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How to Recreate Julia Child's Kitchen Slideshow

How to Recreate Julia Child's Kitchen Slideshow


A Garland Gas Range Stove

A focal point of Child's kitchen is the Garland Gas Range stove that she used to whip up hundreds of her recipes. A collection of skillets, sauté pans, sieves, and white ceramic jars holding spatulas, ladles, and other cooking utensils conveniently hangs above it.

"When [Child] lived here in Washington in the late 1950s, she bought that range and dragged it around with her and loved it," said Green. "In fact, folks in her kitchen were cooking with it the night before she left the house. Julia loved her big, old Garland."

Food Processor

According the exhibition, Child considered the invention of the Cuisinart food processor in the mid-1970s to be the most important culinary innovation since the release of the electric mixer. Child kept her food processor on top of the butcher's block.

Mortar and Pestle

One of the signature fixtures of Child's kitchen is the hefty mortar and pestle that resides underneath a butcher's block. Child and her husband Paul bought the item in 1948 at the famous marché aux puces, a French flea market in Paris.

"There are so many things [Child] was crazy about like the huge mortar and pestle which you see on the floor underneath that big butcher's block," said Green. "She and Paul got it at marché aux puces in Paris when they were first there after the war, and it's huge. I can't even pick it up and carry it, I don't know how Paul ever did."

A Collection of Pots and Pans

An array of copper pots and pans decorate the perimeter of Child's kitchen. According to an exhibition panel, the collections include an aluminum donut hole-punch, a cast-iron heart-shaped trivet, massive copper pots, and American cast-iron pans. Like her paring knives, many of these cooking vessels came from E. Dehillerin in Paris.

Paring Knives

iStockPhoto / Thinkstock

Every chef knows that having a good set of knives in the kitchen is crucial. Child kept a collection of small paring knives stored around her kitchen for cutting, slicing, and chopping. To get a set of knives like Child's, stop by E. Dehillerin, a specialty culinary shop in Paris.

"She was crazy about her little paring knives," said Green.

Cookbooks

iStockPhoto / Thinkstock

Though Child authored more than 15 cookbooks that are considered by some to be culinary bibles, she always kept stacks of cookbooks nearby to reference and learn from while in the kitchen.

Wooden Peg Boards

Child's kitchen may be overflowing with gadgets, but with the help of wooden peg boards the chef was able to keep her kitchen organized. Child attached wooden peg boards to her kitchen walls and used them to hang knives, pots, pans, scissors, and cutting boards.

Child used a marker to outline the shapes of her utensils directly onto the peg boards to keep track of where to keep her items.


An underrated fall fruit. Recipes with persimmons

I was embarrassed to call them by their name, it was like pronouncing a swear word. I would never utter profanity, nor raise my voice, I would not throw a tantrum in a crowded room, I was a well behaved child. How could I ask grandma to have a caco as an afternoon break? To understand my reticency, you’d need a quick insight into the Italian language. A caco is a persimmon, but it is also a verb, which means I shit… I bet now you understand! My whole family has always had a bashful respect for words – quite surprisingly for Tuscans as they are known for having a very colourful and inventive language – so we have always called the persimmons pomi, as they were Tuscan apples.

Growing up I discovered that in Florence persimmons are known as diosperi, and I embraced with gratitude and a sigh of relief this name that cleans the caco of its worldly nature to wrap it in a mythological aura: I fell in love with the dios-pero, the wheat of Zeus.

In these early days of winter, with the white skies veiled by a thin mist, the persimmons are small wonders of nature, clinging tenaciously to the bare branches of exposed trees. Driving through the Tuscan countryside they can be spotted from afar, a spontaneous festive decoration to welcome the return of winter. In the courtyards of the houses, in the gardens, kept with loving care or abandoned to their destiny, the trees are weighed down by orbs as sweet and sticky as jam: it is the peak of their season.

Today’s post was born as a challenge with Tommaso which has given life to many recipes, all with persimmons. You will wonder how we decide which recipes will be published here on the blog, whether we follow an editorial plan or if we rely on instinct, or better, on hunger. Often we sit down, I take out a notebook and I begin to list everything I want to cook for you, then Tommaso shuffles the cards, introducing a random variable.

