On Friday, I found some persimmons in the corner of the Walmart grocery section.
A very soft persimmon
Everything I know about persimmons comes from two sources: this poem (Persimmons by Li-Young Lee), and from remembering a friend at college (whose family was of Chinese descent) being excited about discovering a persimmon tree in the backyard of the place she was renting with her fellow schoolmates. Her schoolmates had been ignoring the persimmon tree since they did not know what it was, but she was ecstatic about it.
It had been a long time since I read the poem. I did not remember if I was supposed to eat the skin, but standing in the corner of the grocery store, I did remember that they were supposed to be very very soft. I think I have seen them for sale before from the street-side fruit vendors, but I mistook them for one of those not-quite-tomato fruits, and did not buy any. My loss.
In the grocery store, there were two kinds of persimmons – ones that looked like tomatoes with different sorts of leaves on top and ones that looked like the others, but as though they’d been grown with a string tied around their middle, causing them to bulge on the top and bottom. I got one of each. I got the ripest-feeling one that I dared to carry home. The ripe bulgy one felt like it was made of water swishing in the bottom. It did not smell bad at all, but I could not help thinking of rotten tomatoes. It had the same feel of a thin skin with watery swishing fluid beneath. I was concerned that it might actually be too ripe or rotten, so I got a slightly firmer but still soft one of the non-bulgy kind. It felt about they way that a tomato feels when you know it needs to sit on your countertop for 2 or 3 more days to be perfectly ripe.
The next morning, I ate the bulgy one. It had been a long time since I read the poem, and I did not remember if I was supposed to eat the skin, which looked speckled and beginning to mold on top, so I cut the top off with a knife like a pumpkin. Inside, there were a few wafers of solid fruit material drifting within what I have so far only figured out how to describe as fruit custard.
fruit custard-gel that comes in its own bowl
The fruit had mostly become a sort of custard-jelly texture within its skin. I scooped it out and ate it off the end of my knife. I haven’t figured out how to describe the flavor yet. It was sweet, but not overpowering or sugary or tangy. The sweetness was so soft and almost creamy, just like the texture. A really lovely fruit.
The other persimmon is still sitting on the tabletop, ripening, I hope.