It isn’t often one has the opportunity to taste something completely unfamiliar. So when three pawpaws, in different stages of decay, showed up in a surprise package from a pal in Kentucky, I was delighted. I could smell them before I opened the box: a sour aroma of burnt sugar and overripe fruit, like fallen peaches that have begun to ferment. I opened the box, and found three of the least promising fruits I have ever seen.
I cut into the ripest one longitudinally, and was stopped short by a pit. I cut crosswise through the very thin skin and discovered that each pawpaw has about five seeds in a neat row inside, from one end of the fruit to the other. And around those seeds is a burnt-orange flesh. I dug in and came up with a spoonful of something that had vivid aromas of burnt sugar, exotic spice, custard, and bitter cocoa—like a cocoa crème brulée. The consistency was of overripe mango, with a medium sweetness and acidity and the slight bitterness and astringency of tannin.
I have to explain that, technically, my pawpaws were way overripe. Okay, practically rotten. This is how the old-timers in Kentucky eat them, my friend says. And there’s something to be said for the wisdom of old-timers: The less-ripe pawpaws were more reserved in their aroma and had the firmer consistency of tomato flesh. One is supposed to eat them when they’re still green, with cream-colored flesh inside. I, for one, am sold on rotten.
Comments