Are you drinking kombucha? Among my friends, it's becoming all the rage. Kombucha is a tea-based drink that has been fermented and is effervescent. Many varieties of kombucha are available these days at stores like Whole Foods and Rainbow Grocery. While not proven, many tout health benefits such as liver detoxification, better digestion, increased blood circulation, and a general boost to the immune system. I personally like kombucha because I like the flavor -- with its fermented qualities, kombucha reminds me of an alcohol-based drink without the alcohol.

Last week, I had the chance to taste a great kombucha that is being produced locally: Lev's Original Kombucha. Lev Kilun is making kombucha-on-tap in carefully created small batches. He sources his ingredients with intention, starting with a green tea that is chosen for its flavor. "You can't make good wine from bad grapes," he says, explaining that the same is true for kombucha.

Contrary to what I learned, Lev says that kombucha is not a mushroom-based drink. Instead it is fermented with a mother -- similar to vinegars. Lev says that the Russian word describing a mother is close to the word for mushroom, so the misinterpretation began the myth.

Lev's Kombucha is available in two flavors: black currant and original. You can try it at Cafe Lyon in Rockridge, Power Source Cafe in the San Francisco Financial District, or eight other locations around the Bay Area.

Cafe Lyon
5701 College Ave
(510) 547-0800

Power Source Cafe
81 Fremont Street (at Mission)
(415) 896-1312

Whether it's a lazy weekend morning, or a busy holiday, there’s nothing nicer than having breakfast with family and friends. On Thanksgiving, I love to start my day by drinking coffee while I chat with my mom and sister as my kids and their cousins run around and play. Often, however, we need to chat and drink our coffee while also preparing for the big feast later in the day. As cooking a Thanksgiving or other holiday dinner is an all-day event, breakfast needs to be easy. So, while I am always tempted to make something elaborate, I rarely do as the morning plays second fiddle to the Turkey main event later that day.

But a recipe doesn't have to be difficult or time consuming to be delicious and look great. Case in point: Challah French toast stuffed with cream cheese and jam and topped with berries. Regular French toast is a universal favorite, but with just a little extra effort, you can make it exceptional. Even better, this breakfast couldn't be easier to make and you can even prepare most of the dish the night before.

I use Challah bread in the recipe as the egg dough makes it light and fluffy, which is perfect for French toast. You can use whatever bread you like, but just make sure it’s not sliced as you want to be able to cut nice thick pieces so you can create pockets for the cream cheese and jam.

The jam can be any flavor you'd like. I'm partial to using raspberry preserves for the filling and then topping the final product with fresh raspberries, but apple butter is a fantastic alternative and would go great with cooked apples on top.

The egg mixture is seasoned with vanilla, maple syrup, and cinnamon, which add sweetness and a great aroma. It also includes orange zest to brighten the flavors and add a little nuance to the raspberries. If you don’t have orange zest, you can just add in a tablespoon of orange juice.

Whether it's Thanksgiving, another holiday, or just a regular old morning, Challah bread French toast with cream cheese and jam is a pretty great way to start the day.

Cream Cheese and Jam Stuffed Challah French Toast with Raspberries

Serves: 6 - 8 people (double if feeding a larger crowd)

Ingredients:
1 loaf Challah bread
4 eggs
2/3 cup whole milk
Zest from one orange
2 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp vanilla
1 Tbsp maple syrup
1/2 cup cream cheese
1/2 cup of raspberry jam
Butter for frying
Warm maple syrup to top the French toast
Fresh raspberries
Powdered sugar

