An ice cream tree? Sweet!

IF you held a contest for the tastiest fruit in the universe, certainly black Persian mulberries would compete for the title. Freshly picked blueberries would breeze their way to the Final Four. Homegrown tomatoes (if you want to get all botanical about it) would be right up there too.

But after all the votes have been counted, cherimoyas would still win in a landslide -- especially if Californians knew about the tree’s charms. Cherimoya tastes of pineapple, papaya, mango, strawberry, lemon and banana -- all delivered in creamy, custard-like spoonfuls that melt in your mouth. No wonder that on some Pacific isles, cherimoya is called “ice cream fruit” -- properly chilled, a fine treat with the heat of summer approaching.

As a tree in home gardens, the cherimoya’s quirky appeal goes far beyond its edible splendor. Blossoms open to release a sweet perfume, and the lush canopy conveniently rises no higher than 20 feet, making it ideal for a patio or terrace. It’s a mystery why so few people choose the plant, given that it grows beautifully anywhere avocado trees thrive. Under-watering, improper pruning, general neglect -- the cherimoya usually can handle it all.

“It is a very forgiving tree,” says Nino Cupaiuolo, president of the California Cherimoya Assn., a group of growers, packers and cherimoya enthusiasts. “A very pretty tree with lush green leaves.”

The foliage is offset by a smooth, smoke-gray bark and an inherent espalier habit. Branches arch away from the center growth in a manner that Australian growers define as “harp.” The tree drops its leaves for a few weeks in winter before a fresh flush of foliage and flowers appears.

You might imagine that a tree with such large, deeply veined leaves would also possess a gaudy, hibiscus-like bloom. But let’s be honest: These flowers are akin to frumpy old aunties clad in housecoats and moccasins. The small, fat, pale green blossoms hang limply, each trio of petals barely open.

It’s as if the tree is trying to retain its esoteric place in the fruit tree world by actively discouraging attention, including that of would-be pollinators. Given the dowdiness of the bloom, one wonders how cherimoyas have survived thus far. That is, until you get a whiff.

“The cherimoya’s perfume is something else,” Cupaiuolo says.

“Something else” is surprisingly accurate. The scent that drifts about a blooming cherimoya is alluring and romantic, a feathery light fragrance that is neither cloying nor thick.

Then why don’t more people grow the plant here? In South America, where the tree is more prevalent, several native pests make healthy specimens a rarity. Perhaps the cherimoya’s reputation as diseased and difficult to grow has followed the fruit northward.

In Southern California, microclimates are an added complication and can affect a commercial grower’s harvest substantially. Some cherimoyas develop better on the coast, while others do better inland. For the home gardener, however, the differences are insignificant. Pick a tree, raise it well, and you’ll be harvesting the same fruit selling for $5 apiece in supermarkets.

“If you’re a backyard grower, one or two registered variety trees is plenty for one family and not difficult at all,” says Cupaiuolo, a grower who lives in Vista in San Diego County. “If you have a ‘Booth’ or a ‘Chaffey,’ it will be plenty of cherimoyas for a family of four or five.”

The biggest hurdle, it turns out, is pollination.

Because the native pollinating insects that inhabit southern Andean valleys don’t live in Southern California, cherimoya flowers need to be hand-pollinated to yield a respectable harvest. The process is not especially hard, but it does take a gardener’s patience.

You might remember from sixth grade homeroom the ERPI Classroom films that so vividly demonstrated the technique: Using a small paintbrush (perhaps swiped from your child’s watercolor tray), insert the tip of the brush into a flower whose petals are barely open. Twist the brush lightly to collect a few grains of pollen, retract the brush, then insert it into another flower, twisting and retracting again.

You’ll continue this process until you’ve visited each flower on the tree. Blooms will continue to open and mature over a few weeks, so staggering your pollination visits can ensure that the tree’s fruits will ripen over a longer, more user-friendly period.

The work is hypnotic -- made so by the fragrance of the blooms, the splashing of light as you move through the tree, and the Old World pace the job entails. Each action requires a meditative calm.

Cupaiuolo suggests snipping the tips off one petal from each flower that you have pollinated. This practice ultimately saves time because you won’t waste effort on blooms that have already been pollinated.

Expect fruits to ripen midsummer to early fall. Inside, the hard, glossy seeds are cocoa brown, like dark gems that could be traded for blankets or rum. Outside, the khaki-green skin can look a bit warty, depending on the variety -- apt for a fruit that fits so nicely in your hand.

You want to pick them when they are a yellowish green and allow them to soften in your refrigerator. Planting new trees should be done in late winter or early spring. They just need to avoid cold snaps in infancy and, if possible, be sited in a place that isn’t too windy.

The trees’ other demands are few.

“You have to control ants, but you have to control ants on all fruit trees,” Cupaiuolo says. Ants carry pests such as aphids and scale into the trees, where they can cause damage. Professional growers ring the trunk with a bug barrier, a device that looks like something you’d use to scrub the kitchen sink.

Another option: “Spray the heck with a hose,” Cupaiuolo says. “The spray puts the ants on tilt.”

Pruning inner growth will help attract ladybugs and give the tree a better framework. In fact, shaping the tree from its third year on is highly recommended. Removing lower branches will create a stronger, picture-perfect trunk. Tipping back excessive annual growth will help the branches thicken, enabling them to hold the weight of a heavy crop.

Avoid too much pruning, though. You don’t want the fruit to burn in the sun. Just a little off the top: Make sure the sideburns are even and that should be enough.

“The indigenous peoples of Colombia believe the cherimoya has aphrodisiac powers, and there we call it the Queen of Fruits,” says Hector Aristobal, a Colombian-born psychotherapist and human rights activist who lives in Pasadena and is planting several cherimoyas. He hopes the trees rekindle memories of his homeland.

“It is my mother’s very, very favorite food,” Aristobal says. “And it is said that no one ever feels bad after eating a cherimoya. No stomach sickness. Everyone is happy to eat a cherimoya.”

A tree that fits your yard. A tree that perfumes your patio. A tree that some people see as a stand-in for Viagra or Prozac. Cue up that song by Queen. I think we’ve found our champion.

Tony Kienitz is author of “The Year I Ate My Yard.” He can be reached at home@latimes.com.

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Pick up that island flavor

Some nurseries carry cherimoya trees in 5- or 15-gallon containers. If your nursery doesn’t, ask to have one ordered for you. A sampling of resources:

Papaya Tree Nursery: Carries ‘Pierce,’ ‘El Bumpo,’ ‘Bays,’ ‘White’ and ‘Booth’ varieties. 12422 El Oro Way, Granada Hills; (818) 363-3680 (ask for Alex Silber); e-mail ptn.alexsilber@verizon.net.

Laguna Hills Nursery: Carries ‘El Bumpo,’ ‘Honeyhart,’ ‘Knight,’ ‘Bays’ and ‘Ott’. 25290 Jeronimo Road, Lake Forest; (949) 830-5653.

California Cherimoya Assn.: A nonprofit organization that runs research projects. President Nino Cupaiuolo will try to answer all questions related to the tree. Send e-mail to him at primaverafruit@sbcglobal.net and write “cherimoya info” in the subject line. More information: www.cherimoyas.org.

-- Tony Kienitz