persimmon pie

Welcome back. I tried playing it cool, but let's be honest: we all saw something like this coming. After Tuesday's unexpectedly successful persimmon smoothie bowl recipe, I couldn't stop myself from crawling back to the tree on my hands and knees for more of the good stuff. She obliged, lovingly indulging me with a whole basketful of what has come to be one of my favorite foods of all time. There were so many. It felt like I had robbed a bank. I was shitting myself on the way home.

After coming down from the high that comes from scoring big-time, I put my nefarious hands to work baking you this dessert. This pie is one that comes straight from my heart without the aid of a previously written recipe, aside from our lovely vegan pie crust, which of course comes straight out of Sarah's Vegan Kitchen. It makes its final appearance here as the vessel for today's tasty treat.

one quarter of a cup of rice flour

one quarter of a cup of soymilk

one tablespoon of vanilla

one tablespoon of cinnamon

one tablespoon of allspice

one half of a teaspoon of salt

the juice of half of a lemon

a boatload of persimmons

And no, I did not forget to include stevia in this list. I actually had some measured out on the side, but these things were so sweet and heavenly already that they literally didn't need it. Who was I to argue?

Give the persimmons a quick rinse before you start fucking around with them to cleanse them of any potential pathogens they may be harboring on their surfaces. Quarantine yourself from the danger of the outside world.

Line up a good ten or twelve of them on a wire baking rack to ensure maximum heat distribution; we want these things pissing syrup by the time they're done. Preheat your oven to 375°. While you wait for it come to temperature, take a moment to reflect upon the past. The fruit will take about forty-five minutes to bake through.

There they are, in all of their puckered glory. Now is the time to remove the skins. This was probably the most challenging part of the task as a whole.

I'll admit that I never really figured out a consistently efficient way of doing this with these things. They were almost like a baked sweet potato in that the skin sort of loosened itself from the flesh in the heat of the oven, but the tops were so securely fastened that a lot of them wouldn't give around it. I ended up using my big knife. It worked well enough.

Get all of your stewed persimmons into the blender-cup. Pulse with soymilk, the flour, and all of the seasonings until you have a purée. Set that aside and start preparing the raw ones to go on top.

Cut them into slices about one-eighth of an inch thick; notice the cute stars our cross-examination reveals to you on the inside. Take a moment to appreciate all of the millions of years of naturally selective evolution it took to bring this delicate design to your cutting board.

Try not to eat too many of the persimmon pieces while you work. Save some for the fucking pie, you monster.

Now, we assemble. I spread out my filling and then start layering the top on from the outside edges in. Save yourself a pretty slice to put right in the middle. Presentation is key.

Do you see that lousy little piece of dough I have there on the side? For this entire step, I had myself convinced that I was going to make a shitty leaf or some other symbol of the season to put over everything else, to indicate that this pie was made in the fall. As I was finishing up though I came to my senses and decided not to ruin the natural beauty of the pie in its naked, primal state. Looking back, I can't say I regret it. I fear the uncertain. I'm not here to take risks.

This was the most fun part of the recipe. There's something about fruit arrangement that just makes me feel so domestic. Toss a little sprinkle of cinnamon on for good measure and bake the pie for a half an hour at 350°.

Well, I didn't fucking burn it like I was expecting myself to. You want to keep it in until the crust starts turning golden brown; an under-baked pie can be very disappointing, and could potentially be hazardous to the health of those you serve it to. Maybe that's overly-cautious. I try to be extra wary of food-borne illness ever since that bout of explosive diarrhea of the anus I dealt with about a month ago.

I would definitely recommend adding some sort of sweet glaze to the top of the fruit at this stage if you want to try making one of these things at home; if you cut the persimmon on top too thinly, they sort of curl up into little butterfly wings in the oven, when I was really hoping they would behave themselves and just lie flat for the entire process. You just can't tell them nothin'.

Final verdict: the filling and topping? Fine. Standard, meets expectations for the average pie in general. The crust, though? Tastes fucking terrible. It baked well and has a decent texture, but subbing out the vegan butter for 100% vegetable shortening was a mistake in a big way; it imparted a pretty foul aftertaste that you're definitely going to want to avoid. Lesson learned. I say that like I'm going to make something like this again even though I know I probably won't.

This pie took a lot of work, but not nearly as much work as I was expecting; I have embarrassingly little to say about this project. It was a blast. It came and went like a whirlwind.

If you're in need of something sweet to add to your generic holiday table, take this thing into consideration. It's both easy and fancy; you never have to choose between the two with this pie.

I think technically it's flat enough to be classified as a tart, but that doesn't make it any less of a delightful departure from the ordinary. It'll help you forget that life is an inescapable nightmare, at least for the afternoon it takes to put it together. And that's a real beautiful thing, to me.