The Common Persimmon
The common persimmon • Central Kentucky • taken with Fuji x100v • 2021.
It’s not really Autumn unless it’s raining persimmons.
I promised myself if I ever posted a recipe on a blog again, I would make sure it was right at the top so visitors can come and go as they please, and get the recipe without scrolling through a bunch of dumb ads, pop-ups, and super-precious storytime tales. You’re welcome.
CONFESSION: I modified this recipe from Full Circle blog. I love the addition of cornmeal! It adds a good flavor and mouthfeel. I borrowed the coffee cake topping from King Arthur, and the orange glaze from this Saveur recipe, which we made last year—I just wasn’t a fan of the lemon glaze and changed it to orange; which, in my opinion, fits the flavor profile much better.
PERSIMMON COFFEE CAKE
SERVING SIZE
Originally, this was a muffin recipe that I adapted into a coffee cake. They are great as muffins, too, but I was trying to get rid of as much persimmon purée as possible since I have so much of it. This is a fun addition to a fall brunch or, as muffins, add them to a Thanksgiving table, or they’re an easy morning grab-and-go stomach filler. It’s full of nostalgic autumn spices and is a perfect sidekick to your cup of coffee.
INSTRUCTIONS
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Grease 12 muffin cups or a 13x9 glass baking dish. In a large mixing bowl combine the flour, cornmeal and salt. In a separate small bowl, whisk together persimmon pulp and baking soda until it begins to thicken. Add the sugar, oil, eggs, spices, and fresh ginger to the persimmon mixture and whisk to combine. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and use a large spoon or spatula to fold together - don’t over-mix or the bread will be tough and chewy. Spoon the batter into the muffin cups or glass dish,( filling to just 1/4 inch below the rim).
Bake for 15-18 minutes or until a knife inserted in the bread comes out clean.
For coffee cake topping: mix ingredients together and spread over the top of batter until covered.
Meanwhile, make the glaze by whisking together orange juice and zest with the confectioners’ sugar in a bowl until smooth. Let cake or muffins cool for 10-15 minutes and then pour glaze, spreading it evenly over the top with a rubber spatula. Let cool to harden glaze, and then cut and serve.
serves 12-14
INGREDIENTS
1 cup gluten free baking flour (I used all-purpose)
1 cup coarse cornmeal
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cups common persimmon pulp, pureed
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon fresh ground nutmeg
1 tablespoon grated fresh ginger
1/3 cup water
Topping
1 cup (198g) granulated sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt (if you use unsalted butter)
1 cup (120g) King Arthur Unbleached All-Purpose Flour
1 tablespoon cinnamon
6 tablespoons (85g) butter, melted
Optional Glaze
1 cup confectioners’ sugar, sifted
3 tbsp orange juice and added orange zest to taste
After a string of days where the sky poured its heart out, the storm moved on its way—as one of my favorite songwriters, Cahalen Morrison sings, “the rain packed the ground like a humble hen, then the gods packed on up and moved back on out again”—and, the sun came back with a crisp breath of autumn and filled the air with a gold hue. The ground was still damp, the water droplets bent the blades of grass in thankful prayer, and the birds in the treetops rejoiced over their good fortune: a world of culinary bug delights waited on the ground below. And, in the midst, there I sat.
Right before we left for our trip to Colorado, the persimmon tree in our backyard was already beginning to yield some fruit—something I both look forward to—and, if I’m being honest, also kind of dread.
The tree is truly huge: at least 40 feet tall, which is on the higher end of the usual spectrum of persimmon tree height. Her limbs reach out over a corner of the backyard and cover a lot of ground. I know it’s a “she” because there are male and female persimmon trees, and only females can produce fruit. And, by covering a lot of ground, there is an approximate 21 foot by 20-foot area where the fruit drops consistently for at least 2 months.
For the past couple of years, the only thing you can do about it is go out there every day—or sometimes twice to three times a day when it’s absolutely raining persimmons—and pick up as many as possible. Hands and arms full. T-shirts full. Large mixing bowls full.
The storm mentioned earlier THANKFULLY blew out a massive limb and ended up saving me from having to pick quadruple the amount of persimmons I normally have. After a while you lose steam and don’t know what the hell to do with them. They don’t keep as well as the Asian persimmons and it’s imperative you do something with them quick…as we don’t have the freezer space to save them for an eternal amount of time.
