Know Your Persimmons

Fuyu: The round, squat persimmon often mistaken for a tomato. These persimmons are hard and dense, taking into acount they're many large seeds they aren't pleasant to bite into. Chopped, sliced, and diced, their cloyingly sweet, slightly chalky flavor (if at all underripe) makes them a popular option for salads, baking into pies and tarts, and for snacking. Look for fujis with a slight give when you squeeze them. If they're hard as a rock, don't eat it yet.
Hachiya: Radiant orange hues and a hardy heart shape define the hachiya. When firm they're incredibly astringent and practically inedible. It's only when they're so ripe and squishy that they feel that they may come apart in your hand are they edible. Indeed it should be totally gelatinous. Sweet and floral, they're perfume flavor is perfect for baking or simply eating with a spoon.Hybrid / Pollination Variants (More often than not these won't be at the store, but at a farmer's market or roadside stand)

Amagaki: A hybrid between Hachiya and Fuji - a persimmon love child of sorts. It's actually a variety developed locally here in Sacramento by Twin Peaks farm. They are, in my opinion, the best persimmon variety. Not too gushy, not too hard, but with the bite-feel of a soft ripe pear. Just sweet enough as well that I can easily finish it, unlike the fuji or hachiya which I usually share due to their overpowering sweetness.Maru (aka: cinnamon persimmon): Supposedly spicy sweet and somewhat spicy and possess and dark burnt orange color and a cinnamon colored flesh. I haven't tired one of these hybrids before, so I can't say much. I understand they store incredibly well and are very juciy. Another one perfect for eating straight.

Tsurunoko (aka: chocolate persimmon): Called the chocolate persimmon not for its flavor but its dark brown color. Indeed the inside is a dark tan color, and often mottled with color imperfections making it look rotten when bit or cut into. However the flavor is sweet and much more mild than other persimmon varieties. Tried one at work and I enjoyed it though I had to get over the appearance as it looked rotted (no picture, sorries).

Hyakume (aka: brown sugar Persimmon): Very sweet and somewhat astringent it's a case of extremes making them almost inedible to most people when ripe. However, when dried out they becomes incredibly sweet with a slight molasses-y taste of brown sugar. Again, no picture as I didn't have my camera at work.

These are the ones you can usually find here in the U.S. and by that I mean most likely California. However, in Japan you can find endless varieties such as Okame and Nightengale.

For another great resource check out this persimmon profile from Figs With Bri, or for persimmon recipes check out the Food Blog Search page.

My Thanksgiving Menu & Thanks

Vanilla Cinnamon Cranberry Sauce
Mashed Potatoes with Garlic
Caramelized Brussel Sprouts
Baked Ham with Brown Sugar Spice Glaze
Cranberry Sorbet
Cinnamon Blondies

Something simple, easy, perfect for four.

So now comes the part where we all say why we're thankful that the turkey died for our sins*. Me? I'm thankful that my life is complacent. It's not perfect, but I have a good job(s), great friends, a good education, wonderful family. I am surrounded by people who care about me. I have two cats who piss me off to no end, but I wouldn't give up for the world. I have a roof over my head. A car that gets me from place to place. I eat well, and am able to cook for pleasure.

There is always room to bitch and complain about everything in life, but in the long run, I'm more than blessed for the life that I have. So, I guess I am thankful that everything is status quo.

Happy Thanksgiving.*if I had any fundamentalist readers, I just lost them for that one

Preggers and The Peon

From the Archives, because finals are approaching as is Turkey Day, so time to write very hard to find. Blame my professors and/or the pilgrims.

So today at the nearby coffee shop, I was waiting for a friend to get their drink while I quietly sipped my tea patiently aside. Then suddenly:

"What do you mean no free re-fills!?"

"Sir, I'm sorry," said the high school age, part time, coffee shop person behind the counter. "We don't offer re-fills on mochas."

"WHAT KIND OF COMMUNIST COFFEE SHOP IS THIS!?!?" as he slammed his fist on the counter.

