Some people (I’ve heard) like persimmons. I think they’re icky. Which is a shame, cause there is a persimmon tree in our Italian backyard. In the dog part of the backyard, to be specific (the dog yard, I suppose. The dog domain. Where they run around, chase mice, do their business, wrestle, bark a bit, smell cats, and gnaw on each other. But not the part of the yard where they eat deer droppings. That part we walk by in the mornings. It’s their breakfast buffet, normally). While the persimmon tree doesn’t do anything for me, lately, the dogs are always near it when they’re outside. Even when the persimmons don’t look even close to appetizing in my opinion (it was a little gloomy when I took this pic, but even so, it’s late-ish winter and the persimmons left aren’t looking near to snazzy):
The dogs, see, have developed a persimmon addiction. They love these old persimmons, and usually head straight for the tree when we go into the yard to see which of the twenty or so persimmons left have fallen off since their last visit to the tree:
They’re pretty focused once under the tree with their dish-divine-of-the-moment, with Sookie even licking the persimmon juice and muck from leaves (oh, as an aside, the branches on the ground are mostly from the olive garden . . . wait, I mean the olive orchard, as the branches are pruned olive branches that we drug into the dog yard to help cut down on muddy paws):
And Rory’s developing a strategy for moving rocks around to better find the persimmon remnants (which is a huge step above his developing a strategy for tunneling under the fence to try and get to the little yappy dogs next door, a practice which was his favorite occupation before persimmon-dropping season):
The one downside to all the persimmons? What our German neighbor Doris calls (when she watches the dogs): ka ka. It’s not that the persimmons are bothering them internally (if you know what I mean), but they are, um, going to the bathroom more. And that’s probably enough said (except to add that we do get lots of plastic bags at the markets. So, the bags are being put to good use). The tree doesn’t have a lot of persimmons left, however, and the birds are also pretty excited about their winter fruit experience, so soon I think the dogs soon can again devote more time to what’s important: Doggie Wrestlemania 2011!
Here in NC - persimmons are a true treat and are even found at some farmer's markets. You never want to eat a persimmon until the first deep frost - and never pluck it from the tree. A perfectly ripe persimmon is one that has fallen off the tree. At this point, there is so much sugar in the fruit, and the skin in so thin, that fermentation begin quickly.
ReplyDeleteYou don't really eat the fruit, but process it in a food mill to make a pulp and separate the seeds out. Persimmon pudding is my favorite - bakes up like a dark custard and is delicious with vanilla ice cream!