A few weeks ago Tommaso asked: what about persimmons? Have you ever made recipes with persimmons? They are in season, can you use them as an ingredient? This made me reflect. I’ve always considered the jammy persimmons as a meal on its own, a perfect afternoon break to simply enjoy with a spoon, but they are much more than this, they are actually an ingredient, a versatile one, so we started discussing about which recipes to post here. We couldn’t narrow the field to a single one. I also asked you for some help on Instagram, and you generously contributed with lots of ideas.

In this time of the year persimmons are abundant, infinitely good and affordable. Here you can find a few ideas on how to use them in the kitchen. You will find recipes with two types of persimmon: the Fuyu, that can be sliced and cubed, as crisp to the bite as an apple, and the more common Hachiya, the classic sweet, heavy persimmon, a skin so thin that barely holds up the pulp, silky and sugary as a jam.

It seemed the best way to greet these early days of winter: cooking, using seasonal ingredients and enjoying the warmth of an oven or of a pot simmering on the stove.


An underrated fall fruit. Recipes with persimmons

I was embarrassed to call them by their name, it was like pronouncing a swear word. I would never utter profanity, nor raise my voice, I would not throw a tantrum in a crowded room, I was a well behaved child. How could I ask grandma to have a caco as an afternoon break? To understand my reticency, you’d need a quick insight into the Italian language. A caco is a persimmon, but it is also a verb, which means I shit… I bet now you understand! My whole family has always had a bashful respect for words – quite surprisingly for Tuscans as they are known for having a very colourful and inventive language – so we have always called the persimmons pomi, as they were Tuscan apples.

Growing up I discovered that in Florence persimmons are known as diosperi, and I embraced with gratitude and a sigh of relief this name that cleans the caco of its worldly nature to wrap it in a mythological aura: I fell in love with the dios-pero, the wheat of Zeus.

In these early days of winter, with the white skies veiled by a thin mist, the persimmons are small wonders of nature, clinging tenaciously to the bare branches of exposed trees. Driving through the Tuscan countryside they can be spotted from afar, a spontaneous festive decoration to welcome the return of winter. In the courtyards of the houses, in the gardens, kept with loving care or abandoned to their destiny, the trees are weighed down by orbs as sweet and sticky as jam: it is the peak of their season.

Today’s post was born as a challenge with Tommaso which has given life to many recipes, all with persimmons. You will wonder how we decide which recipes will be published here on the blog, whether we follow an editorial plan or if we rely on instinct, or better, on hunger. Often we sit down, I take out a notebook and I begin to list everything I want to cook for you, then Tommaso shuffles the cards, introducing a random variable.

A few weeks ago Tommaso asked: what about persimmons? Have you ever made recipes with persimmons? They are in season, can you use them as an ingredient? This made me reflect. I’ve always considered the jammy persimmons as a meal on its own, a perfect afternoon break to simply enjoy with a spoon, but they are much more than this, they are actually an ingredient, a versatile one, so we started discussing about which recipes to post here. We couldn’t narrow the field to a single one. I also asked you for some help on Instagram, and you generously contributed with lots of ideas.

In this time of the year persimmons are abundant, infinitely good and affordable. Here you can find a few ideas on how to use them in the kitchen. You will find recipes with two types of persimmon: the Fuyu, that can be sliced and cubed, as crisp to the bite as an apple, and the more common Hachiya, the classic sweet, heavy persimmon, a skin so thin that barely holds up the pulp, silky and sugary as a jam.

It seemed the best way to greet these early days of winter: cooking, using seasonal ingredients and enjoying the warmth of an oven or of a pot simmering on the stove.


An underrated fall fruit. Recipes with persimmons

I was embarrassed to call them by their name, it was like pronouncing a swear word. I would never utter profanity, nor raise my voice, I would not throw a tantrum in a crowded room, I was a well behaved child. How could I ask grandma to have a caco as an afternoon break? To understand my reticency, you’d need a quick insight into the Italian language. A caco is a persimmon, but it is also a verb, which means I shit… I bet now you understand! My whole family has always had a bashful respect for words – quite surprisingly for Tuscans as they are known for having a very colourful and inventive language – so we have always called the persimmons pomi, as they were Tuscan apples.

