Persimmons

And a left-handed cookbook

Fuyu & Hachiya Persimmons. Photo Courtesy of Lyle McKeany

Persimmons bring to mind fall, my grandma, and a left-handed cookbook.

I’ll explain. First, persimmons.

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Persimmons are a lesser-known fall fruit. Persimmon season in my area of Northern California runs from late October through the end of the year.

I can attest to this, as our Sonoma Valley glean team has harvested our sixth persimmon tree of the season this week!

We have been gleaning the two most common types of persimmons: Fuyu and Hachiya.

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Growing up, I was only familiar with the Hachiya variety. My grandparents had a beautiful tree in their Petaluma backyard that would produce prolific, deep-orange, ornament-like fruits come November.

Hachiya persimmons are acorn-shaped and need to be fully ripe — their flesh has the consistency of applesauce — before consuming. The hard, unripe flesh is unappetizingly astringent, similar to biting into an underripe banana.

Because of this, Hachiya persimmons are often ignored. I ate a few off my grandparents’ tree every year, but mostly recall them stacked high in decorative bowls, providing a touch of holiday flair.

My grandma was the neighborhood persimmon pusher. She would walk up and down her rural road giving them to anyone she could find. I imagine that neighbors would see her coming with persimmons and pretend they weren’t home.

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It wasn’t until I was in college that I discovered there was a more approachable persimmon variety: Fuyu.

Fuyu persimmons are round and squat and can be eaten when still hard, like crunching into an apple. They are delicious as a snack, sliced into salads, or made into any number of fall desserts.

I have been known to pay top dollar at farmers’ markets for the few weeks of fall when I can get my hands on this very seasonal fruit.

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Hachiya persimmons, though, will always hold a special place in my heart, which brings me to the left-handed cookbook.

My great-grandfather, Grandad, was an icon. His robust figure and ability to captivate a room with his stories awed me as a child.

Grandad wasn’t about to let the right-handed world box him in. So he made a left-handed cookbook. It starts at the back page and works backward (er, forward? Clearly I’m a righty):

Grandad’s handwritten persimmon pudding recipe from his left-handed cookbook (the edge of his minestrone recipe to the right)

Grandad’s left-handed cookbook also contains the minestrone recipe that we make at every family reunion, which is always pitted against my great-grandmother’s recipe.

At these annual minestrone duels, some stay loyal to Grandad’s ground turkey and spaghetti noodle version. Others take the side of my great-grandmother’s cabbage and smoked pork specialty (turkey when it is my turn to make it, shhhh).

There are always undecided voters who mix the two soups so they don’t have to play favorites.

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Back to Hachiyas. I have to admit that I have never made my grandad’s steamed persimmon pudding. It doesn’t really sound good. Raisins? Not a fan. I’m not known for having rum around the house. Plus so much butter, sugar…

I’ll make it one day, though. When my mom decides I am responsible enough to take good care of the left-handed cookbook. I’ll even buy rum to do it.

In the meantime, here is what I plan to do with Hachiya persimmons this year:

• Arrange them in a big bowl on my counter and wait for them to slowly ripen to jelly-like perfection.

• Eat at least one scooped directly out of the skin like pudding, just like my grandma used to do.

• Freeze some of the fully ripe ones to be enjoyed later as persimmon sorbet.

• Try this fruit leather.

• Attempt the famous Hoshigaki persimmon — a massaged persimmon Japanese delicacy. Yes, massaged. I have to try it.

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I would love any persimmon memories, recipes, or wisdom that you may have to share:

Thanks for being here,

~Allison