Pawpaw

The fruit we called a 'pawpaw' in our time in East Africa is, along with mangoes and bananas, one of the fruits I most remember from childhood, not least because it was the one most frequently served at breakfast.

Like so many tropical fruits it grew everywhere, usually as a tree a couple of metres or so high with a dense group of fruit close to the top. They ripened from green to a rich orange colour, at which point they are ready to harvest.

Ouma the cook would slice the fruit lengthways into about four, scoop out the soft, black seeds, and serve it with coarse brown sugar and a squeeze of lemon. Served chilled, it made a superb opener for a breakfast which included either bacon, eggs and fried bread or, if a friendly Clan Line captain had been in recently, a good Scottish kipper.

Later, we had our own pawpaw tree growing outside the back door of our bungalow in Jamaica. One day, soon after Katy was born, while we were out, Blossom, who worked for us, got hold of our machete and chopped it down. When we went to remonstrate with her, she said that it had been necessary as pawpaw so close to the house would have an adverse effect on my virility.

I liked pawpaw but it never really competed with mangoes or bananas, though all three are excellent in a fruit salad.