The power of persimmons

It's funny how two simple things -- in this case, two persimmons -- can trigger such happy memories.

The persimmons of which I speak were in our Fresh Abundance box this week. I had to smile.

I first became acquainted with persimmons while living in Southern California in the 80s, courtesy of Young Bob Flynn. Persimmon trees are legion in older neighborhoods there, planted for their decorative leaves and bright fruit that appears in late fall.

Oregon girl that I am, I found them more than a little disconcerting.

As a fruit, they are somewhat blowsy and bloated, as if coming off some two-day bender up in the trees. And being so accustomed to the Pacific Northwest's orderly collection of fruit, nuts and berries --symmetric in design and modestly cloaked in browns, blues, yellow and reds -- I found the persimmon's riotous orange skin more than a little scandalous.

HUSSY!

 You would have to agree.
Pureed persimmon is some seriously scary SH*T.

And so it was, when Young Bob Flynn came home one day with a handful of these strange orange goobers that someone at work had shared and announced she was making persimmon cookies, "using Grandma's recipe," I thought I had just been pitched into the perfect storm. Without my dramamine pills.

Young Bob Flynn's erratic cooking successes -- and failures -- were legendary. Cooking was not a passion of hers. It was a function -- a function of getting dinner on the table for a meat-and-potatoes spouse and six hungry kids who just wanted to eat as long as it didn't look, smell or taste funny.

And, oh, that's after a full day's work as a nurse.

Young Bob Flynn DID have some pretty rock star signature dishes: Chicken Divan, watermelon roast, clam and oyster chowder, scalloped potatoes and anything Crystal Light (oh wait. sorry. that's not a dish). But she had her culinary blind spots as well -- like baking an Easter ham in its plastic wrap and the unshakeable belief that anything roasted would be elevated with the addition of one or two cans of undiluted Campbell's Golden Mushroom Soup.

My entire body still puckers in the saline memory of Campbell's Golden Mushroom Soup. And that's not an attractive thing.

Nor did I recall Young Bob Flynn baking much (we're a little bit alike in that regard), which occurred to me as I watched her bustle around pulling together the ingredients for persimmon cookies those many years ago. But she appeared to know what she was doing -- and "Grandma" most certainly did. Several hours later, a tray of cookies with butter cream frosting rested in all its glory on the kitchen counter.

The entire house smelled like Christmas.

Tentatively, with visions of weird, corpulent persimmons splatting on my head, I took my first bite. There was no going back. Cookie lines were drawn in the sand. Young Bob Flynn's persimmon cookie was soft, cakey, spicy and crazy sweet-and-sour, finished with a gentle communion of powdered sugar, butter. and vanilla. I was addicted.

Me:Hello, I am Mrs. B and I'm a persimmon-cookie-aholic.

Persimmon-cookie-aholic Group: Hello, Mrs. B.


Thank you, Young Bob Flynn, for this addiction -- this addiction to the things that are odd, enduring touchstones to family and holidays. There will be persimmon cookies made in your honor -- in perpetuity.

P.S. YBF, the fruit still scares me, though. Just a little. Any help in this department would be appreciated.

CONCETTA'S REVENGE?

For several years now, I've had a little Veterans Day tradition: Get my flu shot and whip up a batch of Johnny's Spaghetti Sauce, a recipe our American Ex-pat Friends shared with us a while back. I think it originally came from Mr. AEx-PF's grandmother Concetta P. and has been handed down from father (aka, Johnny) to son (aka, Mr. AEx-PF).

It's the real deal. Crazy tomato-y and robust with delicious old-school meatballs. And it's not that complicated.

Aside from the fact you have to make a gazillion of said meatballs from scratch.

And the fact it then requires 4 hours of simmer time. It's a perfect Veterans Day project.

Except Johnny's Spaghetti Sauce didn't get done on this Veterans Day. We were, instead, getting down to the most serious business of memorializing Young Bob Flynn. And memorialize we did -- three days' worth of events. All but one of The Cousins (the Number One and Two Sons' peers) made it. They hadn't been together as a posse for easily 10 years and more than made up for the lost time. Family and friends from across the country descended upon Bermtopia. And, together, we saluted a wonderful woman and her life well lived. Boy, there was a lot of saluting. . . .

