Kiwis go weak at the knees for them. Aussies mostly say “Uuuugh no”.
By Catherine Watson
I DIDN’T taste a mango until I was in my late 20s. Until I came to Australia, the only pineapple I’d ever eaten was out of a tin, boiled in sweet sticky syrup. Product of Queensland, Australia.
I DIDN’T taste a mango until I was in my late 20s. Until I came to Australia, the only pineapple I’d ever eaten was out of a tin, boiled in sweet sticky syrup. Product of Queensland, Australia.
Ah, Australia! Kiwi kids used to dream of that magical sunny country across the seas where the children ate pineapples fresh from the tree.
I remember Mum bringing us home a special treat from the Indian greengrocer who’d told her that Australian children loved sugar cane. We dutifully gnawed on it, spitting out bits of inedible pulp and skin, and wondering why Aussies bothered when they could have been eating pineapples.
We did have apples (Cox’s orange) and pears (William Bartlett, I think). Mum would buy a crate of peaches (Golden Queen) from the orchards and bottle them. We had apricots and plums. The humdrum, boring fruits. Some people grew Chinese gooseberries, little hairy things until they were ungenetically modified by big business and re-branded as kiwifruit.
But there was one fruit where we excelled. The feijoa. FEE-jo-a, spoken the Maori way, with the stress on the antepenultimate syllable. Maybe that’s why I always thought feijoas were native to New Zealand. We all did. If there is such a thing as a national fruit, this is ours.
In New Zealand there are feijoa festivals, feijoa wines, a kind of collective feijoa madness. Some people make feijoa pies, feijoa jelly, feijoa jam, feijoa chutney. My mother used to make feijoa crumble. I once make feijoa champagne, which was quite acceptable.
I remember Mum bringing us home a special treat from the Indian greengrocer who’d told her that Australian children loved sugar cane. We dutifully gnawed on it, spitting out bits of inedible pulp and skin, and wondering why Aussies bothered when they could have been eating pineapples.
We did have apples (Cox’s orange) and pears (William Bartlett, I think). Mum would buy a crate of peaches (Golden Queen) from the orchards and bottle them. We had apricots and plums. The humdrum, boring fruits. Some people grew Chinese gooseberries, little hairy things until they were ungenetically modified by big business and re-branded as kiwifruit.
But there was one fruit where we excelled. The feijoa. FEE-jo-a, spoken the Maori way, with the stress on the antepenultimate syllable. Maybe that’s why I always thought feijoas were native to New Zealand. We all did. If there is such a thing as a national fruit, this is ours.
In New Zealand there are feijoa festivals, feijoa wines, a kind of collective feijoa madness. Some people make feijoa pies, feijoa jelly, feijoa jam, feijoa chutney. My mother used to make feijoa crumble. I once make feijoa champagne, which was quite acceptable.
But really the only way to eat a feijoa is to wait until it’s soft enough to break in half and squeeze the sweet, tangy, delicious contents into your mouth.
You can keep your mangoes, your pawpaws, your papayas. Sweet baubles. Give me the complex aroma of a feijoa, the creamy tang, the delicious aftertaste. I still break out in hives every feijoa season.
Much later I found out feijoas come from South America, like so many of the guavas, and in fact like so many of the plants we eat and smoke. The feijoa (Acca sellowiana) is also known in various countries as the pineapple guava, the fig guava and the guavasteen.
The plant requires at least 50 hours of winter chilling to fruit, which is probably why it’s so well suited to New Zealand – and by a miraculous coincidence, to Wonthaggi!
I have about 10 feijoa trees. One that I grow for fruit, and water in a dry year, the others for hedging. They are hardy shrubs with beautiful scarlet flowers. They flower every year but I don’t water them and the fruit falls off while it’s still very small.
Except this year. The dryest summer/autumn I can remember and every single feijoa tree has fruited. Trees that have NEVER fruited before have fruited. It’s a mystery.
I’m giving them away as fast as I can but they keep dropping and people keep bringing me more. In Melbourne’s most superior “fruiteries” they sell for $1 each or $20 a kilo, but most Australians are very superior about feijoas.
If you offer them one, they say “Uuuugh no,” wrinkling their noses.
Have you ever tried one? “Uuuugh no.”
I reckon they’ve been spoilt by all their fancy fruits.
Thank God for Lynne, a Kiwi friend who takes some of the excess. She’s been growing a feijoa tree for over 10 years but it’s never fruited, not even in this spectacular season. I gave her some feijoas and she gave me some feijoa muffins, which I thought was a good swap.
But my best customer is Murray, aged five, who developed a taste for feijoas while visiting her aunt in NZ. She starts sending me messages, via her parents, round about March, asking if they’re ready.
They are, Murray. Bring a bucket!
Homesick Kiwis - and others - are welcome to contact me if they would like to share the bounty.
You can keep your mangoes, your pawpaws, your papayas. Sweet baubles. Give me the complex aroma of a feijoa, the creamy tang, the delicious aftertaste. I still break out in hives every feijoa season.
Much later I found out feijoas come from South America, like so many of the guavas, and in fact like so many of the plants we eat and smoke. The feijoa (Acca sellowiana) is also known in various countries as the pineapple guava, the fig guava and the guavasteen.
The plant requires at least 50 hours of winter chilling to fruit, which is probably why it’s so well suited to New Zealand – and by a miraculous coincidence, to Wonthaggi!
I have about 10 feijoa trees. One that I grow for fruit, and water in a dry year, the others for hedging. They are hardy shrubs with beautiful scarlet flowers. They flower every year but I don’t water them and the fruit falls off while it’s still very small.
Except this year. The dryest summer/autumn I can remember and every single feijoa tree has fruited. Trees that have NEVER fruited before have fruited. It’s a mystery.
I’m giving them away as fast as I can but they keep dropping and people keep bringing me more. In Melbourne’s most superior “fruiteries” they sell for $1 each or $20 a kilo, but most Australians are very superior about feijoas.
If you offer them one, they say “Uuuugh no,” wrinkling their noses.
Have you ever tried one? “Uuuugh no.”
I reckon they’ve been spoilt by all their fancy fruits.
Thank God for Lynne, a Kiwi friend who takes some of the excess. She’s been growing a feijoa tree for over 10 years but it’s never fruited, not even in this spectacular season. I gave her some feijoas and she gave me some feijoa muffins, which I thought was a good swap.
But my best customer is Murray, aged five, who developed a taste for feijoas while visiting her aunt in NZ. She starts sending me messages, via her parents, round about March, asking if they’re ready.
They are, Murray. Bring a bucket!
Homesick Kiwis - and others - are welcome to contact me if they would like to share the bounty.
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