Growing up I discovered that in Florence persimmons are known as diosperi, and I embraced with gratitude and a sigh of relief this name that cleans the caco of its worldly nature to wrap it in a mythological aura: I fell in love with the dios-pero, the wheat of Zeus.

In these early days of winter, with the white skies veiled by a thin mist, the persimmons are small wonders of nature, clinging tenaciously to the bare branches of exposed trees. Driving through the Tuscan countryside they can be spotted from afar, a spontaneous festive decoration to welcome the return of winter. In the courtyards of the houses, in the gardens, kept with loving care or abandoned to their destiny, the trees are weighed down by orbs as sweet and sticky as jam: it is the peak of their season.

Today’s post was born as a challenge with Tommaso which has given life to many recipes, all with persimmons. You will wonder how we decide which recipes will be published here on the blog, whether we follow an editorial plan or if we rely on instinct, or better, on hunger. Often we sit down, I take out a notebook and I begin to list everything I want to cook for you, then Tommaso shuffles the cards, introducing a random variable.

A few weeks ago Tommaso asked: what about persimmons? Have you ever made recipes with persimmons? They are in season, can you use them as an ingredient? This made me reflect. I’ve always considered the jammy persimmons as a meal on its own, a perfect afternoon break to simply enjoy with a spoon, but they are much more than this, they are actually an ingredient, a versatile one, so we started discussing about which recipes to post here. We couldn’t narrow the field to a single one. I also asked you for some help on Instagram, and you generously contributed with lots of ideas.

In this time of the year persimmons are abundant, infinitely good and affordable. Here you can find a few ideas on how to use them in the kitchen. You will find recipes with two types of persimmon: the Fuyu, that can be sliced and cubed, as crisp to the bite as an apple, and the more common Hachiya, the classic sweet, heavy persimmon, a skin so thin that barely holds up the pulp, silky and sugary as a jam.

It seemed the best way to greet these early days of winter: cooking, using seasonal ingredients and enjoying the warmth of an oven or of a pot simmering on the stove.


An underrated fall fruit. Recipes with persimmons

I was embarrassed to call them by their name, it was like pronouncing a swear word. I would never utter profanity, nor raise my voice, I would not throw a tantrum in a crowded room, I was a well behaved child. How could I ask grandma to have a caco as an afternoon break? To understand my reticency, you’d need a quick insight into the Italian language. A caco is a persimmon, but it is also a verb, which means I shit… I bet now you understand! My whole family has always had a bashful respect for words – quite surprisingly for Tuscans as they are known for having a very colourful and inventive language – so we have always called the persimmons pomi, as they were Tuscan apples.

Growing up I discovered that in Florence persimmons are known as diosperi, and I embraced with gratitude and a sigh of relief this name that cleans the caco of its worldly nature to wrap it in a mythological aura: I fell in love with the dios-pero, the wheat of Zeus.

In these early days of winter, with the white skies veiled by a thin mist, the persimmons are small wonders of nature, clinging tenaciously to the bare branches of exposed trees. Driving through the Tuscan countryside they can be spotted from afar, a spontaneous festive decoration to welcome the return of winter. In the courtyards of the houses, in the gardens, kept with loving care or abandoned to their destiny, the trees are weighed down by orbs as sweet and sticky as jam: it is the peak of their season.

Today’s post was born as a challenge with Tommaso which has given life to many recipes, all with persimmons. You will wonder how we decide which recipes will be published here on the blog, whether we follow an editorial plan or if we rely on instinct, or better, on hunger. Often we sit down, I take out a notebook and I begin to list everything I want to cook for you, then Tommaso shuffles the cards, introducing a random variable.

A few weeks ago Tommaso asked: what about persimmons? Have you ever made recipes with persimmons? They are in season, can you use them as an ingredient? This made me reflect. I’ve always considered the jammy persimmons as a meal on its own, a perfect afternoon break to simply enjoy with a spoon, but they are much more than this, they are actually an ingredient, a versatile one, so we started discussing about which recipes to post here. We couldn’t narrow the field to a single one. I also asked you for some help on Instagram, and you generously contributed with lots of ideas.

