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Squishy when ripe: Persimmon is all rosy good looks outside and tannin-packed bad attitude inside. An all-out attack that coats the taste buds with furry sandpaper. (Photo by Bill Hogan) |
The persimmon caught my eye, just when I was packing up the sweet potatoes and arugula.
All cheeky orange, lolling in a basket full of like-minded fruit, it gave me a look that said: "Where have I been all your life?"
Good question. I have fond memories of a children's book, rendered in line drawings, that featured a stately lady gazing at a persimmon. But I could not call up a single taste memory.
"Persimmon?" I asked the vegetable guy. "Right," he confirmed. "In season."
I took one home. It was heavy, smooth, heart-shaped and soft. Or so I thought. "Try it when it's squishy," the vegetable guy had advised. It seemed plenty yielding to me. I took a bite. And experienced assault.
Persimmon is all rosy good looks outside and tannin-packed bad attitude inside. Not the pleasantly dry sensation offered by a glass of aged red. An all-out attack that coats the taste buds with furry sandpaper. Persimmon means "dry fruit."
Later I learned that the persimmon comes in two common varieties: the firm sort, called Fuyu, good to crunch, apple-style; and the soft sort, called Hachiya, good for spooning into vinaigrette or baking into pastry — when ripe.
I came to appreciate the wisdom of dessert authority David Lebovitz, who notes that the Hachiya persimmon is ready for kitchen duty when it flaunts the body mass index of a water balloon.
By then it has outgrown the surly stage and mellowed into good company for savory salad or sweet cognac-scented cake. Next time a persimmon looks my way, I'm armed, with knowledge.
Persimmon dressing
Prep: 10 minutes
Servings: 3/4 cup (enough to dress salad for 6)
Ingredients:
1 ripe Hachiya persimmon
1 tablespoon rice vinegar
1 teaspoon finely chopped fresh sage leaves
1 clove finely chopped garlic
2 tablespoons mayonnaise
2 tablespoons lime juice
All cheeky orange, lolling in a basket full of like-minded fruit, it gave me a look that said: "Where have I been all your life?"
Good question. I have fond memories of a children's book, rendered in line drawings, that featured a stately lady gazing at a persimmon. But I could not call up a single taste memory.
"Persimmon?" I asked the vegetable guy. "Right," he confirmed. "In season."
I took one home. It was heavy, smooth, heart-shaped and soft. Or so I thought. "Try it when it's squishy," the vegetable guy had advised. It seemed plenty yielding to me. I took a bite. And experienced assault.
Persimmon is all rosy good looks outside and tannin-packed bad attitude inside. Not the pleasantly dry sensation offered by a glass of aged red. An all-out attack that coats the taste buds with furry sandpaper. Persimmon means "dry fruit."
Later I learned that the persimmon comes in two common varieties: the firm sort, called Fuyu, good to crunch, apple-style; and the soft sort, called Hachiya, good for spooning into vinaigrette or baking into pastry — when ripe.
I came to appreciate the wisdom of dessert authority David Lebovitz, who notes that the Hachiya persimmon is ready for kitchen duty when it flaunts the body mass index of a water balloon.
By then it has outgrown the surly stage and mellowed into good company for savory salad or sweet cognac-scented cake. Next time a persimmon looks my way, I'm armed, with knowledge.
Persimmon dressing
Prep: 10 minutes
Servings: 3/4 cup (enough to dress salad for 6)
Ingredients:
1 ripe Hachiya persimmon
1 tablespoon rice vinegar
1 teaspoon finely chopped fresh sage leaves
1 clove finely chopped garlic
2 tablespoons mayonnaise
2 tablespoons lime juice