Preparation:
1. Cut bread into 1-inch thick slices.
2. Cut a pocket into the side of each piece and set aside.
3. With a butter knife, spread some cream cheese into the pocket of each slice and then spread some jam on top of the cream cheese. Note: If you tear a little hole in the bread while spreading the cream cheese or jam pinch the bread to seal.
4. In a large baking dish, mix the eggs, milk, orange zest, cinnamon, maple syrup and vanilla.
5. Set each slice of bread into the egg mixture, making sure each side is evenly coated. Turn each slice over so they're covered on both sides and then let sit for at least 5 minutes so the egg starts to soak into the bread. You can also let the mixture sit overnight. Just make sure you flip the bread in the egg so it's covered on both sides and then cover and refrigerate for up to 24 hours.
6. Heat a large griddle or frying pan to medium high.
7. Coat the bottom of the pan with butter (and don’t be stingy). Once it's sizzling, lay your egg-coated Challah inside.
8. Cover the pan and lower the heat to medium or medium low and let the Challah sit for 3-5 minutes or until golden brown on the bottom side.
9. Flip the Challah pieces and cover again until the French toast is browned on both sides.
10. Finish cooking the rest of the egg-dipped Challah (adding more butter between each batch) until finished.
11. Top finished French toast with maple syrup and raspberries.

Listen to Food Pantries and Soup Kitchens on KQED's Forum.
Aired on KQED 88.5FM Fri, Nov 14, 2008 -- 10:00 AM
Stream online at KQED.org/listen

Food Pantries and Soup Kitchens
The economic crisis is creating increased demand at the nation's food pantries and soup kitchens. At the same time, food banks are suffering from a falloff in donations. How are non-profit food distributors in Northern California dealing with the crisis?

Host: Dave Iverson

Guests:
Father John Hardin, executive director of the St. Anthony Foundation
Jessica Bartholow, director of programs for the California Association of Food Banks
Larry Sly, executive director of the Food Bank of Contra Costa and Solano
Lynn Crocker, director of marketing and communication for the Second Harvest Food Bank of Santa Clara and San Mateo Counties
Paul Ash, executive director of the San Francisco Food Bank

A few months back, I was buzzing around my restaurant, busy as usual, when I was stopped by one of my managers.

"Hey, I need you to get me a black napkin for Angie," was all he said.

"A what?"

"A blaaaack naaaapkinnnn." He had slowed he speech down as though speaking to one of his small children. "We've got some downstairs with the rest of the linen."

In the eight years I'd worked at the restaurant, I'd neither seen nor heard tell of such a thing. Why on earth would Angie want a black napkin? To match her outfit? She never wears black. And it is highly doubtful that she was engaging in any sort of bizarre culinary mourning ritual. My thoughts were that, if one of the owners of this restaurant wants a damned black napkin, I'll get her a black napkin. Besides, she's one of the nicest, least demanding people I've ever worked for, so I'm happy to indulge this rare little whim of hers. Indulging people is what I do for a living.

When the pace of the evening's work had slowed down enough to engage in real conversation, I decided to bugged my manager about them. "What's with those napkins?" I asked.

"She likes them because they don't get lint all over her outfit." I was about to argue that our normal, cream-colored linen is made out of the same if-you-burn-them-they-will-melt unnatural fibers as the black and both are equally incapable of shedding lint, but I decided to let it drop and go home. I satisfied myself with the thought that perhaps the true upshot to using a black napkin is their ability to hide lipstick stains. Or wine stains.

Owing to what I saw as an over-supply of these dark squares of polyester versus the one-woman demand for them, the wait staff took to using them for wine service-- using one black serviette to catch the drips from each pour of red wine made much more eco-sense, in both the -nomic and -logical meaning. The practice has worked so well and saved our restaurant so much money on linen-laundering, that it is now required of us to use them.

But more and more people are asking for them. The other day, an ostensibly straight man (My assumption, since he was talking, with food in his mouth, about his wife) requested one for his dark blue worsted suit. It surprised me that a man who doesn't know which fork to use and chews with his mouth open would request such a thing. But he did and he got it.

Based solely on the unscientific fact that straight guys have started asking for black napkins, and straight guys are typically about two years behind women and gay men in terms of trend-setting, I concluded that this was some arcane little fashion that I had somehow missed.

I was wondering aloud to a co-worker the other day about this napkin mini-trend. "I think it's an L.A. thing. Lots of restaurants in L.A. have them," was all she said.