In this time of the year persimmons are abundant, infinitely good and affordable. Here you can find a few ideas on how to use them in the kitchen. You will find recipes with two types of persimmon: the Fuyu, that can be sliced and cubed, as crisp to the bite as an apple, and the more common Hachiya, the classic sweet, heavy persimmon, a skin so thin that barely holds up the pulp, silky and sugary as a jam.

It seemed the best way to greet these early days of winter: cooking, using seasonal ingredients and enjoying the warmth of an oven or of a pot simmering on the stove.


An underrated fall fruit. Recipes with persimmons

I was embarrassed to call them by their name, it was like pronouncing a swear word. I would never utter profanity, nor raise my voice, I would not throw a tantrum in a crowded room, I was a well behaved child. How could I ask grandma to have a caco as an afternoon break? To understand my reticency, you’d need a quick insight into the Italian language. A caco is a persimmon, but it is also a verb, which means I shit… I bet now you understand! My whole family has always had a bashful respect for words – quite surprisingly for Tuscans as they are known for having a very colourful and inventive language – so we have always called the persimmons pomi, as they were Tuscan apples.

Growing up I discovered that in Florence persimmons are known as diosperi, and I embraced with gratitude and a sigh of relief this name that cleans the caco of its worldly nature to wrap it in a mythological aura: I fell in love with the dios-pero, the wheat of Zeus.

In these early days of winter, with the white skies veiled by a thin mist, the persimmons are small wonders of nature, clinging tenaciously to the bare branches of exposed trees. Driving through the Tuscan countryside they can be spotted from afar, a spontaneous festive decoration to welcome the return of winter. In the courtyards of the houses, in the gardens, kept with loving care or abandoned to their destiny, the trees are weighed down by orbs as sweet and sticky as jam: it is the peak of their season.

Today’s post was born as a challenge with Tommaso which has given life to many recipes, all with persimmons. You will wonder how we decide which recipes will be published here on the blog, whether we follow an editorial plan or if we rely on instinct, or better, on hunger. Often we sit down, I take out a notebook and I begin to list everything I want to cook for you, then Tommaso shuffles the cards, introducing a random variable.

A few weeks ago Tommaso asked: what about persimmons? Have you ever made recipes with persimmons? They are in season, can you use them as an ingredient? This made me reflect. I’ve always considered the jammy persimmons as a meal on its own, a perfect afternoon break to simply enjoy with a spoon, but they are much more than this, they are actually an ingredient, a versatile one, so we started discussing about which recipes to post here. We couldn’t narrow the field to a single one. I also asked you for some help on Instagram, and you generously contributed with lots of ideas.

In this time of the year persimmons are abundant, infinitely good and affordable. Here you can find a few ideas on how to use them in the kitchen. You will find recipes with two types of persimmon: the Fuyu, that can be sliced and cubed, as crisp to the bite as an apple, and the more common Hachiya, the classic sweet, heavy persimmon, a skin so thin that barely holds up the pulp, silky and sugary as a jam.

It seemed the best way to greet these early days of winter: cooking, using seasonal ingredients and enjoying the warmth of an oven or of a pot simmering on the stove.


An underrated fall fruit. Recipes with persimmons

I was embarrassed to call them by their name, it was like pronouncing a swear word. I would never utter profanity, nor raise my voice, I would not throw a tantrum in a crowded room, I was a well behaved child. How could I ask grandma to have a caco as an afternoon break? To understand my reticency, you’d need a quick insight into the Italian language. A caco is a persimmon, but it is also a verb, which means I shit… I bet now you understand! My whole family has always had a bashful respect for words – quite surprisingly for Tuscans as they are known for having a very colourful and inventive language – so we have always called the persimmons pomi, as they were Tuscan apples.

Growing up I discovered that in Florence persimmons are known as diosperi, and I embraced with gratitude and a sigh of relief this name that cleans the caco of its worldly nature to wrap it in a mythological aura: I fell in love with the dios-pero, the wheat of Zeus.