My Personal Persimmon History
The only other persimmon tree I’ve ever seen in my life was in Collierville, Tennessee when I was in high school. For about 3 years—from 10th grade to my senior year—I spent practically every Sunday from October to early December fox hunting outside of Memphis (yes, the horses and hounds racing in the open fields kind of foxhunting). We called ourselves the “coyote chasers,” mainly because we “viewed” more coyotes than actual foxes.
On one particular ride, we all stopped for a breather. A friend and I were there on horseback right next to what I thought was a big bush. She reached over and said, “Ooo, look! Persimmons!” and grabbed one and took a bite. My subconscious was familiar with the idea of the fruit but I had never seen nor tasted one. I was immediately curious and reached over and plucked one right off the branch. I remember biting through the soft flesh and tasting its earthy sweetness. My God, it was good.
And, that’s all I remember about it. It’s one of those memories that stuck and stayed. It happened so long ago, I don’t remember what the actual persimmon even looked like.
After that, though, persimmons and I didn’t cross paths again for a very, very long time until I moved to Central Kentucky.
We renovated a very old Victorian house almost 4 years ago now. I noticed a line of trees on the edge of our property that was actively getting choked out by some kind of mutant vine. John took the chainsaw and cut the vines to not only save the trees but also to save us from the prospect of dead, falling trees on our house. The next year, these little apricot-colored fruits began to drop on the ground in our backyard. We inadvertently stepped on them, not knowing the bottoms of our shoes, the dog’s feet, and the ground would be covered in seeds and orange goo. I asked a friend about it, who said, “I think these are persimmons!” as she picked one up and took a bite to confirm.
Well, hello, my little backyard friend.
The Common American persimmon—also known as a “sugar plum”—is about the size of a golf ball. Mine don’t get quite that big, though. Apparently, Asian persimmons have a better shelf life, are a little easier to cook with, and are also quite a bit larger. Common persimmons are inedible until they are ripe, which could lead you to think maybe they’re rotten, because the skin is thin, wrinkly, and the fruit on the inside will squuush out without too much pressure. Handle rather carefully when gathering because if you have a tree as tall as mine, there’s a long way to fall. There are plenty that have been picked on by birds or squirrels, crushed underfoot, or are not ripe—and they get tossed over the fence.
But the ones that make the cut….
Persimmexperimentation
My first persimmon project coincided with my pet pandemic project: making kombucha. Though I’ve since cooled off on the project, persimmon ginger was one of my best flavors. That flavor combo in particular really makes the flavor of the persimmon sing.
A friend recently took some persimmons off my hands to flavor her own kombucha because she liked it so much. I also made a persimmon spiced birthday cake last year for the same friend, which was good but a little dry, i.e. operator error.
I’ve scoured Appalachian cooking and culture Facebook groups to see if anyone else has ideas, but it’s mainly puddings and bread (similar to banana bread). I found a persimmon chia pudding thst sounds good but I haven’t tried it yet.
We tried to make persimmon butter (ȧ la apple butter), but found out the hard way that cooking them completely wrecks the consistency and flavor (it curdled the fruit pulp), and I haven’t quite figured out a version that is good and usable/spreadable in the raw. To be continued on that one; by God, it hasn’t broken me yet and I’ll keep trying (much to John’s dismay).
These days, John is completely OVER persimmons. The mere mention of them sends his eyes rolling into the back of his head with much disdain and gnashing of teeth. Lots of trash talkin’ ensues.
I, however, still love the novelty of having a fruit tree in my backyard, despite the mess, the constant gathering, and the figuring out of what to do with them, it satisfies some primitive, pioneer, early-times-land-dweller within my guts, so I keep messing with them despite the yearly hell I catch from the other half.
Try the recipe. Tell me what you think. If you want any persimmons or seeds, let me know. I HAVE A LOT. another friend told me you could make a good banjo neck from persimmon wood (it’s a type of ebony, so that would be cool).
Now that we’ve covered the topic of persimmons, have you ever had a Paw Paw?? John forbids me to grow a Paw Paw tree in the backyard but we’ll just see about that…
Go down the rabbit hole with me and find out more about the American Persimmon:
Wild Abundance: Facts & Recipes