It's been a while since I've dined or waited tables in Los Angeles. I don't think that city has contributed anything as meaningful to our cultural landscape since Botox. When I left, the biggest restaurant trend was for having everything on the side, not in one's lap, though the idea of dropping hot food items in that general area was a constant temptation.

Have these dining accessories been spotted elsewhere in the area? I would very much like to know if this is happening in other restaurants where the effete meet to eat. I'd also love to hear some pro- and anti- black napkin feedback because I feel that this issue could serve as the tinder which ignites the greatest Culture War of our time. Personally, I don't agree with them, but I acknowledge their right to an equal and dignified life alongside other, more culturally approved of napkins and, therefore, will fight for them. Perhaps you'll see me at the black napkin rally this Saturday.

Cheers.

Local chef and restaurant owner Ranjan Dey will share the history and stories of curries from around the world, including the spread and cultural effect of curry in Southeast Asia. Learn about curry and get a chance to sample it as well at this presentation put on by the World Affairs Council Young Professionals International Forum.

Ranjan Dey not only runs a successful restaurant in San Francisco, New Delhi, but also is the creator of a line of spices and seasoning mixes. I have used several of the spices and really like them. If you don't cook Indian food frequently, and don't have a set of fresh Indian spices, using prepared spice mixes is easy and convenient. It is also much tastier than using prepared sauces.

You can also find good Indian spice mixes and pastes at local spice shops and Indian grocery stores such as Bombay Bazaar in San Francisco and Viks in Berkeley.

What: Curries of the World, History & Tasting

Where: World Affairs Council, 312 Sutter St, 2nd floor, San Francisco

When: November 25th, 2008 6 pm to 8 pm (arrive early for registration)

How: Purchase tickets, $15 and $10 for World Affairs Council members.

Why: Every week there are lots of culinary programs and events to choose from, but only occasionally do I find one that is such a bargain to attend. Tickets for this talk and tasting with a large sampling of curries, are only $15.

Here is a mild curry recipe that can be made using any Madras style curry powder.

Shrimp Curry

Serves 4

Ingredients:
1 large onion, quartered
1 2-inch piece fresh ginger, peeled
1- 2 cloves garlic
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon sugar
2 Tablespoons vegetable oil
1 Tablespoon curry powder
1 to 2 fresh serrano chiles, halved lengthwise, some seeds removed if desired
1/2 cup water
1 14-oz can unsweetened coconut milk (not low fat)
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
1 lb large shrimp (21 to 25 per lb)

Preparation:
Pulse onion, ginger and garlic in a food processor until finely minced. Cook onion mixture with salt and sugar in oil in a 12-inch heavy skillet over moderate heat, stirring frequently, until onion begins to brown, about 5 minutes. Stir in curry powder and chiles and cook, stirring frequently, 2 minutes. Stir in water, coconut milk, and lime juice and simmer, stirring occasionally, until thickened, about 5 to 8 minutes.

Meanwhile peel shrimp and season with salt and pepper. Add shrimp to sauce and simmer, stirring occasionally, until shrimp are just cooked through, about 3 minutes. Season with salt to taste and serve over rice.

Around here, we often tell you about books that have just been published. Perusing my bookshelf yesterday, I realized that the new books are often not the ones that I turn to again and again. Sure, some of them become essential but many of them lose their luster and are never used again.

Starting today, I am going to occasionally try and let you know some of the books that are important to me that are neither new nor shiny. They're the everyday soldiers of my library that are used again and again.

A few years ago, I noticed an old, cracked book on the bookshelf of a friend's mom. As soon as I picked it up, I knew that I had to get my own copy. Herbs, Spices and Flavorings was originally published in 1982 and was written by Tom Stobart. Stobart went on to produce and direct the Master Chef series on the BBC.

Herbs, Spices and Flavorings is largely a research text in paperback form. I've used it often to satisfy my curiousity about a particular ingredient, or to learn more about the way food is flavored. It has entries for every herb and spice that you can think of, as well as interesting sections for things like Khas-Khas (an aromatic herb grown in hot climates and used to flavor sherbets), fishy flavors (a two page entry describing the importance of these flavors to some cultures), and Harvey's Sauce (an old English sauce that is similar to Worcestershire sauce, but without any heat).