In these early days of winter, with the white skies veiled by a thin mist, the persimmons are small wonders of nature, clinging tenaciously to the bare branches of exposed trees. Driving through the Tuscan countryside they can be spotted from afar, a spontaneous festive decoration to welcome the return of winter. In the courtyards of the houses, in the gardens, kept with loving care or abandoned to their destiny, the trees are weighed down by orbs as sweet and sticky as jam: it is the peak of their season.

Today’s post was born as a challenge with Tommaso which has given life to many recipes, all with persimmons. You will wonder how we decide which recipes will be published here on the blog, whether we follow an editorial plan or if we rely on instinct, or better, on hunger. Often we sit down, I take out a notebook and I begin to list everything I want to cook for you, then Tommaso shuffles the cards, introducing a random variable.

A few weeks ago Tommaso asked: what about persimmons? Have you ever made recipes with persimmons? They are in season, can you use them as an ingredient? This made me reflect. I’ve always considered the jammy persimmons as a meal on its own, a perfect afternoon break to simply enjoy with a spoon, but they are much more than this, they are actually an ingredient, a versatile one, so we started discussing about which recipes to post here. We couldn’t narrow the field to a single one. I also asked you for some help on Instagram, and you generously contributed with lots of ideas.

In this time of the year persimmons are abundant, infinitely good and affordable. Here you can find a few ideas on how to use them in the kitchen. You will find recipes with two types of persimmon: the Fuyu, that can be sliced and cubed, as crisp to the bite as an apple, and the more common Hachiya, the classic sweet, heavy persimmon, a skin so thin that barely holds up the pulp, silky and sugary as a jam.

It seemed the best way to greet these early days of winter: cooking, using seasonal ingredients and enjoying the warmth of an oven or of a pot simmering on the stove.


An underrated fall fruit. Recipes with persimmons

I was embarrassed to call them by their name, it was like pronouncing a swear word. I would never utter profanity, nor raise my voice, I would not throw a tantrum in a crowded room, I was a well behaved child. How could I ask grandma to have a caco as an afternoon break? To understand my reticency, you’d need a quick insight into the Italian language. A caco is a persimmon, but it is also a verb, which means I shit… I bet now you understand! My whole family has always had a bashful respect for words – quite surprisingly for Tuscans as they are known for having a very colourful and inventive language – so we have always called the persimmons pomi, as they were Tuscan apples.

Growing up I discovered that in Florence persimmons are known as diosperi, and I embraced with gratitude and a sigh of relief this name that cleans the caco of its worldly nature to wrap it in a mythological aura: I fell in love with the dios-pero, the wheat of Zeus.

In these early days of winter, with the white skies veiled by a thin mist, the persimmons are small wonders of nature, clinging tenaciously to the bare branches of exposed trees. Driving through the Tuscan countryside they can be spotted from afar, a spontaneous festive decoration to welcome the return of winter. In the courtyards of the houses, in the gardens, kept with loving care or abandoned to their destiny, the trees are weighed down by orbs as sweet and sticky as jam: it is the peak of their season.

Today’s post was born as a challenge with Tommaso which has given life to many recipes, all with persimmons. You will wonder how we decide which recipes will be published here on the blog, whether we follow an editorial plan or if we rely on instinct, or better, on hunger. Often we sit down, I take out a notebook and I begin to list everything I want to cook for you, then Tommaso shuffles the cards, introducing a random variable.

A few weeks ago Tommaso asked: what about persimmons? Have you ever made recipes with persimmons? They are in season, can you use them as an ingredient? This made me reflect. I’ve always considered the jammy persimmons as a meal on its own, a perfect afternoon break to simply enjoy with a spoon, but they are much more than this, they are actually an ingredient, a versatile one, so we started discussing about which recipes to post here. We couldn’t narrow the field to a single one. I also asked you for some help on Instagram, and you generously contributed with lots of ideas.