This guy was totally losing it. Like might start waving a gun and offing people losing it. The poor girl was petrified. As was pretty much everyone else. The whole place went silent. Where the hell was the management?

"I'm sorry sir," she trembled and stuttered, trying to find her words," I don't think any place does."

"BULLSHIT!"

Now, I dunno where this guy normally gets his coffee, but mochas are expensive things to make when it comes down to coffee shops because the large amounts of chocolate they need to purchase are one of the costliest ingredients to stock. Doing free refills would be asking for a small piece of financial doom. The Peon however, was in no mood to hear it.

"What kind of place is this!? Where people like you try to rip off good people. You-" The Peon thrusted his finger at her for emphasis and out of sheer poo-headedness,"-are why people can't be trusted in this country! Just give me my fucking mocha!"

I was wondering where he came to that conclusion, but also wanting to step in and say something, but I, my friend, and everyone else is equally frozen in their spots. And as much as I wanted to say something, the whole he might have a gun thought edged it's way into my mind. I'm sure I'm not the only one. It's a sad state when that's the first thought to enter a person's mind when placed in a situation like this.

"Would you shut up. You're scaring the poor girl, and if anybody is a problem here, it's you." A powerful voice cuts the thick tension.

I turned to see the largely pregnant woman with a steaming cup in one hand, and her other hand resting on her hip giving the man a look that asked who-the-hell-and-what-for-?.

The Peon turned to his new assailant, "You stay out of my business lady! What the hell do you know!? Should a pregnant lady even be drinking coffee!?"

"It's tea dumbass, and in a second it's gonna be a direct cause of skin grafts in between your legs if you don't shut the hell up. Now get along before you have to explain to people a pregnant woman kicked your ass."

He shut up. I guess The Peon wasn't used to people challenging him. Realizing Preggers would probably follow through on her threat, he gave her a quick "fuck you" before turning to leave and screaming he'd never come here again.

"Some people..." she muttered.

I smiled and turned to her. "Lady, I think you just said everything I ever wanted to say when I worked in a coffee shop."

Everyone started applauding her.

The girl behind the counter chimed in, "Wow. What the hell was his problem? My god, I wish I could have said that. That was awesome."

"Honey," Preggers noted, "when you work in a truck stop for four years, these coffee nuts are nuthin'."

Damn. Don't mess with those pregnant truck stop women. They will MESS. YOU. UP. And remember to be courteous when ordering coffee; one of them could be right behind you.

Drama < Hot Cocoa

"Hey, Garrett!"

Waiting for my peppermint hot cocoa behind a line of people long enough to start a rousing game of Red Rover, Red Rover with I turn around and see L, a satellite acquaintance I've known over the past few years. Not really a friend, but someone I know through other people and have encountered plenty of times and had a few forgettable conversations with. L is one of those people I have little respect for. Very sexy, smart, successful but conceited to the point where I feel that some Narccissian death with a shiny moving car grill that gives a nice reflection will probably be his end. Moreover, he's only pretty to look at until he opens his mouth.

"Hey L, been a while, how are you?"

"Pretty good, just working at the office still. I hate it and want to tear off my skin everyday but the pay is good."

"Well, as long as you have something to look forward to at the end of the day." I laugh. We laugh. Not because I think it's funny per se', rather I think it's sad, but I laugh because I can't think of any other sort of reply.

"So what have you been up to?"

"Oh, work at the non-profit still. Grad classes at night. Writing here and there and developing recipes on the side. A lot of stuff, but I'm happy doing all of it. I've chosen professions known for paying poorly: writing, cooking, and teaching once I graduate." It's a staple answer and staple joke I use in these passing situations where I have to sum up my life in under ten seconds.

"Awesome. Hey, so last night I hooked up with your ex."

"Uh... wha? Who?" I'm stunned. I mean literally, my mind is just stopped and my heart gets a bit racy and erratic. As Rob and I only split back in April, this seems awfully fast to me.

"Yeah, A. Hope you're not mad. I figured you may have heard about it."