This is not a book that is necessary for new chefs learning to boil water. But if you're like me and spend a lot of time thinking about food, perusing recipes just for fun, and wondering how to dissect flavors within restaurant dishes, this is a book that you would most likely enjoy.

The cookbook with the most stains in my collection is also the first one I ever bought: a copy of the 45th printing of the 1975 Joy of Cooking. It helped me survive my teen years, and then it helped me graduate from college with a bit more meat on my bones. I never did upgrade, and that white bible of the American kitchen (complete with its two silky red ribbons) is still my go-to tome for pancakes, muffins, cakes, pies, dinner rolls, dressings, and quick breads.

I'm still discovering new foods in its pages. A recent addition to our family favorites is a Tran variation on a Rombauer adaptation of a Davidis classic: German pancake with apples.

A minister's daughter who became a teacher and housemistress for wealthy German families, Henriette Davidis wrote an important and influential cookbook that was essential for "Die Hausfrau" of the mid-nineteenth century. She later adapted her Old World dishes for German American immigrants who missed the foods of their homeland. Her recipes were translated into English and Dutch for hungry, ingredient-challenged settlers throughout the Midwest and Great Plains.

If you read German, you can learn about her life and work at the website of the Henriette Davidis Museum in Wetter-Wengern. If you're expanding your digital library of German classics, you can obtain a careful scan of her original book through the Projekt Gutenberg-DE.

Fortunately for the rest of us, the University of Wisconsin reissued her American cookbook in an English-language paperback: Pickled Herring and Pumpkin Pie: A Nineteenth-Century Cookbook for German Immigrants to America.

Pfannkuchen refers to a specialty of Southern Germany, not the similarly named doughnut of Berlin. There are lots of recipes for German pancakes, also known as Dutch babies for the Pennsylvania Dutch cooks who helped popularize German food in the United States. I'm not sure how many Germans really eat giant, eggy pancakes for breakfast -- we always had to chase down dense, dark bread and good cheese for our German visitors -- but this dish is now entrenched in the culinary lore of American immigration and adaptation.

I've seen versions that use beer and others that call for milk or water or both. Some require sliced apples tossed with cinnamon; others simply call for a sprinkle of sugar and a squeeze of lemon juice at the table. Some recipes recommend sturdy flour, while some have not a spoonful of the stuff. Many require the use of a hot oven; a few take the easier but less fluffy route on the stovetop.

For those expecting the cakiness of an IHOP stack or the undulations of a sweetened Yorkshire pudding, you'll be pleasantly surprised by this riff on Henriette Davidis' recipe.

As someone who grew up halfway between Wisconsin and Pennsylvania, I learned to love German-influenced dishes. My own version has zigged and zagged through all my family's likes and dislikes. We settled on soufflé, not too sweet, cooked with fresh apples in the fall and topped with berry jam the rest of the year. Used to cakes bound with starches from corn, potato or water chestnut, I didn't look askance at the flourless version.

Below is my own immigrant pancake, by way of Henriette and Irma, Germany and Vietnam, Missouri and California.

Pfannkuchen

For a simpler yet equally delicious version, omit the apples and top with good quality strawberry or raspberry jam. To obtain a more cake-like rather than custardy texture, fold in 1/2 cup sifted flour in place of the cornstarch.

Makes: 4 servings

Ingredients:
1 apple, peeled, cored and cut into thin wedges
Fresh lemon juice
4 eggs, separated
1/2 cup milk (preferably at room temp)
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 tablespoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon grated lemon zest
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
Fresh lemon juice and confectioners' sugar

Preparation:
1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F, positioning the rack in the middle. Toss the apple slices with lemon juice.
2. Beat egg whites to soft peaks.
3. Whisk together egg yolks, milk, cornstarch, sugar, salt and lemon zest. Gently fold in the egg whites.
4. Heat a large cast-iron skillet over medium heat. Melt butter, and as soon as the bubbles subside, add the apples. Arrange the apples in a single layer, and then pour in the batter. Cover partially and cook for 10 minutes.
5. Uncover and transfer the skillet to the oven. Bake for about 15 minutes, or until golden brown on the bottom and set in the middle.
6. Sprinkle with lemon juice and confectioners' sugar, and serve immediately. The pancake may collapse, but it will still taste good.

