Ask Chef Walter: Persimmon and me. A fruit that still taste like home – Walter Potenza

Friends:

A fruit that tastes like honeyed sunlight, persimmons don’t get much attention in the US. This is likely because people are intimidated, or the fruit does not fit their culinary heritage. In this piece, I want to dispel myths about persimmons and convince you to consider them as part of your choices.

Imagine walking through a crisp autumn or winter orchard, where trees are heavy with bright orange fruits that look like tomatoes or small pumpkins. I’ve always loved that sight; it feels like pure fall magic. These are persimmons, one of my favorite seasonal fruits that capture the cozy feeling of cooler weather. They grow in many places around the world and come in a few main types, each with its own charm. Back in Italy, where I was born, they were a staple on my mother’s kitchen counter.

The Fuyu variety, which I fondly call ‘Crunchy Fuyu,’ is round and squat, almost like an apple. I enjoy eating them while they’re still firm and crisp. The Hachiya, or ‘Custard Hachiya,’ is more acorn-shaped and needs to ripen fully until it’s soft and custard-like inside. I’ve learned not to bite into one too soon!

There’s also the American persimmon, which is smaller and wilder, often found in forests. According to Upland Brewing Co., persimmons are a unique and somewhat rare fruit, which makes their distinct and concentrated flavor feel especially special when I find them. What I love most about persimmons, besides their beauty, is their remarkable taste. They have a honey-like sweetness with hints of cinnamon and apricot. When the days get shorter, they make everything feel warm and comforting.

I’ve always been fascinated by the history of persimmons, and the more I learn, the more I appreciate them. Persimmons have been around for millions of years, first appearing in Southeast Asia. People in China began growing them as early as the Qin and Han dynasties, from 221 BC to 220 AD. According to research cited by R. Wang and colleagues, persimmons have been present in China for over ten thousand years, as evidenced by ancient trees, historical records, decorative artifacts, and archaeological discoveries. In North America, the native Diospyros virginiana was valued by Indigenous peoples long before others arrived. Picture an Indigenous baker, perhaps in what is now Virginia, adding dried persimmons to a warm, hearty bread to nourish the community during harsh winters.

The name “persimmon” comes from the Algonquin word “pasimenan,” which means something like “artificially dried.” I always smile when I think about Captain John Smith in 1609 describing how unripe persimmons are puckery but delicious when ripe. During the Civil War, a weary soldier might have found comfort in persimmon seeds roasted into a makeshift coffee. A small reprieve amidst the chaos. The fruit reached Europe in the 17th century and Australia in the 1850s, brought by Chinese immigrants. Today, China produces most of the world’s persimmons, and the fruit still holds deep cultural significance, often associated with temples. Its scientific name, Diospyros kaki, means something like “fruit of the gods,” a name given by botanist Carl Peter Thunberg in the 18th century. That feels right to me; they really do taste divine.

Besides their long history, I love how nutritious persimmons are, which makes me feel good about eating them often. A medium Japanese persimmon, about 168 grams, has about 118 calories, mostly from carbs, with little fat or protein. Each fruit has about 6 grams of fiber, which you can think of as a miniature broom sweeping through your gut to aid digestion, help you feel full, support heart health, and potentially manage weight and inflammation. They’re full of vitamins too: more than half of my daily vitamin A from beta-carotene, which is like a young artist brightening the world with vivid colors, nourishing my eyes, and boosting my immune system. I also consume about 12.6 mg of vitamin C, which acts as a guardian, helping fight off illness and build strong collagen. The potassium content (about 270 mg) works wonders on maintaining healthy blood pressure, like a gentle conductor keeping a symphony in balance. Additionally, they contain manganese, copper, and strong antioxidants such as polyphenols and catechins, which act as peacekeepers against oxidative stress, potentially lowering the risk of cancer or stroke. Whether fresh or dried, they offer natural sugars like glucose and fructose, providing a quick source of energy with relatively few calories. To me, they’re not simply delicious—they’re a real nutrient powerhouse that helps my skin glow and keeps me feeling strong.

I appreciate how adaptable persimmons are in the kitchen because they work in many dishes. I start with firm Fuyus by slicing them thin, like apples, and adding them to salads with greens, nuts, and a bright vinaigrette for crunch and sweetness. The vinaigrette clings to the slices, infusing them with a tangy sharpness that contrasts beautifully with their natural sweetness.

Sometimes I wrap wedges in prosciutto and drizzle them with balsamic for a quick, elegant appetizer that always impresses. The prosciutto fat glistens against the orange flesh, creating a rich, salty flavor that melts in the mouth.

When they soften, I blend them into smoothies with banana and warm spices for a creamy fall treat. The spices dance over your palate like autumn leaves swirling in the wind.

I also puree them to use instead of pumpkin in muffins or banana in quick breads, making everything moist and flavorful. Their pudding-like texture is perfect in cookies, cakes, or even sticky toffee pudding, where their natural sweetness is enhanced by notes of cinnamon and ginger.

I roast wedges as a savory side with pork or chicken, turning their flesh into caramelized, succulent flesh, or cook them down into jams, chutneys, or salsas to capture their honeyed flavor. Their essence lingers like a sweet, lingering embrace.

I’ve frozen them whole for a sorbet-like snack straight from the freezer, the cold nipping softly at each bite, and they’re great in oatmeal, crisps, or pies since the heat changes their texture in a wonderful way, the warmth releasing their syrupy juices.

I rarely peel them unless a recipe calls for it, as the skin usually softens during cooking. My biggest tip: always let astringent types ripen fully, or they’ll make your mouth pucker!

To bring everything together, one of my favorite ways to enjoy persimmons is with this classic Persimmon Bread. It’s moist, spiced, and tastes just reminiscent of fall to me.

I preheat the oven to 350°F and grease two loaf pans.

In one bowl, I sift 3 1/2 cups of flour, 1 1/2 teaspoons salt, 2 baking teaspoons soda, and 1 teaspoon ground nutmeg.

In another bowl, I mix 2 to 2 1/2 cups sugar with 1 cup melted and cooled unsalted butter, then beat in 4 eggs, a splash of brandy or another liquor for extra flavor, and 2 cups of pureed ripe persimmons, for which Hachiyas work best.

I gently fold in the dry ingredients until just combined, then add a cup each of chopped nuts and raisins for texture.

I ladle the batter into the pans and bake for about an hour, or until a toothpick comes out clean.

After cooling, I slice the bread and enjoy the warm, fragrant pieces. It’s the kind of bread that makes the whole house smell amazing. It also freezes well, so I can share slices or save some for later. As the aroma fills the kitchen, it reminds me of my mother’s kitchen counter in Italy, where persimmons were always present, evoking a sense of home and warmth.

This bread feels like a special gift from the season, and I hope you’ll give it a try. If you do, I’d love to see your creations! Share a photo of your persimmon dish on social media and inspire others to explore this delightful fruit.