I have only three persimmon recipes in my database. One is Michael Twitty‘s recipe for Red Straw Persimmon Beer. The other two are for pudding. For practical reasons, I chose one of the latter. (I also used Japanese persimmons from Hungry Harvest.)
My recipe was contributed to “Queen Anne Goes to the Kitchen,” by Isabel Atkinson Lieber(1904-1974). The wife of Major General Albert Carl Lieber, Isabel traveled around a good bit in her lifetime. But she was born in Chestertown and she and her husband are buried at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Kent County.
I remember the first time I tasted persimmons. The fruit grew wild on a tree beside the phone company building where my aunt worked. We got a stepstool and some baskets and gathered some one fall.
Always entranced by wild ingredients, I was excited by the knowledge that Native Americans had used these fruits for food and medicine. I bit into the raw fruit and was rebuffed with a horrible astringent sourness that dried my mouth and squished up my face. I didn’t know then that persimmons, valuable though they are, need coaxing to make them palatable and edible. Some people freeze and thaw them to emulate the natural process that ripens the fruit.
One of the most commonly grown fruit trees on earth, according to wikipedia, the majority of persimmons are grown in China, where they make their way into doughnuts, sweet soups, cakes and cookies. According to “the Beijinger” blog, “orange persimmons are a sure sign that fall has arrived in Beijing.” Like the Native Americans, different Asian cultures have long used persimmons for both food and medicine – not necessarily discrete categories for many people around the world.
Persimmon trees are a member of the same family of trees as Ebony, which grows in East Africa and has been used for fruit and, more famously, wood. In West Africa, the local persimmon fruit is known as jackalberry due to its popularity with wild animals, who compete with humans for the ripe fruit.
Michael Twitty has written a great deal about persimmons, which he gathered with his father, and lovingly calls “‘simmons.” The Wolof people of West Africa used the name “alom” for the fruit, which they use for medicine, food, and beverages. Wolof people were among the ethnic groups of people who were kidnapped and enslaved in the United States. In America, they recognized the wild persimmon trees as something familiar. This connection allowed the enslaved not just a reminder of home, but an element of independence. In “Fighting Old Nep: Foodways of Enslaved Afro-Marylanders, 1634-1864,” Twitty wrote:
“When the “simmons,” (persimmons) were ripe and the frost and light snow had descended on the land the possums were considered to be at their fattest and most delicious. Typically they were caught with dogs, kept alive a week or two and fed cornbread and persimmons until it the cook felt that they were “cleaned out.” (Possums eat carrion in addition to fruits and nuts.)”
Twitty shared his family recipe for persimmon beer, describing its deep traditions and remarking that “it’s possible that the recipe that I cherish was brought from one of the many communities in West and Central Africa that harvest this tree every year, much as generations of enslaved Africans and African Americans did in America from the 17th century onward!”
Reverend Peter Randolph, an African-American minister and abolitionist who was born in Prince George’s County Maryland, described persimmon beer in the 1800s:
“There are some little fruits in Virginia, that are called ‘simmons’; they grow very plentifully, and are sweet and good. The slaves get them in the fall of the year, then they get a barrel and put the ‘simmons’ into it, and put water there too, and something else that grows on trees, that they call ‘locusses’, which are about ten inches long, and two across. They put the ‘locusses’ and ‘simmons’ into the water together, and let them stand for two or three days. Then the water is drained off, and the leaves are used as you would use coffee. The slaves put this liquid in gourds, and carry it to the field with them, and drink out of their gourds while they eat their bread.”
In 1838, Edmund Ruffin, an aristocrat-planter who wrote passionate defenses of slavery, penned a lengthy description of a festival in Virginia, which featured persimmon beer and bread, and banjo music.
The context is disturbing. Ruffin was so thoroughly steeped in white supremacy that he believed his description of the African-derived celebration was evidence that the enslaved people were generally happy, and that the traditions he observed were indicative of a primitive people.
Ruffin’s account, as a result, is both a glimpse into a twisted (and not uncommon) worldview, but also an account of enslaved Black people expressing joy, humor and humanity. In it, he transcribed long stanzas of lyrics about persimmons, romance, and celebrations of life.
“The whole world is a ball we find,
The water dances to the wind;
The sea itself, at night and noon,
Rises and dances to the moon.
The earth and planets round the sun,
Still dance; nor will their dance be done.
Till nature in one blast is blended;
Then may we say the ball is ended.”
Noticing that Ruffin wrote a great deal about a “banjor,” I contacted Kristina Gaddy, whose book “Well of Souls: Uncovering the Banjo’s Hidden History” discusses “the banjo’s key role in Black spirituality, ritual, and rebellion.” I found it interesting how both the instrument and the fruit reflected connections to Africa and evolving traditions.
Gaddy was familiar with the Ruffin account, which she said was written during a “transitional period for the banjo when you have accounts of Black people playing (which is basically all you have before 1810ish), but Minstrelsy has already started and that influences what white people write about when they see Black people playing the banjo.”
Other contemporary descriptions of festivals featuring the banjo describe songs that were known to appear on the Minstrel circuit. “As pop songs, these may have been what the banjo players were actually playing, but we can’t discount that the white observers just made something up that sounded like what a Black banjo player was playing.”
“So, coming back to the persimmon beer account: none of those songs are ones associated with Minstrelsy. That means they were likely from the Black tradition (which is very unusual to get an account of). Of course, I’m sad that it is only the lyrics and not the notated music, so we don’t really know what it sounded like!”
It’s an unpleasant aspect of learning history that the only way we have this account of something precious is because a horrible person didn’t recognize what he was doing in transcribing it. Still, it is not Ruffin’s words that leave an impression, but the words and story of the people he observed, doing their best to survive and find joy, around a barrel of persimmon beer – a taste of home, or of a home they never knew.
Recipe:
- .75 Lb pitted, strained persimmons
- 1 Lb sugar
- .75 Lb butter
- 1 Quart milk
- 6 eggs
- 1 grated nutmeg
Combine all ingredients in kettle and cook slowly, constantly stirring until as thick as boiled custard. Pour into baking dishes and bake at 225 degrees for 1 hour or until knife inserted in center comes out clean.
Recipe from “Queen Anne Goes to the Kitchen,” 1962, the Episcopal Church Women of St. Paul’s Parish
