I smelled them before I saw them.
I was shin-deep in a creek, just off the main road, pushing through briars and humidity. I’d studied maps and looked for the right mix of shade and wet soil, but after two hours, I’d found only mosquitoes and mud.
Then, the breeze brought a heavy, sweet, yeasty, tropical scent—like a bakery in the Bahamas had opened in a Virginia forest.
I looked up. Massive, drooping leaves created a jungle-like canopy. Hanging beneath, clustered together, were the pawpaws I’d been searching for.
I reached up to a slender, gray, smooth trunk and gave it a soft shake. Thud. Thud. Two greenish-brown lumps hit the soft earth. I picked one up—it seemed like a water balloon filled with pudding. I broke the skin with my thumbs, right there in the creek bed, and took a bite.
It was warm, creamy, tasting of mango, banana, and custard. It was the taste of victory.
The Biological Aberration
Standing there with sticky fingers, it is hard to reconcile this fruit with these woods. The Pawpaw (Asimina triloba) is a biological paradox. It is the largest edible fruit native to North America, but it has no business being here. Its cousins are the cherimoya and the soursop—fruits of the Amazon and the tropics.
Somehow, eons ago, this one family member wandered north, survived the Ice Ages, and adapted to our temperate winters, hiding in the understory of the Appalachian Highlands. It looks like a stubby, green potato and grows in “patches”—clonal colonies where the roots travel underground, popping up new trees as they go.
Even its reproduction is strange. It isn’t pollinated by the industrious honeybee. Its maroon flowers, which bloom in spring, smell slightly of fermentation or rotting meat to attract its preferred partners: carrion flies and beetles. Old-timers used to hang roadkill in the branches to guarantee a good harvest. It’s a gritty, gothic survival strategy that produces the sweetest fruit in the mountains.
A History Written in Sugar
As I loaded my basket, I realized I wasn’t just harvesting fruit; I was tapping into a calorie source that has sustained life here for millennia.
Long before I wandered into this hollow, the Shawnee and Cherokee tended these patches. They knew the Pawpaw not simply as a late-summer treat, but as a survival essential. They braided the inner bark into ropes and nets and dried the fruit for winter.
When Europeans arrived, the Pawpaw saved them, too. It is recorded that in 1810, the Lewis and Clark expedition ran out of supplies in Missouri and survived for days on almost entirely on Pawpaws. During the Great Depression, when “store-bought” bananas were a luxury for the wealthy, mountain families relied on the “Appalachian Banana” to fill hungry bellies.
But somewhere along the way, we forgot it. Because the fruit bruises instantly and rots within three days of picking, it couldn’t be stacked in grocery store bins or shipped to cities. It became a “poor man’s fruit,” ignored in favor of the resilient, thick-skinned apple.
The Ticking Clock
Walking out of the woods, the burden of the basket is heavy, and the clock is already ticking. This is the catch of the Pawpaw hunt: you cannot hoard them. They are fleeting. You have maybe three days to eat, process, or freeze them before they ferment into a boozy mess.
If you are lucky enough to find a patch this season (look for them in late August through September near riverbanks), harvest only what falls to the ground or releases with a gentle shake. If you have to pull hard, it’s not ready.
Once you get them home, here is how you capture that elusive flavor.
The Rewards of the Hunt: Recipes
The Classic Appalachian Pawpaw Pudding
Ingredients
- 2 cups fresh pawpaw pulp mash it through a colander to get the big brownseeds out
- 1 cup sugar
- 1 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
- 1 tsp baking powder
- 1/2 tsp Cinnamon
- 3 eggs
- 2 cups Whole Milk
- 1/2 cup melted butter
Instructions
- Preheat your oven to 350°F. In a big bowl, whisk your eggs, milk, melted butter, and that precious orange pulp until smooth. In a separate bowl, mix your dry ingredients. Combine them gently—don't overwork it. Pour the batterinto a greased 9×13 baking dish and bake for about 50 minutes. You'll know it's done when the center is set, and the edges are golden-brown. Serve it warm witha little whipped cream.
Pawpaw & Black Walnut Bread
Pawpaw & Black Walnut Bread
Ingredients
- 1 cup pawpaw pulp
- 1/3 cup melted butter
- 2/3 cup sugar
- 2 egs
- 1 3/4 cups flour
- 2 tsp baking powder
- 1/2 cup chopped black walnuts
Instructions
- Cream the sugar and butter, then beat in your eggs and the pulp. Fold inthe flour and baking powder until just combined, then stir in the blackwalnuts. Pour into a loaf pan and bake at 350°F for about an hour. It’s dense,moist, and tastes like fall in the mountains.
The Pure Experience: Pawpaw Ice Cream
Pawpaw Ice Cream
Ingredients
- 1 Cup Sugar
- 2 Cups Heavy Cream
- 1 Cup Whole milk
- 2 Cups PawPaw Pulp
Instructions
- Whisk the sugar and milk until the sugardissolves. Stir in the cream and the pulp. Chill the mixture in therefrigerator until it's cold, then run it through your ice cream maker. Thefruit's high-fat content yields an impossibly creamy texture that putsstore-bought ice cream to shame.
This Secret is Now Yours
Now, I’m sitting on my porch, the smell of baking pudding drifting through the screen door, and mud still on my boots. The Pawpaw isn’t just food; it’s a hidden gem of the land for those who are willing to get their feet wet.
So, go find your creek. Look for the big leaves. Shake the tree. And taste the history.