It's always an honor to be asked to be part of or contribute to a wedding, but it's even more flattering when your culinary skills are called upon for said wedding.

In October, Kim specifically requested I bring my "famous potato salad" to her post-Scotland wedding reception, and last weekend, Catherine, Jeff, and all of us wedding guests toasted their happiness with my Lady in Red at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel.

Over the summer, Catherine -- for whom I once designed a simple birthday cocktail to go along with her gift of St. Germain elderflower liqueur -- asked if I would shake up a special wedding cocktail. Her only request: it had to be red to match her dress.

After first assessing what the Mandarin Oriental stocked in their bar, I set about to concocting the cocktail. Aside from staining its cheeks crimson, I wanted this cocktail to be three things: seasonal, celebratory, and reflective of the bride's tastes. Well, not all of that happened.

Ignoring sangria and all other wine-based cocktails of that ilk, I knew that the red hue was going to come from cranberry or pomegranate juice (seasonal!), and after a few (read: nine) attempts, I ditched the cranberry juice. It was too easily diluted in both color and flavor. I also had to ditch my idea of including both bourbon and ginger ale in this cocktail (the bride's signature drink) because no matter what I did, the bourbon came out too...bourbon-y.

A few weeks later, I started with a whole new plan and a whole new red. Now working with the stronger, tarter pomegranate juice, I cried, "Eureka" after three passes and then set to refining the flavors.

Victorious and hung-over, I presented the recipe to the bride along with a list of potential names: Ruby Slipper, Scarlet 75 (the drink is an adaptation of the classic French 75), Red Letter Day, and Lady in Red. (She chose "Lady in Red," so if you now have Chris de Burgh in your head, it's not my fault.)

(Okay, maybe it is.)

On my reserve list of names was Study in Scarlet, Red-dy or Knot (my husband's contribution), The Red Menace, The Scarlet Letter, The Cat's Meow, My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose, and Redrum. (I will be saving that last one for a blood-soaked mojito or daiquiri in case Stephen King ever wants me to design a wedding cocktail for him.)

Lady in Red

2 oz. pomegranate juice
1 1/2 oz. gin
4 oz. ginger ale (preferably very spicy ginger ale)
Sparkling rosé
2-3 dashes Angostura bitters
Pomegranate seeds

Shake pomegranate juice and gin with ice; strain into a cocktail glass. Add ginger ale and top off with sparkling rose. Finish with bitters. Garnish with four pomegranate seeds for health, happiness, love, and laughter.

I am pleased and relieved to report that the drink was extremely well received. Even my French friend, who I thought preferred champagne to everything, was seen drinking more than one Lady in Red. Additionally, the bartender told someone else that he's seen a lot of guest-created cocktails pass through his shaker, but he had never seen one reordered so many times. Finally -- and most importantly -- the bride, the groom, and all my cocktailing friends loved it.

I hope you do, too.

Well, now I've seen everything. As it was pointed out to me recently, voting Californians care more for the rights of chickens than they do for those of gay men and women. In my bio-degradable peanut-wrapped little world of well-educated, thoughtful, and admittedly left-leaning friends and co-workers, I had previously thought this was all but impossible.

I believed I didn't know a single person-- especially anyone close to me-- who would, by touching a button or drawing a little black line to connect an arrow in a voting booth, actively raise a finger to institutionalize discrimination against me, or my sister, or my brother who, in a very real sense, died from internalizing all the hate and ignorance, both spoken and unspoken, that surrounds gay men and women and tells us we are not as deserving of happiness as everyone else. The electorate has demanded that a chicken be allowed the freedom to fully spread its wings and, in the same breath, has seen to it that I am not allowed to fully stretch mine.

