Outside

I picked a few and brought them back to the house. After a bit of Internet sleuthing, my “a-ha” moment arrived: What I’d found was a persimmon, best known for its sweet, almost tropical taste and its annual appearance in winter holiday recipes. Excited, I hastily, greedily, took my first bite—and got my first lesson about the persimmon: When it looks ripe, it isn’t. That bitter, pucker-inducing nibble almost soured me on the fruit. Still, not one to hold a food grudge, the next day I tried again to learn the secrets to this low-profile fruit. After more research, I went out and collected a nice bunch of ready-to-eat persimmons and set about making my first batch of a beloved Southern dish, persimmon pudding. It was like a dense, moist gingerbread spiced with nutmeg and cinnamon. I was hooked from the first spoonful.

Why do persimmons, also known as sugarplums, still have a somewhat mysterious, old-school, wild-crafting reputation? One reason is that they are not grown in orchards and typically are not widely available in markets. Decades ago, the persimmon was a big part of seasonal celebrations in the Virginia countryside, but its popularity faded as people turned from foraging to corner markets for food. Beyond that, the persimmon is a winter treat, ready to enjoy at a time when most consumers aren’t thinking about fruit. In addition, unlike apples and oranges, the persimmon doesn’t transport well—and it has to be eaten soon after turning ripe.

So the persimmon can be hard to find and tricky to eat—but don’t let that dissuade you for searching it out. Collecting the fruit in the wild can be a wonderful experience (they are more abundant than you may realize), cultivating them in your own garden is a possibility, and creating holiday goodies with them in the kitchen is an unexpected delight.

To find your own supply of wild persimmons, start by traipsing through old farm fields, woodland edges and flood plains in late October through mid-December. That’s when I’ve had the best luck—and walking in the cool air of the late fall/early winter season is invigorating. Try scanning the horizons of fields for the silhouette of the hanging fruit. Or look to the ground for fallen fruit—and then find the trunk of the tree. Its bark should appear like ashy charcoal briquettes. I have to admit, I spent six years hiking past several humongous persimmon trees and never really noticed the fruit. These days, I do. Often. Maybe you will, too.