Outside

If you are not inclined to forage, you can grow your own. The American persimmon (Diospyros virginiana) is a native and does particularly well in Virginia. It adapts to different soil requirements, grows in full sun to part shade and develops a deep taproot that helps it survive our droughts. Pests are rarely a problem, so it gets another star for being easy to cultivate organically. A native species should be your first choice when you visit a nursery.

Many American persimmon cultivars have wonderful names. Some are frontier-inspired, such as ‘Abe Lincoln’ and ‘Daniel Boone,’ while others evoke ready-for-plucking hues—‘Mood Indigo’ and ‘Geneva Red.’ Edible Landscaping, a nursery in Afton, sells the ‘Meader,’ ‘Ruby’ and ‘Yates’ varieties—their stock is always a good barometer of what will do well in our state. Make sure to check with any nursery on whether the variety they sell is self-fertile or needs cross-pollination (requiring several trees).

Because American persimmons can grow up to 60 feet, Asian varieties, including ‘Hana Fuyu’ and ‘Ichi Ki Kei Jori,’ are better for the backyard gardener. They typically grow 8 to 10 feet. The Asian varieties at Edible Landscaping are grafted onto American persimmon rootstock, so they have the hardiness of the natives.

However you get hold of a persimmon, before you eat it, know how to recognize when it’s ripe. Jamestown colonist John Smith once wrote, “If it not be ripe, it will drawe a man’s mouth awrie with much torment but when it is ripe, it is delicious as an Apricocke.”

In fact, this fragile fruit is best when it feels tender and the skin is almost tissue-thin—the word “gooey” comes up over and over from seasoned gatherers. The sweetest have a purple-orange color—it’s probably the only time you’ll ever want your fruit to appear bruised. Some people say to wait until after the first frost to collect the fruit, but I think skin color and texture are more reliable indicators of ripeness. The yummiest persimmons are those that drop to the ground with a bit of jostling to the tree’s trunk.

While the persimmon may never be a consumer favorite, plenty of traditional persimmon recipes are around. The book Pigsfoot Jelly and Persimmon Beer (Ancient City Press, 1992), part of the Virginia Writers’ Project Foodways, documents rural, Depression-era food traditions in the 1930s and early 1940s and contains a recipe for persimmon beer. Some of the old-timers who were interviewed recall whole persimmons being put out on the dessert sideboard alongside nuts and sweets.