Persimmon is imagination.
Unlocking memories of childhood.
I try not to dwell too long in the past. But the doctors have decreed that my Old Ladies are in the throes of departing these shores of present-future, by way of grabbing the coattails of the Ghost of Childhood Past. Sometimes I find myself along for the ride.
Have you ever been transported into someone else’s memory? Suddenly you’re swarmed by chickens a-squawking and pigs insistent that their afternoon tea-and-slop time is now. That is the teleporting power of the persimmon.
My internal nostalgic gear switches on whenever I see them, which means I have to buy them for the Old Ladies no matter where I am. Though you’ll find fresh persimmons mostly in the fall/early winter season if you live in NYC.
While the Old Ladies were in Brooklyn for the Thanksgiving rigamorale, I prepared for them a quinessentially Korean punch (수정과) made from dried persimmon.
It’s a drink their mother would’ve made for them when they were growing up.
It’s my only connection to a grandmother whom I never had a chance to see, let alone meet. Hopefully she would have approved.
For the recipe, click here.