Well, we subsequently made it via this brutally hot summer time. For as quickly as, fall climate has arrived right on time consistent with the calendar, and my residence is already decked out in its fall sunglasses, with a touch basket of autumn leaves on the aspect droop and a row of Jack Be Little pumpkins inside the front.
That way it's also time for Harvest Home, the Gardeners' Holiday that celebrates the height of the autumn harvest. This three hundred and sixty five days, however, we celebrated it in an unusual way: in place of feasting on produce from our personal lawn, we did a little foraging. Or at least, Brian did.
A couple of days in the past, one in every of his coworkers showed up with numerous pawpaw quit result that she said had come from a tree placed near their administrative center, actually outside of the campus limitations. Pawpaws, for folks who do not realize, are a local fruit observed at some point of the entire eastern half of of the U.S., as some distance west as Texas. The landscaper we consulted about our backyard once more in 2012 truely advised a pawpaw tree as a likely proper desire for our the the front outside, however we had been reluctant to decide to a tree whose fruit we might in no way definitely tasted. You see, pawpaws are quite loads now not feasible to locate in supermarkets, because they're too touchy and speedy-ripening for large-scale transport. So the easiest manner to get a flavor of it's far to find out a tree growing wild, as Brian's coworker did. (That can be converting, but; in line with NPR's
So he sliced one open, revealing soft, creamy-yellow flesh studded with large, dark-brown seeds about the size of an almond. We each sampled a cautious spoonful, not really sure what to expect. A piece I found on NPR's "The Salt" described them as "a cross between a mango and a banana," with possible hints of pineapple, but to me, the flavor wasn't mangolike at all, though the soft, slippery texture was a bit reminiscent of a slightly overripe mango. It was more like banana than anything else, but with a distinct perfumey quality—I really can't think of any other word for it—that was unlike any fruit I'd ever tasted. I honestly found it a bit off-putting, but Brian liked it enough not only to finish the fruit he'd started, but to go out in search of the tree the next day and scavenge a couple more. After eating one more of them today, he says he's still kind of on the fence about it; he mostly likes it, but he can't decide whether that odd perfumey element to the flavor is appealing or disturbing.
Nonetheless, he's intrigued enough by the fruit to save the seeds from the ones he's eaten so far, carefully keeping them moist and cool in the refrigerator as The Survival Gardener recommends. He admits he's not sure yet where he could plant them; the site described them as an "understory tree" that likes to grow in the shade of larger trees, so he thought perhaps the shaded back corner of our yard (currently home to a massive pile of concrete chunks left over from our patio project) would be a good spot for one.
However, I'm not sure it's really worth devoting space in our yard to a tree neither of us is sure we like, especially when the California Rare Fruit Growers site says "Avoid heavy, wet, alkaline soil." I think a better use of the seeds might be to seek permission to plant some along the Meadows Trail, a short hiking trail through woods adjoining the Raritan River just outside of Donaldson Park. That would give everyone in town—including the local wildlife—a chance to try this unusual fruit, rather than saddling us with a whole harvest to dispose of on our own.
All in all, I'd say that I'm pleased to have had the opportunity to try this unusual native fruit, but I'm in no hurry to eat it again. However, if Brian persists in his plan to grow them—and succeeds—I'll probably give them at least one more try. Our old edition of The Joy of Cooking, in a single brief paragraph on pawpaws, says "The taste for these, we feel, is an acquired one"—so I should probably make at least a little bit of effort to acquire it.
