Hoshigaki: Persimmons, Transformed
Cool weather, falling leaves, and the first Christmas trees and wreaths appearing at pop-ups on sidewalks signal the arrival of persimmons. One of my seasonal rituals is to seek out the fattest persimmons I can find, and transform them into hoshigaki.
Hoshigaki covered in a frosting of natural sugars. Any persimmon can be used to make hoshigaki.
Acorn-shaped Hachiya-types are the Asian persimmon that, when firm and unripe, leaves your tongue feeling insulted by its tannins.
Native American persimmons—Diospyros virginiana.
Native ‘simmons are fiddlier to peel, but dry faster.
The best results I have achieved have been in a wide, sunny window that I would crack open on nice days.
A very light sugar-bloom on Hachiya (Fuyu to the left and right).
Recently, I have been using a wooden skewer spiked through the top of the fruit, just under the calyx.
Skewers are easier to remove from the dried fruit, and cheaper than long stainless steel screws.
Skewered fresh and three-week old hoshigaki (above yubeshi—that’s another story) on bamboo rods.
When dry, skewers produce a batwing effect in the persimmons.
Gin or vodka poured over the peeled fruit helps keep them mold-free in their first days of drying.
Hoshigaki How-to
• Vegetable peeler or sharp paring knife. You can re-use the same hooch for a whole batch.
Hanging the fruit: I use screws secured in the ceiling as anchors for vertical strings of hoshigaki, or as anchors for light bamboo rods from which to suspend them in horizontal rows (easier for the skewered fruit).
Hachiya after 24 hours—the over-ripe specimens are still moist. My fix is to brush it off with a clean paper towel or cotton swab and then to paint that spot with a pastry brush dipped in alcohol.
Slivers of hoshigaki with St. Nuage and and Bijou crottin cheeses.