"Huh, him?" My body returns to it's calm and regular state with the clarification. You see, A is my ex from about 5 years ago. We had dated for 8 months. While heart breaking back then, I never give a thought to him anymore. As time went on we became more and more different people than who we were before. I doubt we even have anything in common anymore. I have said hi once or twice but for the most part we don't talk, but I still hold a respect for him. As for how I might have heard of it, we don't really run in the same circles and like I said, A and I never talk. L is informing me because he knows I would otherwise be unaware of the fact. For him to bring this up out of the blue like this is just a queer plot* to attack me on the emotional level.

"No, not at all. Go crazy. I haven't talked to him in years." And it's the truth, I honestly don't give a damn. I am annoyed by the turn of the conversation though. For absolutely no reason, a relative stranger felt some strange need to try and hurt my feelings for no particular purpose except to be a total douche and a tool.

All humans have an innate need to exert power and control over others, maybe not all the time, but it's hardwired into our psyche through biology and by society that dominance has value. This sense is more heavily instilled in some more than others. It gives a feeling of power, for if we can control the feelings of others, then how can we NOT be in control of our own? I think that's the general reasoning behind it; some sort of self needing drive to validate one's self.

"Oh. So..." his angular expression seems to express a slight confusion. I haven't reacted as planned. I sense he will be in a pout about this later.

The coffee girl calls up my order and slides the steamy hot cocoa, no whipped cream, along the counter to me. I glide around L, and grab it, and begin reaching for a lid as I speak out loud so he can hear me as he stares at my back. "A is good people, so be nice to him. Anywhose, I have to get back to work." I turn around a flash a slight smile.

And out the door I go. I roll my eyes so hard I can see the back of my skull. I pride myself in trying to avoid drama but sometimes it just seeks you out and tries to pull you in. However, I do not have time for drama to be makin' my cocoa cold.

*double entendre not intended

Oh Noes! The Internet is Angry With Me!

Today has been one of those days. Actually one of those weeks, for a variety of reasons. Almost all of them personal with which I promise not to throw up on here like so much drama infused, pitch colored bile. Indeed, I've been placing myself in a state of perpetual catharsis (read: bitching uncontrollably) to almost anyone with an ear. It's surprising I haven't driven anyone insane with my Fury-esque songs. Lucky are those whom I haven't carried out practical, and feasibly able to be accomplished vengeance upon, my fury fueled plans laid out well enough to keep me above reproach or retribution (in legal view, at least) to certain people deserving it.

Anyways, one aspect of my torment has been the virtual flood of hate mail recently. It's astounding, really. I actually take it as good news. It means people are reading, and if you hate me enough to write me, 10-1 you're probably going to come back to see what I might have written to piss you off this week. This ups my site meter numbers and brings in more advertising revenue for me (what meager amount I make, that is).

So not so much torment, but mild entertainment. Some people really took offense to these last few posts. You may not have read it in the comments (I rejected a great many as they were wastes of space and not productive in any sense) but there were plenty pissed off. And God knows we can't have people unhappy. NOT ON THE INTERNET.

I have been screamed at that I am a racist and was using this post as an excuse to say the "N-Word" on the web and attempt to get away with it. I suppose they think I get a cheap thrill through typing forbidden language on a public journal. I have received a scathing death threat not to make light on the murder of the millions of innocent cows (or steer as it were) for our evil consumption of beef. I have been called highly irresponsible in my pet care as well, and that the SPCA should break down my door to rescue my pets. The way I see it, pets are like children, it is impossible to watch them every second of every day, and shit is bound to happen. Plus, you can't always plan for the unexpected, so deal. Plus, I think it's funny that the cat likes hard liquor. Vegetarians are angry that I poked fun at them, when indeed I poked fun and inaccurately picky eaters. To you I say nothing because as I type this I'm eating a piece of leftover pork roast (Nom nom nom).

For the most part, I've been forwarding your e-mails to friends or reading them aloud at the lunch table at work. I hope to publish them in a book someday so please, keep sending them in. They are always appreciated.

As for the next topic for you hate mail writers: Italian food. I don't like it. Also, the Olive Garden blows.