In the beginning there was dirt.
And the dirt was good. So good that a little tree sprouted out of it, God knows where the seed came from. Birds, probably.
Then came sun and water and after ten or fifteen years the little tree said “Now I will make some persimmons,” and so it came to pass that in the fall three hundred big, fat, sweet, juicy persimmons hung from the little tree’s branches, until the little tree cried out “Pick these things and eat of them, would you?
And so a harvest was mounted, and it was bountiful, and there was much climbing of ladders and plucking of ripe persimmons and fending off hungry mockingbirds, and there was joy and shouting in the back yard. Soon the bushels were filled with extravagant fuyus, enormous orbs of orange sweetness to rival the pear and yes, even the exalted papaya.
The harvest exceeded our ability to consume. Persimmons were eaten at every meal, pressed upon every friend, and all the relatives and every coworker until each person turned and walked briskly away when they saw us coming with our shopping bags full of fruit.
And still there were more persimmons. And they were starting to get very soft.
And so it came to pass that on that last Sunday in December, four days and four nights after the Solstice, the remaining persimmons were introduced to obscene amounts of sugar, butter, flour and many and varied spices – cinnamon, vanilla, nutmeg – as well as raisins, fresh lemon juice, chopped pecans, and the mixtures and batters were formed into loaves and dropped onto cookie sheets, and the baking, oh, the baking went on throughout that day and into the night, and when it was over and the kitchen was nearly as hot as the fires of hell, behold! The persimmons were transfigured into life-giving sweetbread, and verily I say to you…
cookies!!
And verily, all is well upon the Earth once more.
Cool–I’ve never tried to do anything with a persimmon, but it sounds as though you found a way. You might be able to make a souffle with them, too, or even some pate de fruit.
My family has one mean recipe for persimmon pudding. If you want it, email me.
It’s not like pudding pudding, its more like brownies.
Don’t ask me why the call it pudding.
Dick – Just don’t get between me and the COOKIES…
Goldie – Necessity is the mother of persimmon bread and persimmon cookies, but I’d prefer one of your sticky buns.
Grampa – I’ve been feasting on persimmons for almost two months, and now they’re all gone. I’ll be needing that recipe before Novenber 2006.
and lo, from the rocky soil of the Sonoran desert, sprang two hale and hearty citrus trees, their branches heavy with the weight of fruit not yet ready to be picked.
Two more weeks and the lemons and grapefruits will have me scurvy-free.
Funny stuff, Larry. My tummy hurts from laughing.
I love it when you get all biblical. I have never eaten a persimmon. How unfortunate that I was not in the path of your bounty at some point over the past few weeks.
Even I almost felt hungry when looking at that photo of cookies!
I’ve never had a persimmon, either!
Verily, a creation story about cookies–that’s a faith I can get behind.
shy_smiley – Mmmmm… lemons.
Theresa – My tummy hurts from eating cookies.
Erin – I’d never tried one, either, until I found this tree in the back yard. Because of the sound of the name, I expected them to taste like cinnamon. But really, they are the magical perfect soul-nourishing fruit you have been seeking.
Ron – You’d be hungry if you were here to witness the bake-off.
kStyle – Sorry about your persimmon privation, but yes: From dirt to cookies. I won’t write about the return back to dirt.
: ) Yummy! Persimmons aren’t my favorite fruit, but baked with some sugar, butter and flour mmmmm cookies. I’d want to add some ginger and orange zest to spice things up a bit . . .
that was great! thanks for the smirks and laughs…me wants to bake cookies!
Happy New Year, Larry.
I have to admit, I have never heard of persimmon cookies. But I haven’t been here that long. You can bet I’m going to be looking for them after next harvest though. Persimmon cookies.. who knew?
~S