In this time of the year persimmons are abundant, infinitely good and affordable. Here you can find a few ideas on how to use them in the kitchen. You will find recipes with two types of persimmon: the Fuyu, that can be sliced and cubed, as crisp to the bite as an apple, and the more common Hachiya, the classic sweet, heavy persimmon, a skin so thin that barely holds up the pulp, silky and sugary as a jam.

It seemed the best way to greet these early days of winter: cooking, using seasonal ingredients and enjoying the warmth of an oven or of a pot simmering on the stove.


An underrated fall fruit. Recipes with persimmons

I was embarrassed to call them by their name, it was like pronouncing a swear word. I would never utter profanity, nor raise my voice, I would not throw a tantrum in a crowded room, I was a well behaved child. How could I ask grandma to have a caco as an afternoon break? To understand my reticency, you’d need a quick insight into the Italian language. A caco is a persimmon, but it is also a verb, which means I shit… I bet now you understand! My whole family has always had a bashful respect for words – quite surprisingly for Tuscans as they are known for having a very colourful and inventive language – so we have always called the persimmons pomi, as they were Tuscan apples.

Growing up I discovered that in Florence persimmons are known as diosperi, and I embraced with gratitude and a sigh of relief this name that cleans the caco of its worldly nature to wrap it in a mythological aura: I fell in love with the dios-pero, the wheat of Zeus.

In these early days of winter, with the white skies veiled by a thin mist, the persimmons are small wonders of nature, clinging tenaciously to the bare branches of exposed trees. Driving through the Tuscan countryside they can be spotted from afar, a spontaneous festive decoration to welcome the return of winter. In the courtyards of the houses, in the gardens, kept with loving care or abandoned to their destiny, the trees are weighed down by orbs as sweet and sticky as jam: it is the peak of their season.

Today’s post was born as a challenge with Tommaso which has given life to many recipes, all with persimmons. You will wonder how we decide which recipes will be published here on the blog, whether we follow an editorial plan or if we rely on instinct, or better, on hunger. Often we sit down, I take out a notebook and I begin to list everything I want to cook for you, then Tommaso shuffles the cards, introducing a random variable.

A few weeks ago Tommaso asked: what about persimmons? Have you ever made recipes with persimmons? They are in season, can you use them as an ingredient? This made me reflect. I’ve always considered the jammy persimmons as a meal on its own, a perfect afternoon break to simply enjoy with a spoon, but they are much more than this, they are actually an ingredient, a versatile one, so we started discussing about which recipes to post here. We couldn’t narrow the field to a single one. I also asked you for some help on Instagram, and you generously contributed with lots of ideas.

In this time of the year persimmons are abundant, infinitely good and affordable. Here you can find a few ideas on how to use them in the kitchen. You will find recipes with two types of persimmon: the Fuyu, that can be sliced and cubed, as crisp to the bite as an apple, and the more common Hachiya, the classic sweet, heavy persimmon, a skin so thin that barely holds up the pulp, silky and sugary as a jam.

It seemed the best way to greet these early days of winter: cooking, using seasonal ingredients and enjoying the warmth of an oven or of a pot simmering on the stove.


An underrated fall fruit. Recipes with persimmons

I was embarrassed to call them by their name, it was like pronouncing a swear word. I would never utter profanity, nor raise my voice, I would not throw a tantrum in a crowded room, I was a well behaved child. How could I ask grandma to have a caco as an afternoon break? To understand my reticency, you’d need a quick insight into the Italian language. A caco is a persimmon, but it is also a verb, which means I shit… I bet now you understand! My whole family has always had a bashful respect for words – quite surprisingly for Tuscans as they are known for having a very colourful and inventive language – so we have always called the persimmons pomi, as they were Tuscan apples.

Growing up I discovered that in Florence persimmons are known as diosperi, and I embraced with gratitude and a sigh of relief this name that cleans the caco of its worldly nature to wrap it in a mythological aura: I fell in love with the dios-pero, the wheat of Zeus.

In these early days of winter, with the white skies veiled by a thin mist, the persimmons are small wonders of nature, clinging tenaciously to the bare branches of exposed trees. Driving through the Tuscan countryside they can be spotted from afar, a spontaneous festive decoration to welcome the return of winter. In the courtyards of the houses, in the gardens, kept with loving care or abandoned to their destiny, the trees are weighed down by orbs as sweet and sticky as jam: it is the peak of their season.

