My mom used to lug home bags of these bright golden fruits all the way from Chinatown and kept them away from the rest of the family. “They’re not ripe yet!” she claimed. She has a trick for coaxing these persimmons to reach their flavorful peak. She would bag some persimmons with one or two apples and put the bag inside a deep sauté pan and close the lid. Then, she stored that pan in the oven so that the persimmons could ripen (because who doesn’t use an oven to store food?). Yes, in an Asian household, the ovens and dishwashers = storage for food or pots and pans. I nearly burned my kitchen down because of this strange logic, but that’s a story for another day. Like magic, those persimmons that my mom stored in the pan would turn from light marigold to a deeper shade of orange, a sign that they’ve reached their peak of ripeness. Of course, my cravings for those little golden nuggets would get the better of me, and I would sneak out a few persimmons when my mom wasn’t looking. Yea, they didn’t taste that great, especially unripe hachiya persimmons. Mama Lin’s always right about these things. Between taste testing pear tarts and apple turnovers, I needed a break from the butter and the sugar. Gasp. Did I just say that? If this salad doesn’t cleanse the palette, then all I can do is throw my hands up in the air . . . and have another bite of that apple turnover.
