Signs of Fall: Yellow Leaves, 1/2 Price Peaches, Orianna

I went to Green City Market Wednesday with a touch of melancholy-- signs of fall in the air, time to gather the last of some in-season things for freezing, especially since I'm now making ice cream and sorbet as well as pie.

I bought a basket of peaches for half price-- peeling and slicing them hard, I now have two bags of slightly sugared peach slices freezing.

I bought more blueberries, two blueberry pies will hold us over until spring.

I bought a thicket of basil, wilted and not all that pretty, but aromatic; chopped in the Cuisinart with a little olive oil, then laid flat in plastic bags, they'll be my "pesto starter" in winter. (Better-looking basil from the next stand and very good tomatoes made an excellent caprese the same night. Go long in tomatoes right now, they're finally first-class.)

And... I saw Orianna of Orianna's Oriental Orchard.

* * *

Orianna is a small but sturdy Asian woman with a farm in Winslow, east of Galena, who only comes to Green City in the fall and winter. She's appeared here before, even by (slightly misspelled first) name: she's the black walnut lady. But that name hardly does justice to the deeply interesting and unusual variety of things she brings to market, born of her own curiosity and interest in obscure, once-popular, uncommercial fruits grown in Illinois, as well as Asian fruits it's possible to grow here.

Busy as they often are, it's possible to talk to many of the farmers at Green City, at least on a pretty practical basis about their produce, and I've done so enough that Seedlings, for instance, recognizes me as someone who comes poking around for the more unusual things (gooseberries, butterscotch melons). But talking with Orianna is different-- the selling of the fruit seems incidental to the talk.

Indeed, she's surely the only person bringing fruit to Green City she doesn't plan to sell. The first thing I noticed on her table was a small basket of paw paws and persimmons. What are paw paws? I'm frankly not sure. The one she had looked sort of like an eggplant-colored avocado, although as she quickly explained, "You have to get them and eat them when they're green. This is only good for seed."

So no paw paw today. And no persimmon then, as she said they weren't soft enough to eat yet. I asked if there was a time when they would be in high season and there would be lots of them-- no, she said, you just have to catch them as they fall. Well, it's easy to see why the persimmon is not available by the crate at Jewel, then; they may have sustained native Americans, but today only someone willing to pick four or five of them off the ground and then drive a couple of hundred miles to show them off without selling them is likely to have them. In other words, apart from Orianna, you have about as much chance of seeing them in a commercial setting as you do of seeing a passenger pigeon or a Great Auk.

One of her delights that we'd bought last year at the winter market was dried Asian pears, and in fresh pears at last I found a crop that was actually for sale. She had largely sold out of the bags of pears she came with, but three Asian pears for sampling still sat under glass. I had bought a fancy Asian pear at H-Mart and decided that it was the kind of fruit that gets grown for perfect roundness and blemish-free skin, not for flavor, so I wasn't necessarily expecting much from the fresh fruit. But she handed me most of a small round brown pear called a Nijiseiki, and I bit into it.

"This is the best pear I've had in twenty years," I said when my eyes rolled back down into place and the colors around me returned to their normal saturation. Here was the same watermelon-like, wet-styrofoam texture of the gift pear I'd bought, but the flavor was complex, spicy and and as richly fruity as a good peach.

She handed me another, called Korean Giant. I bit into it-- here was something more like the styrofoam pear I'd bought. I must have shown my disappointment by comparison with the wonder she'd given me first, because she quickly explained, "These are still a little early. Two weeks, these will be better."

We talked for a moment about the market and selling what she has. Just before me a woman had been complaining, or perhaps reporting as if it were a homeland security breach in need of immediate action, that one of the pears she'd bought the previous Saturday had turned out to have an insect in it. "What do people think? It's organic, everything wants to eat it. They want to buy organic but they don't think about what that means. This year, it's rainy, so many bugs, I lose half. If there's a spot, cut around it!"

