If you live where guavas grow, you are a lucky, lucky person. Also lucky, in a time of global (for now?) trade, is the fruit shopper’s proximity to guavas farmed south of the border, as well as domestically in Florida and in California. Stateside, guavas seem less familiar to anyone without a subtropical or tropical roots, and I see the fruit languishing, sometimes, in grocery displays. I try to compensate by stocking up on them weekly during winter, to take home to eat raw and ripe, and also to make one of my favorite fruit desserts: poached guavas, eaten chilled, with spoonfuls of their fragrant syrup.
Photography by Marie Viljoen.
Above: Guavas ripening.
Growing up in South Africa, where fresh guavas were (and are) omnipresent, the fruit was a taken-for-granted staple, often perfuming our home’s kitchen with their distinctively vivid aroma. Canned guavas, tenderly rosy and sold in every supermarket, were a staple childhood dessert, served cold with cream.
Above: A dish of poached guavas, in Cape Town.
The common guava is Psidium guajava, a small tree that can be grown in full sun in USDA zones 9 through 11. It is probably native to Central or South America, although its domestication and origin are still being studied. Different cultivars offer fruit that ranges from petite to hefty, with flesh that may be white or pink. Guavas are technically berries, with edible pulp surrounding small seeds, which can be swallowed with no ill effect. They are exceptionally high in vitamin C, leaving citrus in the dust by comparison. Ripe guavas are sweetly fragrant, gelatinous towards the center, and slightly grainy—like a pear—closer to the skin. Unripe, they are firm and more acidic, and are enjoyed in Southeast Asia as a raw, sour vegetable (like green mangoes), dipped in a hot-sour-salty-sweet sauce.
Above: If only you could smell them…
The guavas I see most often in supermarkets are usually small and sold while pale green. Asian grocers may sell softball-sized hard, green fruit. After a few days on the kitchen counter they begin to ripen: Their skins grow thinner, the fruit softer, and that distinctive guava perfume, like the tropics in full bloom, permeates every room. To enjoy them raw, either eat them whole, just like that (the skins are edible), or peel them, slice them, sprinkle them with lemon juice and a little sugar, and attack them with a spoon or fork. Or, slice them in half and scoop out their delicious innards with a spoon.
Above: Roasted guavas at Babylonstoren’s restaurant, Babel.
The ripe fruit responds well to cooking, too. I first ate savory roasted guavas at Babylonstoren, a wine farm near Cape Town, South Africa. They were served very simply, with thyme oil and flaky salt. Back in Brooklyn I adapted the method to accommodate mugwort leaves and mugwort salt.
Above: Heat emphasizes the acid in the otherwise sweet guavas—it pairs very well with herbs and salt.
Above: Back in Brooklyn I adapted the method to accommodate mugwort leaves and mugwort salt (recipe in Forage, Harvest, Feast—A Wild-Inspired Cuisine).
Above: Peeled, before being poached.
Poached guavas are a delicacy. They retain their shape and textural contrasts, and develop a deeper flavor—sweetened, but complex. Peeling them allows the flavor of the poaching liquid to penetrate them, and turns even pale guavas pink.
Above: Aromatics add another layer of flavor—in this case native juniper and Meyer lemon zest.
Above: After four slow hours, their liquid has reduced to a rich syrup, and turned color.
Above: The guava-scented syrup (here with gin and yuzu juice) is an outstanding mixer for high- or low-octane drinks.
Above: The poached guavas keep well in jars in the fridge for a month or more.
Poached Guavas with Citrus Peel and Juniper
This recipe works with slightly underripe guavas: they are easier to peel and less prone to splitting as they cook. I like to use native eastern red cedar (Juniperus virginiana) to perfume this dessert, but store-bought juniper works, too. Use any citrus zest. The more aromatic, the better.
- 2 containers of guavas (usually about 20 – 24 small fruit)
- 1 cup white wine
- Water to cover (usually about 4 cups)
- 1 cup sugar
- 4 strips Meyer lemon zest
- 2 sprigs juniper (eastern red cedar) or 2 teaspoons juniper berries
Use a vegetable peeler or small paring knife to peel the guavas. Slice off their tops.
Combine all the ingredients in a saucepan. Use enough water to cover (or enough to make them float). Bring the liquid to a simmer over medium-high heat and stir gently to dissolve the sugar. Do not let it boil for longer than a few seconds, or the fruit will split. Adjust the heat to around medium-low to keep the liquid simmering ultra-gently (tiny bubbles rising). After an hour, use a wooden spoon to turn over the guavas, gently. Cook another hour. At this point they should be less prone to bursting and you can increase the heat again.
Continue cooking as the liquid reduces. If it reaches less than halfway up their sides, add some more water. The poaching process takes about 4 hours. Towards the last 40 minutes, allow the liquid level to drop until its consistency is syrupy. Your guavas are ready.
They can be eaten warm, but I think they are best served chilled, with a dollop of Greek yogurt, or a drizzle of pouring cream.
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