7 November Monday

This morning, I arranged my collection of sauces and flavorings that require refrigeration. I discovered several bottles of hot sauce, soy sauce, chili oil, oyster sauce, and various other Asian pastes that should be used up. I went to the corner store where they had bags of fresh bok choy, and bingo bango bong, you got yourself a stir fry. A package of chicken breasts? You bet! Time to get the wok out, ginger, garlic, a bowl of soft jasmine rice. Yes, indeed. And what better to follow this made in a flash, literally, than a slow baked persimmon pudding? Cream, butter, cinnamon, sugar, honey, persimmons, a little flour, baking soda and powder, and toasted pecans. Bake for three hours.

We’ve already discussed persimmon anxiety, which belongs to our modern age where we need everything to be perfect and fill our understanding of what is sound kitchen science. After we’ve chosen the right persimmons, we discover that they don’t age at the same rate. They are like people in their 40s, I guess. Some get soft and squishy, some stay firm and well, pudding resistant. I got two of each. A friend was over the other day and asked what that fruit was that appeared to be drooping over the edge of the fruit basket. It is a persimmon, I said. One that has tarried too long at the fair, shut down the pub, you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here. It almost looked as if its tongue were hanging out of its mouth. Into the pudding, without resistance! A thick, dark red jelly that squirt slops out in a giant blob, which smells of the past summer. She trapped the sun’s rays in her bosom, only relinquished by the supple squeeze of me, the pudding baker.

The other two needed great coaxing. I had to squeeze firmly, beg, plead with them to give up their jelly. Finally, I conquered. The pudding is in the oven, the family of fruit are singing together in their cream bath.

I turn my thoughts to Thanksgiving. I am hosting a few friends, and have already decided to all the traditional side dishes and pumpkin raisin tart, but I’m not wedded to the idea of serving turkey. It’s super expensive this year, and many food articles and blogs etc. are suggesting beef for the feast. I don’t know. I think at least I will do some nice roast chicken, but I do love turkey for Thanksgiving. Maybe I can find a small one that’s the same price as two chickens.

Then, of course, the protest. “Thanksgiving without turkey? You may as well cancel.” Well, OK. I will search out the turkey. Deep down inside, I have to agree.

The persimmon pudding is heavenly light, with a chewy, crispy crust all around it. It’s flavor is mild, more cinnamon and pecans than persimmon, but the persimmon is definitely there. OK, more to come.