365 True Things: 280/Persimmons

I mean seriously, doesn't that
look scrumptious?

I made a special trip to Whole Foods today in hopes of finding some persimmons. My goal: to make some persimmon bread pudding. But alas, my quest went unrewarded.

I was spurred on by a Hachiya persimmon in my fruit bowl that has just reached that perfect stage of ripeness: all soft and pulpy and spoonable without a hint of astringency. I had half of it this afternoon for a snack, and that got me dreaming about persimmon-based baked goods. However, it looks like I'll have to make do with the other half for dessert and leave it at that.

Could be worse.

Here's a few facts about persimmons that I did not know, courtesy of Edible Monterey Bay:

The edible persimmon (actually a berry) is in the genus Diospyros, meaning “divine fruit.” The word persimmon comes from the Algonquin word putchamin, meaning “dried fruit,” probably due to the tribe’s practice of drying them for sustenance in the winter.

Not all persimmon trees bear fruit. A member of the same botanic family, Ebenaceae, as ebony, they are sometimes used for their wood, most often in making percussion instruments like drumsticks and wooden flutes, or more recently, long bows for archery.

The first European to mention trying the fruit was explorer Don Fernando de Soto, who learned about it from Indians in Florida in 1539. The first descriptive diary entry came from Captain John Smith during the 17th century, who noted: “If it not be ripe it will draw a man’s mouth awry with much torment, but when it is ripe, it is as delicious as an apricock.”

Indeed.

Hoshigaki (dried persimmons):
easy to make

The challenge I'm having finding any persimmon fruits has me considering taking matters into my own hands and planting a tree—or maybe two, one Hachiya, one Fuyu. Our climate, with mild summers and winters, is ideal. And the leaves of the persimmon are stunningly beautiful—so it would be a decorative tree as well as a fruity one. Not only that, but persimmon trees, once established, are drought tolerant. The downside is, I'd have to wait a few years to harvest. But patience: yeah, I can do that. If the payoff is big enough.