Pawpaw Palooza: A Fruitful Journey into Ohio’s Fruit Festival
Lily H
“The first time you taste a pawpaw,
you’ll notice that the flavor and texture
are almost unlike any other fruit. Often
called ‘North America’s tropical fruit,’ as
it is the only such fruit indigenous to the
continental U.S., pawpaws taste bold-
ly bright, vibrant, and tropical. Imag-
ine a mix of mango, banana, and a hint
of tangy passion fruit, and you’ll have
a close approximation of a pawpaw’s
unique flavor.” (Allrecipes)
It’s truly not every weekend that one
can attend a festival dedicated to a fruit.
But last weekend, as I wandered through
sun-lit stalls in a pawpaw beverage in-
duced stupor, I found myself marinat-
ing (with real sincerity) on the bold, the
bright, the vibrant, and the tropical. Yes,
I (or rather, my friend and owner of a
manual transmission car) drove 3 hours
to Athens, Ohio, to engage in pawpaw
pedagogy, immerse myself in a commu-
nity of fellow paw paw enthusiasts, and
fulfill a lifelong dream I never knew I
had.
After a long night camping in near-
by Chauncey, Franklin, Malcolm, and
I pulled up to Lake Snowden College,
the grounds of the 26th Annual Ohio
PawPaw Festival. We parked Franklin’s
Mazda and headed in.
I’d recommend this festival for the
budding environmentalist or scholar of
Food Studies. Beyond the stalls of ar-
tisanal ceramic pawpaws and gauche
pawpaw Hawaiian shirts, lay veritable
hotspots of environmental education at
the Pawpaw, Mother Earth News, Pol-
linator, and other Tents. You’d better
believe that we learned about the endan-
gered butterflies that pollinate pawpaw
trees and other flora while adorning
ourselves with paper butterflies. I spoke
with a representative from an organiza-
tion that rescues monkeys used in uni-
versity research and a member of the
Columbus Sunrise Movement Hub – did
you know that FACT?
Among the less educational of the paw-
paw events was the Best Pawpaw contest.
Somehow “best” translated in my mind
to “largest” pawpaw. That was definitely
not the case, as this lackluster competi-
tion included some mildly above-aver-
age sized fruits, but mostly toddler fist-
sized green, knobbly pawpaws. I guess
this makes sense in an anti-GMO, or-
ganically ordained, lentil-weaver world;
but still, I’m accustomed to a greater
thrill in my entertainment. A panel of
judges sampled tender bites of custardy
pawpaw flesh in an impressively bland
manner. To be fair, I missed the intro-
duction section of the competition, so I
don’t know who these people were, but
two judges were standouts to me and my
companions. The first was Jasper, the
pre-adolescent son of one male judge,
who voiced zero opinions and mostly
hid, but certainly entranced us. The sec-
ond was a judge whose indeterminate
accent led us to conspiracy-theorize
that he must be faking his vague Euro-
peanness. The shocking highlight of the
tasting contest was when this judge spit
out – yeah, you’re reading this right, he
SPIT OUT – his tiny chunk of pawpaw!
The crowd was astonished, infuriated,
in uproar. The pawpaw was overripe,
he declared, with flavor too overly car-
amelized for his tastes or approval. Un-
fortunately for you and me, we weren’t
dedicated enough to remain for the final
results. However, I am kicking myself
for not having personally participated in
the pawpaw eating contest. I would have
eaten that shit up.
Well, now to hit the section I know
you’ve all been waiting for. The food it-
self. With the entrance fee to the festi-
val and my friends having spoiled their
appetites with a homey diner breakfast,
I had some very calculated choices to
make in my pawpaw product consump-
tion. At 11 am, in an already sweltering
85 degree heat, Franklin and I sampled
a pawpaw-strawberry popsicle. I’d give it
a 3.5/10 pawpaws. The flavor was domi-
nated by apple juice, and lacking in paw-
paw. Someone drank a pawpaw wheat
ale. Though zippy and refreshing, this
beverage was not recognizably pawpaw
imbued. However, as remarked by Mal-
colm, it was notably fruit-flavored, but
unidentifiable to a specific fruit. (The
fruit was pawpaw.) 8/10 pawpaws. Fi-
nally, I rounded off the day with a greasy
sponge of a pawpaw indulgence. After
waiting in a seemingly endless queue, I
gave up my pursuit of a crisp and light
Thai-inspired Pawpawya Salad, and
joined a faster moving line – that of the
burger and grill truck. My indulgence,
a three cheese pawpaw grilled cheese,
was simple yet remarkable. Reminis-
cent of a fig/brie sandwich, it was si-
multaneously like nothing I’d ever
eaten before. Two toasty slices of but-
tery bread encased multiple fromages
which, in turn, blanketed a sweet, com-
plex, pawpaw jam. It was delicious. It
was a grilled cheese sandwich! It was,
unfortunately, $10 and approximately
16 square inches in surface area. 9/10
pawpaws.
From the high drama of the Best
Pawpaw contest – featuring Europe’s
most enigmatic judge and his defiant
spitting act – to the culinary triumphs
of a grilled cheese sandwich, the festi-
val delivered a blend of spectacle and
snacks with remarkable dedication to a
peculiar fruit. Our long journey home
was a testament to the lengths we’ll go
for a niche experience and a quirky sto-
ry. As we drove back to Oberlin, I found
myself oddly satisfied, not just with the
taste of the fruit, but with gratitude for
Ohio, the pawpaw placemakers, and the
charm that made the festival a mem-
orable adventure. No longer can I call
myself a chaste pawpaw onlooker, pas-
sionate from afar. I invite you to join
the fray. Show up to the pawpaw fes-
tival. Who knows what you may find…
