Cream of the crop

THE avocados hang fat, ripe and shiny, the faint breeze rustling the leaf litter on the ground. The air beneath is cool and moist yet the sun beating down on the Murray plains is pushing the mercury past 30. ''That is the miracle of avocados,'' Horseshoe Bend avocado farmer Katrina Myers says. ''They produce their own compost.''

To prove a point, she parts the fallen leaves to reveal rich, black earth into which she can sink her hand up to the wrist. It is a contrast to the light, sandy soil in which the trees were planted 30 years ago on the family property near Barham in southern New South Wales.

The trees were planted by Myers' mother and father with the financial help of her grandmother. When Myers' father died 12 years ago, her mother wanted something more docile than sheep and cattle for income so expanded the avocado grove to more than 2500 trees. ''The beauty of being here in hot, dry Horseshoe Bend,'' Myers says, ''is we don't have to spray with chemicals to knock out tropical pests.''

Horseshoe Bend is a long way from central Mexico, where avocados were first cultivated. In the ancient market town of Atlixco, near Puebla, small, fat, dark avocados sit on wooden stalls, their grower waiting patiently behind them for a buyer. These are known as criollo - dense, rich and creamy, they are the basis for perhaps the best guacamole in the world. Their shape also influenced the name ''avocado''. In Spanish, avocado is aguacate from the Nahuatl word ahuacatl, meaning testicle. It is a member of the laurel family - a cousin to the bay and cinnamon trees. It is not, however, a pear. The Mexicans domesticated the avocado tree and bred it to give larger fruit.

In the town square of Atlixco stands a solitary avocado tree of the Fuerte variety, given to the townspeople by the avocado growers of California in recognition of this being the birthplace of the tree on which their and much of the global industry is based.

Myers and her husband, Tim, grow four kinds of avocado and sell them under the label Barham Avocados. Different avocado varieties ripen at varying times of the year, giving growers an even stream of income. The season kicks off with the Bacon variety. This is a big, round avocado with a smooth skin. In September, Bacon production drops off and Fuerte, an elongated avocado with gently textured shiny skin, takes over. Hass, with its rough, deep-green skin that changes to purple as it ripens, follows from October to December and is followed by the emu-egg-shaped super-creamy Reed, which lasts until March.

Myers invites us to touch an avocado. It is rock-hard. ''This is 'mature','' she says. ''But it is not ripe. Avocados do not ripen until they are picked.'' It is only then that enzymes break down the stiff cellulose in the cell walls, leaving only the soft interior. Some avocado growers put avocados in cold storage before sale to the supermarkets. This slows the process but once the avocado is removed from cold storage, the ripening process increases rapidly, with the fruit often going from soft to overripe in days.

The Myers family do not refrigerate their avocados and as a result the fruit ripens evenly and slowly.

The results for their Fuerte and Hass, the varieties we have sampled, are truly wonderful. They are rich and creamy, with a delicate mouthfeel, lovely green leafy aroma, a

clean finish and a long, lingering savoury aftertaste.

Barham Avocados are considered among the best available in Melbourne and they supply the likes of Pope Joan, Dead Man Espresso, Mamasita and Frank Camorra's taqueria, Paco's Tacos.

They are also sold at the Lancefield and Koondrook farmers' markets, and can be ordered online and delivered via Australia Post.

Minimum order is six; see barhamavocados.com.au.