Procrastination

Last week the aunt gave us six cases of persimmons. (Yes, a thoughtful gift for people who have two persimmon trees of their own.) The aunt likes to pick her persimmons before they ripen and then wait for them to mature, one by one. In the past, this has meant that her gifts of persimmons have never been very useful to us. (I mean, aside of the obvious fact of our not needing them because we have our own.) I don't like persimmons enough to eat several cases of them in the space of a month, N doesn't like them at all, and the thought of giving a ripe persimmon to Pata, who has yet to perfect her technique with a spoon, makes me shudder. All that is left is to cook or bake with them, but when only two or three are ripe at a time, it limits the possibilities.

This year something different has happened. All of them ripened within one week, too many persimmons to bake into cakes, even for someone who likes cakes as much as I do. This surfeit of persimmons reminds me of the time when N and I used to pick our own, already ripe, and more flavorful than those of the aunt, before her insistent gifts of them made ours redundant. If the fifty tiny wet-waste bags allotted by the comune every three months were any larger, I think I would just toss all the aunt's persimmons, out of spite.

Somehow this week I realized that persimmon pulp can be frozen. And that's a bit of what I've been doing lately, making persimmon pulp and freezing it so that I can use it later when I have the time or inclination. (If you want to see what else I've been up to, have a look at my sewing blog. There's a link in the sidebar, in case you haven't noticed.)