It's nothing personal against chickens. Honest.

I have been chafing at the logic that homosexuals should somehow be satisfied with domestic partnerships and not get hung up on the word "marriage." And my blood is boiling over the 1,400,000 million-vote difference between those who voted for Barak Obama and those who voted No on Proposition 8. The stench of this hypocritical difference has settled in my nostrils and killed my appetite for the past couple of days. And that's saying something.

Does anyone remember a quaint little Supreme Court decision handed down in 1896? No? Well, I've got three words for you. Since those words are unprintable, I shall give you another three:

Plessy versus Ferguson.

Oh, and here are three more words that came out of that historically painful and embarrassing decision:

Separate but equal.

Image courtesy of Jay Floyd

Yes we can? Not in California, we didn't. Not so much.

Well, I'm getting hungry again. And I need a little bit of comforting. It does help that all my straight friends have been actively giving their support, but I need a little more. I need to fill my belly with something other than burning bile. I will resist the urge to drink the blood of all the innocent children I had planned to corrupt by getting married and go for something a little more low key to satisfy my hunger. Something fried. Something bad for my arteries, but tonic for my soul.

I want Chicken-fried steak.

It strikes me as odd that I should crave something that is the unofficial dish of Texas. Or that, given the chicken's newly-found superior status over me, that I would crave something so transparently pro-poultry-life. It's not as though I'd ever encountered it in my childhood. Of course, that may very well be what makes it such a comfort. It is a dish I discovered in college-- a time when I was busy forging my own identity as an adult.

I first encountered Chicken-fried steak at (foodies, look away) Denny's. A photograph of the dish caught my attention, popping off the image-bloated and ketchup-sticky pages of the menu more dramatically than the competing Moons over My Hammy. It was too late to be up, I'd most likely been out either drinking or dancing or depressed over my not-quite-out-of-the-closet status or some combination of all three, and my body called out for something fried to soak up both my sorrow and my alcohol intake.

I sat there, staring at the menu, trying to make sense of the dish. Chicken-fried Steak. On the one hand, I immediately got it-- pounded beef, served up as one would serve fried chicken. Basically, it's a more aged version of Wienerschnitzel, but served up with biscuits and anemic-looking gravy. On the other, I was caught up in the phrasing. Chicken-fried. The immediate mental image was that of a cartoonish hen, complete with pearls and frilly apron, frying up a piece of beaten-to-death cow. The evil, self-satisfied smile on her face convinced me that this dish was somehow subversive-- that there was some clever, morbid joke behind the creation of this dish. So I ordered it, naturally.

And, oddly, I felt much better for it. And it continues to have this mystifying effect on me. It may be its ability to fill my stomach, thereby draining as much blood as possible from my over-worked brain to aid digestion. It could be the fat and cholesterol that coats and calms me into some false sense of protection. I really don't know. All I know is that, for whatever reason, it works for me and I refuse to give into too much analysis. That would ruin everything.

Chicken-fried steak has lifted me up in some of my lowest of moments. It has comforted me on my journeys home from bank-breaking college trips to Las Vegas when the only money I had left in the world was spent on gas and this menu item. It has been consumed through endless, supportive conversations with friends in times of disease and unavoidable death, and recently it has been there to help salve a mopey, broken heart.

And now, I am calling on it to fortify me through this mess.

I never intend to make it myself. I don't even want to know exactly how it is made, so I will not give a recipe, let alone look at one. It is a dish best served to me, rather than by me. Preferably by a waitress whose shoulders have been slightly hunched by the weight of trouble and too many years of taking the brutal insensitivity and orders of strangers. I need this not to feel superior to someone else in my moment of gloom. I need it because I want to look her straight in the eye as if to say, "Girl, I know exactly how you feel." But I won't say it. She may not want that kind of empathy. Or me calling her "Girl". So instead, I'll just give her everything I have in my wallet and go home, bloated and tired, but somehow fortified enough to carry on.