That's why I took a day off from work today. All that saluting does take a toll. The dust bunnies (thank you, Ben) skittering across the kitchen floor are testimonial to that. As are the five heaping baskets of laundry waiting to be folded and put away. And, oh, I really should get reacquainted with my Quiet Voice.

But, as my own pot of sauce is simmering on the stove, I do want to share the recipe for Johnny's Spaghetti Sauce with you. It's a happy holiday tradition.

Because I am fully incapable of leaving any recipe alone, I've made a few tweaks here and there over the years. I'd like to think Concetta would be pleased, but it's also very possible she'd throttle me with a steel canoli -- Concetta's revenge for messing with perfection.

I guess we will never know. That being said, I'll give both versions and you can decide.

A little dividend for the chef!

JOHNNY'S SPAGHETTI SAUCE


Meatballs

1 lb hamburger
3/4 lb Jimmy Dean regular pork sausage (Concetta) OR 3/4 lb sweet Italian sausage (Bermtopia)
8 oz bread crumbs made from crushing 3/4 of a 12-oz bag of unseasoned stuffing (Concetta) OR 8 oz. prepared plain or Italian bread crumbs (Bermtopia)
1 T oregano
1/2 t parsley flakes (Note: I didn't have any parsley flakes so I added 1/2 t of dried fennel fronds from When Pigs Fly Farm!)

4 eggs
1/2 T salt
Pinch coarse ground pepper (Bermtopia)
3/4 c water

Mix meat, eggs, spices, water and about half the crumbs (dampen them with a little water before adding).

 The mix will be a little soupy, so keep adding crumbs till you can roll a meatball and it isn't too sticky. The more the crumbs, the drier the meatball. One other note: The mix remains a bit tacky despite the additional crumbs, though.

According to Concetta, 1 3/4 lb meat should make about 28 meatballs. Last year, I got 42! (I think I use 2 pounds of meat, though) -- this year, 29. Yeah, I count my meatballs. I'm a geek.

 Make the meatballs a little larger than a golf ball and brown in a frying pan coated with about 1 T olive oil.







They do not need to be cooked through, but be sure to get a nice crust on them -- this helps to keep them together in the sauce. Reserve a small amount of the drippings.


And from the Bermtopia Sadder but Wiser Department: Each batch cooks faster than the previous. Keep an eye on the little suckers.

Sauce

2 28 oz cans whole tomatoes (Concetta) OR 1 28 oz. can whole tomatoes and 1 28 oz. can crushed tomatoes (Bermtopia) Note: Use Marzano if you can. It makes SUCH a difference.
2 6 oz can tomato paste
1 T salt
2 t oregano
3/4 t parsley flakes (See note above regarding parsley flakes vs. WPFF dried fennel fronds)
1/4 t garlic salt (Concetta) OR 2 cloves fresh garlic, minced and lightly sauteed (Bermtopia)
1 large onion, chopped and slightly sauteed
1 c water
1 t sugar (Bermtopia)
1 t meatball drippings (Bermtopia
2 c torn fresh basil leaves (Bermtopia)

If using whole tomatoes, give them quick pulse in a blender or food processor to break them up a little. Add to a large kettle (about 2 gallon).

Add tomato paste, lightly sauteed onions (and fresh garlic if using), water and spices.

My latest Trader Joe's find:
Frozen cubes of minced garlic and basil.
I love you, TJ.

Add meatballs. If they are not completely covered by the sauce, add more water till they are. Cover and cook at medium-low heat for at least 4 hours, adding the basil during the last hour of cooking. Stir occasionally and check that the meatballs are still covered with the sauce.

Johnny and Concetta suggest making this the night before and letting it sit so flavors have a chance to meld. I usually let my batch cool and freeze it.

Serves between 6 and 8 depending on portions.