November’s Uncommon Persimmon
November is the season for fruits that like frost. Quince picked ripe with a blush of frost can be transformed from hard-fleshed fruit into distinctive jams and honey. Late ripening apples are pressed pure as cider or stored for winter pies and chutneys spiced with cinnamon or nutmeg. Winter pears allowed to ripen slowly before glazing in brandy also make a delectable marmalade when cooked with lemons and ginger. November is also the perfect time to watch out for an oft-forgotten frost-loving fruit…the common persimmon (Diospyros virginiana), native to the American southeast.
Before I lived in Missouri, my history with persimmons was entirely Asian, related to travels in China and Japan. On foot with Kit in Beijing in the 1980s, we came upon a dwarf persimmon tree in a large porcelain planter, gracing a small interior courtyard within the Forbidden City’s maze of more than a thousand rooms. Lacquer-red persimmons hung like Chinese lanterns from the tree’s bare branches. In this silent, long-abandoned space, the exotic fruit’s satiny translucence seemed as exotic as the land where this ancient fruit has grown for centuries.
A 1939 elementary geography text in my library begins its chapter on explorers within Missouri by saying: “Nature did her part to make early Missouri a place of beauty. A thick forest covered the broad bottomland along the winding rivers. Here wild fruits were plentiful—grapes, plums, persimmons, and paw-paws grew to large size.” Deep in the forest, the Luna moth caterpillar, a vegetarian, dined on persimmon leaves which they found in abundance, as well as walnut hickory, sweet gum and birch.
Persimmons available in local markets in California where I now live of most often two varieties. The Fuyu Japanese persimmons are plump and very firm, looking much like a shiny orange tomato with a dogwood-shaped dark green collar at the stem. Recently I found acorn shaped Hachiya persimmons that should be eaten when totally softened. In contrast, Missouri’s common persimmons are smaller and rarely picked before they ripen and fall from the tree. If sliced and eaten before they wrinkle and look almost spoiled, these wild persimmons have an unpleasant astringent taste that causes the mouth to pucker.
In November when deer graze at the edge of a woods, they abandon caution when they smell the sweet pulpy fruit of ripe wild persimmons on the ground. For persimmon lovers, the trick is to harvest the soft fruit hidden in piles of fallen leaves before the deer eat every last one of them. Native Americans harvested persimmons when they were sweet. The persimmon pulp was then mixed with corn to make bread.
I tasted my first Missouri persimmons in the form of an exquisite flan-like pudding. Since that magical culinary moment, I have moved into the camp of those who gather wild persimmons after late autumn frosts have dulled the fruit’s natural shine. One crisp fall day, a friend called to say their persimmon trees were dropping fruit, and I was welcome to gather all the fruit that I wanted. With my basket filled with persimmons ripe for pulping, she loaned me her mill (chinois) and Beech wood pestle (pilon) for separating the pulp from the fruit’s seeds and skin. Two hours later, I had extracted six cups of sweet persimmon pulp with only a ghost of a pucker to remind me of the fruit’s wild origins.
In search of what to do with the persimmon pulp, I searched Cy Littlebee’s Guide to Cooking Fish and Game (1974) where I found six pages of persimmon recipes. Littlebee pointed out that “a lot of Missouri folks hasn’t et persimmons, or know what they look like. Yet all around, persimmons is Missouri’s most-relished wild fruit.” And while Martha Stewart’s many cookbooks have much to offer on the subject, my favorite recipe is one for persimmon pudding from my dear friend Marjo Price who shared this story with me some years ago—
“Missouri opened up many interesting opportunities for me, among which was buying a farm with a persimmon tree. As a family, we always tried new things to eat. A treasured memory is of the children picking up ripe persimmons that had fallen from the trees after a frost in November. I’ve long felt that The Joy of Cooking persimmon pudding recipe is the best. And of course, each slice of this delicious seasonal dessert should be covered with a dollop of homemade whipped cream.”
Ingredients:
1-1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon ginger
½ teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
2 cups persimmon pulp
1-1/4 cups sugar
3 eggs
1 stick melted butter
1-1/2 cups rich milk or light cream
Directions:
In one bowl, flour, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, salt, baking soda, and baking powder.
In another bowl, beat together persimmon pulp, sugar, eggs, melted butter, and cream or rich milk.
Blend sifted dry ingredients into the wet mixture.
Pour into a well-greased 9x9 pan.
Bake 1 hour at 325 degrees. Don’t worry if it falls; it’s better that way.
Served in a pudding, persimmons are uncommonly delicious…a nearly forgotten treasure worth rediscovering this holiday season.