruits happened to be in season.

My younger sister and I, and often our playmates, would walk up to the jaam tree in the afternoons while the adults had their siesta and gather dozens of the berries that would litter our little road. We would wipe them on our clothes and then pop them into our mouths, savoring the slightly sour and sweet juicy flesh, spit out the seeds and gleefully show off our tongues which would become stained an intense purple. After gorging on the jaam, we would make a collection to bring back to the house for my mom to make us jaam bhorta to go with the post-siesta afternoon tea snacks. We would help smash the jaam, which involved vigorously shaking them in an enclosed jar ­– of course that was very fun.

Recently, I’ve been delighted to find jaam in Bangladeshi grocery stores in Jackson Heights in NYC — especially plentiful in these late summer days. The jaam salsa is simple and easy to make. All you have to do is take some jaam, add crumbled dried red chili pepper and salt, and then shake together in a jar (or cocktail shaker) to smash them or muddle them lightly with your fingers or a fork, and remove the pits/seeds before serving.

Tip: Dry toast the chili pepper on the stovetop first — it adds a subtle smokiness that takes the flavor up a notch.

If you can’t find jaam, you can try this with regular plums. In my Manhattan community garden we have a tree heavy with dusky blue Damson plums now at the end of summer. They’re less sweet than jaam, so add a pinch of sugar if using them.

In Bangladesh, jaam bhorta is eaten on its own as a snack. You can serve it with tortilla chips — a cross-cultural mashup that works beautifully.