One last pear-- this one was called Chojuro, "They say it has butterscotch flavor, I don't know." There's a lot of that going around Green City, I thought to myself. The butterscotch was even more elusive than with my butterscotch melons, but what surprised me was a note that tasted like alcohol-- sharp and astringent, this pear tasted like it had already been turned into Poire William. Pears, not one of the world's most interesting fruits to my mind, had revealed sides I'd never suspected today.

It was close to the market's closing time and so Orianna began packing things up. As she did she gave me two of the persimmons and told me to wait until they were soft to eat them, which by today, they were.



Another reason why persimmons won't be today's Fresh Values special at Jewel-- they have to look like they're rotting before they're ready to eat. I cut around the stone, then peeled off the wrinkly skin to reveal a small amount of fruit with the texture and translucency of a slightly mushy plum. The flavor was also a bit like a plum, but with a note which was oatmeal-like, or even wallpaper-paste-like, yet not unpleasant. A few moments later, however, the tannins in the fruit attacked my mouth, I was like a cartoon character who's been handed "Alum" instead of sugar, the inside of my mouth felt instantly dry and sandpapery. The feeling soon washed away but it was a most odd and unpleasant sensation.

I know persimmons are still used for pudding, there's even a Persimmon Festival in Mitchell, Indiana, so I'm curious now about how you actually capture their elusive flavor while minimizing their defensive tannin shield. But I think when I go back to see Orianna, it will be for pears first, and whatever other curious things turn up on her table of strange, and possibly even purchasable, delights.

A few things about persimmons from a devoted fan of the fruit....

While it is a rare occurrence, you can find persimmons in stores in Chicago. I know that Stanley's has had some each of the past two falls but I am not sure about any other stores. However, the only persimmons that they have available are Asian persimmons (either Hachiya or Fuyu). American persimmons are far more difficult to find, but are the kind that are celebrated at the festival in Mitchell and my family's preferred type of persimmon.

The other distinction that can be drawn between persimmons is astringent/nonastringent. Hachiya and American persimmons are astrigent - they have all of those mouth puckering tannins.

Fuyu persimmons have some tannins as well but can be eaten once they are soft or ripened via some other method (wikipedia claims that they can be ripened by chemicals).

The astringent persimmons are traditionally ripen after being exposed to frost. The cold breaks down the persimmon into something approaching mush but gets rid of the tannins.

From your description and the picture, I think you got Fuyu persimmons and probably just ate them a few days too early. When properly ripe, persimmons should be sweet and delicious, not mouth puckering.

I will try to post my grandmother's persimmon pudding recipe when I get a chance. Perhaps I am biased, but I think that it makes a wonderful fall dessert.

Ben

Oops, I forgot one other thing she had me try. A little basket of what were called "ground cherry tomatoes." Tiny tomatoes inside a little paper skin, which you peel back and then pop the tomato into your mouth and bite it off the stem. She said they were a European tomato variety-- and you know, they did have a distinct European flavor, something I'd never thought about tomatoes having before, but a note that was kind of earthy which did remind me more of the tomatoes I had recently in Spain than what you typically have in the US.

I think you got Fuyu persimmons and probably just ate them a few days too early.

I only tried one, I'll save the other a few more days. Thanks.

benscanlon wrote:While it is a rare occurrence, you can find persimmons in stores in Chicago. I know that Stanley's has had some each of the past two falls but I am not sure about any other stores.

They are also available during season at Lincolnwood Produce.

Mike G wrote:It was close to the market's closing time and so Orianna began packing things up. As she did she gave me two of the persimmons and told me to wait until they were soft to eat them, which by today, they were.



Another reason why persimmons won't be today's Fresh Values special at Jewel-- they have to look like they're rotting before they're ready to eat. I cut around the stone, then peeled off the wrinkly skin to reveal a small amount of fruit with the texture and translucency of a slightly mushy plum. The flavor was also a bit like a plum, but with a note which was oatmeal-like, or even wallpaper-paste-like, yet not unpleasant. A few moments later, however, the tannins in the fruit attacked my mouth, I was like a cartoon character who's been handed "Alum" instead of sugar, the inside of my mouth felt instantly dry and sandpapery. The feeling soon washed away but it was a most odd and unpleasant sensation.

