I let a persimmon wait until it’s as soft as jelly

In November persimmons appear at the shop near home — orange, glossy, with a little green star of a cap. The first time, I bought the prettiest, firmest one, cut it open at home, and my mouth puckered as if I’d licked a woolly mitten. Beautiful, and completely inedible.

Later I learned that there’s more than one kind. The flat, round one that looks a bit like a tomato, often sold here as sharon fruit, is sweet even when firm, and you can slice it like an apple. The longer one, shaped like a heart or an acorn, stays mouth-drying until it’s completely soft, almost see-through, with skin as thin as a film. There’s no hurrying it; you just have to wait.

A firm one goes on a plate, cap side down, and stays out in the kitchen at room temperature. If I want it sooner, I put it in a paper bag with a banana or an apple, and in a few days it softens. A ripe persimmon feels heavy, the skin wrinkles slightly and the flesh gives under your finger like jelly. I cut it in half and eat it with a spoon straight from the skin. If ripe ones have to wait their turn, they go in the fridge, but only for a day or two.

How do you tell which kind you have? Sharon fruit and other non-astringent types are squat and round, like a flattened tomato, and are often labelled by name. The astringent kind, often sold as kaki or simply persimmon, is longer and pointed at the bottom. If I am not sure, I wait. A persimmon that is soft enough is good to eat whichever kind it is; a firm one might not be.

That drying feeling in your mouth comes from tannins in the unripe fruit. As the fruit softens they fade, and what is left is honey-sweet flesh that tastes a little of apricot and a little of dates. It is worth the wait, but it also means that eating several unripe, astringent persimmons is not a good idea; the sensible thing is simply to wait until they are ready.

When I buy them, I choose fruit with smooth, unbroken skin and the green cap still attached. A few dark specks are fine, but deep bruises or splits let in mould, and a ripe persimmon is very delicate, so I carry them home on top of the bag, not underneath the potatoes.

Before eating, I rinse the persimmon under the tap and pat it dry, even if I am going to eat it with a spoon, because the knife takes whatever is on the skin into the fruit. I pull off the cap, cut it in half from top to bottom, and check for any seeds, which I take out.

A ripe soft persimmon is lovely on its own, but I also like it spooned over thick yoghurt with 1/4 tsp cinnamon, or blended into a smoothie with a banana. Sharon fruit, which can be eaten firm, I slice thinly into salads with leaves and soft cheese, or into a bowl of porridge.

Ripe persimmons don't keep long. In the fridge they last a day or two; after that they turn mushy and start to ferment. If I have too many ripe ones at once, I scoop the flesh out and freeze it in a small box, to use within a month or two in porridge or smoothies.

Persimmons also look lovely in the fruit bowl while they wait, and I find that seeing them every day stops me forgetting them until it is too late.

It’s the most patient thing in my winter fruit bowl. But once it’s ready, there’s no need for pudding: a spoon, half a persimmon and a cup of tea.