A Many-Splendored Thing

I fell hard for persimmons at an intense time of my life. Against many odds as a recently widowed mom of two, I was able to buy a home on a half-acre close to my extended family. Many things about that property tugged at my heart, and one of them was a tree. We moved in during a wet winter that kept our energies focused indoors, but come spring, the brightest, biggest green leaves popped out of a nicely shaped tree. Eventually when the fruit formed, I realized it was a Fuyu persimmon.

Can you come to truly love a tree? In a word, yes.

The soil on that property was miraculously rich because it was part of an avocado grove for many years. Benefiting from this invisible superpower, my Fuyu tree produced countless sumptuously orange fruits each fall. With such bounty, I devoured them fresh, gave bushels and bushels to friends, and began drying them for a year’s worth of snacks that look like orange sand dollars.

When I sold that house, it pained me to leave that tree. I realized how fleeting and precious some experiences are in life and how healthy living soil is valuable beyond measure. Without my miracle tree, every fall since then I buy Fuyus at farmers’ markets and, October through December, dehydrate as many of them as I can.

A few years back, local chef Keith Lord posted about hoshigaki, the Japanese method of air-drying Hachiya persimmons, the variety that makes your mouth pucker if eaten before they are ripe. I was intrigued. Keith encouraged me, and I tentatively tried my hand. With mixed results that first year, I was determined to learn more. I found a wonderful illustrated booklet online with step-by-step instructions, and I wish it was still in print so I could buy more for friends and family.

How can a dried fruit come to mean so much? Persimmons mark the passage of time, evoking memories of the seasons in different places I’ve lived. They connect me to the earth, as we dream of heavy crops where we call home now. I cannot play favorites, which means preparing both kinds of dried persimmons each fall. But to be honest, it might be their beauty. The sensory pleasures of the deep orange color and the almost-cinnamon aroma keep me company as I prepare dozens of batches over many weeks with ripening persimmons covering most flat surfaces in the kitchen. Persimmon trees turn the most spectacular crimson red before the leaves drop around New Year’s, and we eagerly await our new fruits each spring, counting them like precious jewels.

When the harvest is over and I’ve filled as many jars and freezer bags as possible, I feel deep gratitude for the life force persimmons have come to represent in my life. This feeling of one’s cup running over makes me want to share these persimmon chronicles with you.

Serve dried persimmons with cheese and crackers, or enjoy the fruit on its own any time of day or night. The color, texture, and flavor are like nothing else—swoon!

How to Make Dehydrated Persimmons

1. Slice firm but dark orange fruit with a mandoline. You can do it with a knife, but the mandoline is faster and makes the slices much more uniform.
2. Set the top and bottom slices aside for fresh snacking or juicing.

3. Arrange the slices in a dehydrator set to the fruit temperature. Check it frequently because each machine and the humidity of the day impact how long it takes to dry. Also, you decide how dry you want the slices to be, but expect it to take between 6 to 12 hours.
4. Store in an airtight container, or freeze for longer-term storage.

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How to Make Hoshigaki

I’ve narrowed the Japanese technique of massaging and drying Hachiya persimmons down to these 12 steps based on a self-published booklet by Amadéo Pinto and Juliette Bellocq that captured the teachings of Sonoko Sakai.

MATERIALS NEEDED:

• A large pan of boiling water

• A place to hang the persimmon

• Cooking twine

• A paring knife

1. Select firm Hachiya persimmons that ideally have long and sturdy stems.
2. Thoroughly wash the fruits, especially under the crown to make sure every part is clean.
3. Peel the fruits, leaving the crown around the stem.

4. Tie the fruits to cooking twine, using a no-slip knot if possible. You can do one fruit per string, or as you get the hang of it, tie several on a string placing one every few inches. Be sure to leave enough twine at the top to tie to a hook, bar, or hanger.

5. Bring a large pan of water to a boil.
6. Carefully dip the stringed fruit in the boiling water for 5 or 6 seconds.

7. Hang the strands in a place where there is good air circulation. The fruits should not touch anything.
8. You can place a pan or towel underneath in case there are any drips the first few days.

9. Inspect the fruit daily for the first week. A thin white veil might form on the surface, which is the sugar rising to the surface. If any mildew appears, carefully apply a small amount of rubbing alcohol with a swab.
10. After about a week, when the fruits have a dry surface, gently massage the fruit each day for about three weeks. This helps form a uniform, creamy texture inside.
11. Leave hanging for at least three weeks or until they look and feel thoroughly dry, like a very large raisin!
12. Store in an airtight container. (I keep the majority of them in the freezer after they have dried just to be extra sure they last for as long as possible.)