Persimmons, Again

Persimmons are a staple of Caucasus Georgia's daily fruit, when in season. Or when not in season, dried.

Last week, I saw a persimmon tree in La Luz, New Mexico.

Today, there is an article in the New York Times, In Praise of Persimmons in Fall. Amen.

Some day, I hope there are thousands upon thousands of persimmon trees in America. I will profess a bias for the non-astringent type such as Huya.

My previous hostess, Nely, liked fresh and dried persimmons, but she especially loved persimmons when they were overly-ripe, almost rotten, at which point she scooped out the innards with a spoon and delivered the decayed gloopy mess directly to her mouth.  Shudder. 

Dried persimmon, Rustavi, Georgia

 

La Luz: A Fading Light

La Luz, New Mexico

La Luz, which means "light" in Spanish, is just outside Alamogordo. A tiny town, it has its charms and its sadness.

I was here a couple of years ago on a road trip with my mother, and I returned yesterday. 

Its Presidio Plaza, which has the bones of a fine park, has fallen into weedy decay. The housing that surrounds the park ranges from meth-lab decrepitude to renovated beauty.

La Luz, New Mexico

  

A large, red Doberman loped out to the road when I turned around near his house. Several households had signs on their gates: "Warning: Security dog."

I saw a flash of orange as I passed one house. Persimmons?! I turned around and parked in front of the house. A man parked his truck across the street and I asked if this was, indeed, a persimmon tree before my eyes. Yes.

Ahhh, persimmons. An immediate flashback to Caucasus Georgia.  There, when they are entirely ripe in the fall, the leaves fall off the trees, leaving only the delectable round orange fruits to decorate the naked branches.

Persimmons in La Luz, New Mexico

Maybe some will begin to appear at the local farmers' markets? Do New Mexicans dry their persimmons like they do in Georgia? If not, a pity.

The Catholic Church in La Luz is the town's centerpiece.

La Luz, New Mexico

La Luz, New Mexico

La Luz, New Mexico

La Luz, New Mexico

Across the road from the church is a splendiferous garden enclosed by various kinds of fencing. Many, many hours of labor went into this huge yard. 

La Luz, New Mexico

La Luz, New Mexico

I had a chance to look at La Luz' ditch system, also known as acequia, a watering system that goes back centuries. I'll write more on that in the future. 

Acequia in La Luz, New Mexico

Acequia in La Luz, New Mexico

I don't know where La Luz is in its life cycle - on the way down? Up? Stagnant? There is much to commend it - pretty lanes, the remains of a beautiful park that could be revived (much like those in Rustavi), mature trees that provide shady oases, an anchoring church complex.  Maybe as I live here longer, I'll learn about this from residents.    

Georgia: The Land of Decadently Delicious Persimmons

A bowl of persimmons for dessert, Mtskheta, Georgia

 
Now having tasted the persimmons in Georgia, both off the tree and dried, I believe the origin story should have involved Adam and Eve and a persimmon rather than an apple.

These aren't the persimmons found most often in the U.S., which are lip-pursing tart until way down the road of ripening.

No, the persimmons in Georgia are, best as I can tell, actually the Fuyu variety of Asian persimmons, a crop that I'd love to see adopted by Americans.

They are sweet and crisp. Wherever you looked in the fall you saw trees laden with large, heavy persimmons. When the leaves fell off, the orangey persimmons remained on the tree, providing splashy color to naked limbs. 

Dried persimmon and churchkhela, Rustavi, Georgia

As much as I enjoyed the ripe persimmons, I was unprepared for the experience of the dried persimmon, a full-on sensory extravaganza.

Dried persimmon, Rustavi, Georgia

White powdery sugar coats the outside of the fruit. 

Dried persimmon and churchkhela, Rustavi, Georgia

 
The persimmon is fleshy to squeeze and chewy to eat.

Dried persimmon, Rustavi, Georgia

You take a bite and it's like biting into a soft caramel. The flavor is similar to that of a very fine date.

Dried persimmon, Rustavi, Georgia

To create these magnificent sweets, you:  

1. Pick persimmons before they are ripe - when they have started to turn from green to yellow, and they are still hard - generally in September
2. Peel the skins
3. String a number of the persimmons together and hang them in a shady spot that gets a breeze
4. Wait til they are "ripe," when the sugar coats the outside, three months or so
5. Store in a box or sack

Dried persimmon, Rustavi, Georgia

It is amazing to me how the sugar within moves through the fruit until it flowers on the outside.

In the wikipedia article on persimmons, I find this disturbing excerpt:

Unripened persimmons

Unripened persimmons contain the soluble tannin shibuol, which, upon contact with a weak acid, polymerizes in the stomach and forms a gluey coagulum, a "foodball" or phytobezoar, that can affix with other stomach matter.^[12] These phytobezoars are often very hard and almost woody in consistency. More than 85% of phytobezoars are caused by ingestion of unripened persimmons.^[13] Persimmon bezoars (diospyrobezoars) often occur in epidemics in regions where the fruit is grown.^[14][15][16] Diospyrobezoars should not be of concern when consuming moderate quantities of persimmons. One case in medical literature from 2004 revealed a 51-year old patient who had eaten a kilogram (2.2 pounds) of unpeeled persimmons each day for 40 years.^[17][18] Cases have been rare and required surgical removal, but more recently chemical depolymerization by Coca-Cola has been used.^[19]

Not sure which is more alarming, the bit about the "gluey foodball" created by eating unripened persimmons or that Coke is used to dissolve it.