Today’s post was born as a challenge with Tommaso which has given life to many recipes, all with persimmons. You will wonder how we decide which recipes will be published here on the blog, whether we follow an editorial plan or if we rely on instinct, or better, on hunger. Often we sit down, I take out a notebook and I begin to list everything I want to cook for you, then Tommaso shuffles the cards, introducing a random variable.

A few weeks ago Tommaso asked: what about persimmons? Have you ever made recipes with persimmons? They are in season, can you use them as an ingredient? This made me reflect. I’ve always considered the jammy persimmons as a meal on its own, a perfect afternoon break to simply enjoy with a spoon, but they are much more than this, they are actually an ingredient, a versatile one, so we started discussing about which recipes to post here. We couldn’t narrow the field to a single one. I also asked you for some help on Instagram, and you generously contributed with lots of ideas.

In this time of the year persimmons are abundant, infinitely good and affordable. Here you can find a few ideas on how to use them in the kitchen. You will find recipes with two types of persimmon: the Fuyu, that can be sliced and cubed, as crisp to the bite as an apple, and the more common Hachiya, the classic sweet, heavy persimmon, a skin so thin that barely holds up the pulp, silky and sugary as a jam.

It seemed the best way to greet these early days of winter: cooking, using seasonal ingredients and enjoying the warmth of an oven or of a pot simmering on the stove.


An underrated fall fruit. Recipes with persimmons

I was embarrassed to call them by their name, it was like pronouncing a swear word. I would never utter profanity, nor raise my voice, I would not throw a tantrum in a crowded room, I was a well behaved child. How could I ask grandma to have a caco as an afternoon break? To understand my reticency, you’d need a quick insight into the Italian language. A caco is a persimmon, but it is also a verb, which means I shit… I bet now you understand! My whole family has always had a bashful respect for words – quite surprisingly for Tuscans as they are known for having a very colourful and inventive language – so we have always called the persimmons pomi, as they were Tuscan apples.

Growing up I discovered that in Florence persimmons are known as diosperi, and I embraced with gratitude and a sigh of relief this name that cleans the caco of its worldly nature to wrap it in a mythological aura: I fell in love with the dios-pero, the wheat of Zeus.

In these early days of winter, with the white skies veiled by a thin mist, the persimmons are small wonders of nature, clinging tenaciously to the bare branches of exposed trees. Driving through the Tuscan countryside they can be spotted from afar, a spontaneous festive decoration to welcome the return of winter. In the courtyards of the houses, in the gardens, kept with loving care or abandoned to their destiny, the trees are weighed down by orbs as sweet and sticky as jam: it is the peak of their season.

Today’s post was born as a challenge with Tommaso which has given life to many recipes, all with persimmons. You will wonder how we decide which recipes will be published here on the blog, whether we follow an editorial plan or if we rely on instinct, or better, on hunger. Often we sit down, I take out a notebook and I begin to list everything I want to cook for you, then Tommaso shuffles the cards, introducing a random variable.

A few weeks ago Tommaso asked: what about persimmons? Have you ever made recipes with persimmons? They are in season, can you use them as an ingredient? This made me reflect. I’ve always considered the jammy persimmons as a meal on its own, a perfect afternoon break to simply enjoy with a spoon, but they are much more than this, they are actually an ingredient, a versatile one, so we started discussing about which recipes to post here. We couldn’t narrow the field to a single one. I also asked you for some help on Instagram, and you generously contributed with lots of ideas.

In this time of the year persimmons are abundant, infinitely good and affordable. Here you can find a few ideas on how to use them in the kitchen. You will find recipes with two types of persimmon: the Fuyu, that can be sliced and cubed, as crisp to the bite as an apple, and the more common Hachiya, the classic sweet, heavy persimmon, a skin so thin that barely holds up the pulp, silky and sugary as a jam.

It seemed the best way to greet these early days of winter: cooking, using seasonal ingredients and enjoying the warmth of an oven or of a pot simmering on the stove.


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