By Barbara Damrosch, published Thursday, October 12, 2006 in The Washington Post

The old children's song makes it sound easy. "Where, oh where, is sweet little Susie? Way down yonder in the pawpaw patch. . . . Pickin' up pawpaws, puttin' 'em in her pocket. "

But where, oh where, are the pawpaws now? So scarce is this delectable fruit that most of us have never tasted one, let alone found a patch where they litter the ground, even though they're native to most of the eastern United States.

I first held a pawpaw in my hand in September, the month they ripen. It was green, smooth and fragrant, rather like a small mango. But when I sliced it in half, there was no large pit, just pale, golden flesh and two rows of dark seeds like large, flat kidney beans. Scooping out a spoonful, I encountered a pulp as smooth, sweet and delicious as the creamiest custard, the richest ice cream. Where had it been all my life?

To read the full article at washingtonpost.com, go here

For a nice collection of pawpaw recipes, go here