I know persimmons are still used for pudding, there's even a Persimmon Festival in Mitchell, Indiana, so I'm curious now about how you actually capture their elusive flavor while minimizing their defensive tannin shield. But I think when I go back to see Orianna, it will be for pears first, and whatever other curious things turn up on her table of strange, and possibly even purchasable, delights.

My mom is a big fan of persimmons, and I think they actually do go on sale at Jewel once in a while. I don't know anything about varieties (except that there are two kinds I've noticed consistently at Korean grocery stores and that Mu Ch'i's famous painting from the 13th century suggests that there were up to six types then), but the ones my uncle sends me from the persimmon tree in his backyard in Virginia Beach are sweet and ready to eat while they're still pretty and somewhat firm (like a medium-ripe nectarine). That said, there are always a few in every picking that are very bitter. I've never waited for a persimmon to get soft or splotched before eating.

Marketplace on Oakton typically has two different kinds of persimmons this time of year - however, I don't know if they are the varieties listed here or two types of the same variety. I decorated my Thanksgiving table with fruit one year and bought one of the beautiful deep-orange ones; it was delicious - kind of papaya-like, but with a better texture.

The ones I've seen at Marketplace on Oakton are both Asian varieties - Fuyu (flat-bottomed shape) and Hachiya (tapered shape). Fuyus aren't especially astringent, but the Hachiyas need to ripen 'til almost mushy to eat.

There's an entire chapter in Harold McGee's The Curious Cook discussing persimmons and how to accelerate ripening of the more astringent varieties. He recommends tightly wrapping a Hachiya persimmon in Original/Premium Saran wrap (polyvinylidene chloride - not the polyethylene of Saran Cling or most other plastic wraps), leaving it for 12 or more hours at 100° then letting it cool to room temp for another 12 hours, then using it as you would a ripe mango or papya.

He recommends tightly wrapping a Hachiya persimmon in Original/Premium Saran wrap (polyvinylidene chloride - not the polyethylene of Saran Cling or most other plastic wraps), leaving it for 12 or more hours at 100° then letting it cool to room temp for another 12 hours, then using it as you would a ripe mango or papya.

Why aren't these every bit as popular as peaches? I don't get it!

I am the proud parent of one paw-paw tree and two persimmion trees. I'm hoping my paw paw overwinters ok as it got nailed by cicadas. Oh well. As they are all still young...and under 4 feet tall...I've got a long wait for fruit. Paw paw (also known as custard apple) is from a family of mostly tropical trees. It has wonderful leaves and a great fruit that reminds one of banana. I make sweet bread with it.
Caution Cultural Anthropologist approaching...DeSoto recorded this tree in the Mississippi Valley about 1541 and the name comes from the Arawakan name for Papaya but they're not related.

Getting persimmion fruits are trickier as I still don't know if I have a male and female or two of the same sex. The wait will be worth it and in the meantime these trees will be beautiful for their distinctive bark.

Treasure each one you find at a farmer's market. These trees are native but rare due to forest clearing. They aren't often planted unless by tree people looking for something unusual. Paw paw is an understory tree that does fine in moist conditions.


--Plant Trees
J. Sterling Morton

Diannie, by custard apple do you mean the fruit also known as cherimoya? I thought that was a tropical fruit! Who knew?

My own experience with the joys and challenges of persimmons.

Mhays wrote:Diannie, by custard apple do you mean the fruit also known as cherimoya? I thought that was a tropical fruit! Who knew?

They are members of the same family, the Annonaceae or custard apple family. Cherimoya, Annona cherimola is, I believe, a tropical tree while Pawpaw, Asimina triloba is a temperate tree native to the US

We had a number of paw paw trees near our house in cincinnati. They tended to grow on the sides of hills, in our case near the little miami river. Getting the fruit was a little hit or miss. The trees near us were fairly tall and thin, so we couldnt pick while it was still on the tree, and you had to be pretty lucky to find one that had fallen that hadnt been eaten already. When we found a good one, which was pretty rare (though my grandfather was often lucky), they were excellent. Similar to banana but a bit creamier, with a more complex flavor. I dont think that I have had one for 20 years.

-Will