One thing I noticed very soon after moving to Japan was how certain fruits and vegetables disappeared from markets for much of the year, reappearing only once they came back into season. Though places like Berkeley and Portland may experience this phenomenon as well, it was a surprise to me, who grew up getting pretty much the same produce from the supermarket all year round. It's literally not possible to get persimmons in Japan from about December to October (unless you go to one of those weird specialty fruit shops that sell square watermelons and $100 cantaloupes - those might very well carry out of season fruit, too). Their being available only for that brief window of time makes them all the more tasty, not to mention how exciting it is to see them on display in the shops again for the first time in months.
Even more exciting than seeing them in the shops is seeing them growing on trees. The area where I used to live seems to have an unusual number of persimmon trees - they grow behind the houses where I see extremely old people outside at 6:30 am watering their bonsai trees and flower pots as I go by on my morning walkie. As the season progresses, I'll have to avoid stepping on the rotten, mushy, fallen fruit that spatters the sidewalk. But now, the persimmons are still a greenish shade of orange, and you wouldn't know they were there unless you knew to look for them.
The square, sweet, seedless persimmons (I think they're known as Fuyu among American fruit connoisseurs) are the most popular kind, while the pointy-ended type, which can be dangerously astringent when unripe, is more often hung up on strings and eaten dried. I've seen persimmons in the US, too, sometimes going by the name Sharon fruit, but I'm surprised they haven't gained greater popularity. Some people peel them, but the peel is perfectly edible. The proper Japanese way is to cut them into peeled wedges and stab them with a tiny, two-pronged dessert fork (this is actually the proper Japanese way to eat any fruit, from apples to grapes). I don't bother with the cutlery. The only drawback to eating out of hand is how much sweet, sticky juice ends up dripping down my arms.
One thing I noticed very soon after moving to Japan was how certain fruits and vegetables disappeared from markets for much of the year, reappearing only once they came back into season. Though places like Berkeley and Portland may experience this phenomenon as well, it was a surprise to me, who grew up getting pretty much the same produce from the supermarket all year round. It's literally not possible to get persimmons in Japan from about December to October (unless you go to one of those weird specialty fruit shops that sell square watermelons and $100 cantaloupes - those might very well carry out of season fruit, too). Their being available only for that brief window of time makes them all the more tasty, not to mention how exciting it is to see them on display in the shops again for the first time in months.
Even more exciting than seeing them in the shops is seeing them growing on trees. The area where I used to live seems to have an unusual number of persimmon trees - they grow behind the houses where I see extremely old people outside at 6:30 am watering their bonsai trees and flower pots as I go by on my morning walkie. As the season progresses, I'll have to avoid stepping on the rotten, mushy, fallen fruit that spatters the sidewalk. But now, the persimmons are still a greenish shade of orange, and you wouldn't know they were there unless you knew to look for them.
The square, sweet, seedless persimmons (I think they're known as Fuyu among American fruit connoisseurs) are the most popular kind, while the pointy-ended type, which can be dangerously astringent when unripe, is more often hung up on strings and eaten dried. I've seen persimmons in the US, too, sometimes going by the name Sharon fruit, but I'm surprised they haven't gained greater popularity. Some people peel them, but the peel is perfectly edible. The proper Japanese way is to cut them into peeled wedges and stab them with a tiny, two-pronged dessert fork (this is actually the proper Japanese way to eat any fruit, from apples to grapes). I don't bother with the cutlery. The only drawback to eating out of hand is how much sweet, sticky juice ends up dripping down my arms.
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