The Lady Slipper newsletter of the Kentucky Native Plant Society has been published since the Society’s founding in 1986. We occasionally feature an article from a past issue. This one, about the United States’ largest native fruit, the Pawpaw, Asimina triloba, first appeared in the fall of 2005, Vol. 20, No. 3. If you would like to see other past issues, visit the Lady Slipper Archives, where all issues from Vol. 1, No. 1, February 1986 to Vol. 34, No. 1, Winter/Spring 2019 (after which we moved to this blog format) can be found.
Kentucky’s ‘Tropical’ Fruit, the Papaw
by John Thieret, NKU
A visit to a fruit/ vegetable market in the tropics is a great experience. All sorts of plant products that we in the temperate zones do not recognize are there. Among these are fruits of the Annonaceae, the custard-apple family, including the bullock’s-heart, cherimoya, guanabana, sweetsop, and soursop. These are unknown to most people in our part of the world, but we do have a member of the Annonaceae that does NOT grow in the tropics, our papaw, Asimina triloba. This is a shrub or small tree, which, as I have seen it, never exceeds perhaps 20 feet in height and 6 inches in trunk diameter, although there are reports of individuals 50 feet tall and with a trunk 2 feet in diameter, truly a mega-papaw.
A common enough plant, the papaw thrives in rich woods over much of eastern U.S. from northern Florida to far eastern Texas, then north to New York, far southern Ontario, Michigan, Iowa, and southeastern Nebraska. It grows throughout Kentucky, almost certainly in every county.
Although some papaw enthusiasts wax ecstatic over the fruits, papaws are not everyone’s favorite. This divergence in appreciation stems from, first, natural differences in fruits from different trees and, second, differences in people’s taste buds. I have found fruits from some trees not worth the effort of trying to get them down from the branches. But other trees can produce fruits that I’d describe as almost excellent. The best papaws I ever tasted were in southern Illinois on a rather cool, almost frosty fall morning. Yes, quite worthwhile. The Indiana poet James Whitcomb Riley described, in hoosier dialect, the gustatory experience:
And sich pop-paws! Lumps a’ raw
Gold and green,—jes’ oozy th’ough
With ripe yaller—like you’ve saw
Custard-pie with no crust to.
Another assessment of the taste, by an Indiana lad, is included in Euell Gibbons’ book Stalking the Wild Asparagus: “They taste like mixed bananers and pears, and feel like sweet pertaters in your mouth.” I’ll second that, at least for a good papaw.
Long before Europeans began their assault on the North American continent, the indigenous peoples, along with various animals—possums, raccoons, squirrels, and skunks—sought the fruit. The first Europeans to see it—some 450 years ago—were De Soto and his entourage. They wrote of it, mentioning its “very good smell and excellent taste.” About 200 years later the plant was introduced into cultivation by Europeans who brought seeds to England. Then in 1754 the first illustration of the papaw appeared in Catesby’s Natural History of Carolinas (see right). Lewis and Clark, in the early 19th century, found the fruits to be welcome additions to a meagre diet. To this day, the fruits are collected and used by country people and by city dwellers who like to eat their way through the landscape.
As for ways to use the fruits, first and foremost they can be eaten out of hand. As they ripen, they change from green to brown or nearly black, then looking not especially appetizing (recalling ripe plantains). The fruit pulp, creamy and sweet, contains several large, flattened, brown seeds. One of my friends made a necklace for his wife from the seeds. Better, I guess, than one made from finger bones.
Enthusiasts use the fruit for pies, puddings, marmalade, bread, beer, and brandy. I’ve tasted papaw bread and found it OK. Barely. I once tried to make papaw bread—I’ll say no more about that dismal experience. (The persimmon bread I attempted was no better.)
On a few occasions I have seen the plant grown as an ornamental. With its large, somewhat drooping leaves, it is rather attractive. The maroon flowers, which bloom in spring when the leaves are still young and covered with rusty down, are not all that conspicuous, and the fruits—well, my experience has been that papaw plants in cultivation as lawn specimens just do not make many fruits. As a matter of a fact, I have always noted that, even in the wild, the fruits are not abundantly produced. Maybe I just was not at the right place at the right time. The plants seem to require cross pollination, which is a disadvantage to those who would use them as ornamentals and, at the same time, would like some fruits.
If you have never tried one of the fruits, head for the woods in the autumn and attempt to find one. Maybe someone you know can help you. Even if you do not find the fruit much to your liking—maybe you will, maybe you won’t—you will have had a new gustatory experience.
For many years attempts have been made by horticulturists to ‘improve’ the papaw and make it into a commercially viable fruit. Their efforts notwithstanding, the fruit remains a Cinderella. On only one occasion have I seen papaws for sale: at a roadside farmer’s stand in southwestern Ohio among a fine display of squashes of a dozen kinds. Breeding and selection work has been carried out in several places, notably at Kentucky State University where about 1700 papaw trees grow in KSU’s 8-acre experimental farm and where the PawPaw Foundation is headquartered. Once, in Pennsylvania, I saw a papaw orchard of maybe 50 trees. I wish now that I had stopped and spoken with the orchard’s owner. Perhaps, with continued efforts at breeding and selection, papaws might some day be common items in our temperate fruit and vegetable markets, as common even as are the annonaceous cousins of Asimina triloba in markets of the tropics. This is the goal toward which papaw enthusiasts and breeders are striving.