Until the next time.

Many people seem a bit confused by persimmons. Do you cook them or eat them raw? Are they bitter or sweet? How do you eat them? It seems that whenever I buy some, either the person next to me in line or the cashier quizzically looks over and asks what I'll do with them. Everyone seems to have heard a story about some brave soul who tried one and was rewarded with a mouthful of astringent yuckiness.

Contrary to popular belief, only one type of persimmon is astringent when unripe -- the Hachiya persimmon. I won’t discuss the Hachiya today, other than to say that it is sugary and bursting with flavor when ripe and is the perfect base for puddings and fruit butters. Rather, I want to focus on the Fuyu, which is non-astringent, has a sweet and gentle flavor, and is often grown locally. It also happens to be delicious.

Fuyus are shaped like tomatoes and can range in color from light to deep orange. And, unlike Hachiyas, they can be firm when ripe (like an apple). You can cook with them or eat them raw. They’re great all by themselves as a fruit snack, can be cooked into stews or pies, or included raw in salads. Although you can wait until Fuyus get soft before you eat them, I think they are best when firm and crisp. They are also quite pretty when sliced as their seed holes make a natural star pattern. Just make sure they’re not too light in color (and definitely not greenish) as they’re only sweet when ripe.

Persimmons are available all over the Bay Area this time of year. In addition to finding them at farmer’s markets and in grocery stores, you may also see them hanging from neighbors' trees on walks around your block as they are a popular yard tree. (Not that I am advocating stealing your neighbors' fruit. Just knock on their door and ask if you can have a few if they have an abundant crop. Chances are they aren’t eating the fruit anyway.)

Here are a few Fuyu persimmon recipes my family and I have been enjoying this Fall. The tart is one of my new favorites, with a sweet and delicate texture and flavor that is perfect for a cold evening. The couscous is fast to make and a great accompaniment to chicken, pork, or a vegetable stew. And, if you’re looking for something fresh, crisp and seasonal, try the salad, which is perfect as part of a family meal and pretty enough to serve to guests.
If you've never tried this fantastic seasonal fruit, I hope you give one of these a chance.

Fuyu Persimmon, Pear and Walnut Rolled Tart

Makes: 10 - 12 servings

Ingredients:
1 puff pastry or pie crust
2 Fuyu persimmons
1 pear
1/2 cup currants
1 Tbsp orange zest
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup walnuts
1 tsp flour
1 egg scrambled
1 Tbsp white sugar

Preparation:
1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees.
2. Oil or butter a cookie sheet and set aside.
3. Chop persimmons and pears into 1/2-inch cubes.
4. Place persimmons and pear in a bowl and mix in the currants, zest, sugar, walnuts and flour.
5. Roll out your pie crust or puff pastry.
6. Lay out your pastry crust on the cookie sheet and then spoon the fruit filling in a long and full line in the center.
7. Fold the outer edges over the center, overlapping the ends.
8. Fold under the ends and crimp so you have a full seal.
9. If desired, brush on the egg wash and sprinkle the remaining tablespoon of sugar onto the top of the pastry dough.
10. Bake for 40 - 45 minutes or until fully baked.
11. If the top crust starts to brown too much, simply cover it with foil and continue to bake until finished.

Persimmon, Fennel and Almond Couscous

Makes: 4 - 6 servings

Ingredients:
1 Tbsp olive oil
1/4 cup chopped onion
1/4 cup chopped fennel
1 whole Fuyu persimmon chopped into cubes
1 tsp dried thyme
1 cup couscous
1 cup hot water, chicken broth or vegetable broth
1 Tbsp chopped flat-leaf parsley

Preparation:
1. Chop onions, fennel and persimmons and set aside.
2. Heat olive oil in a medium sauce pan and add onion and fennel.
3. Cook vegetables for about 5 minutes on medium heat, or until fennel and onions are translucent.
4. Add persimmons, salt, and thyme and cook for another 2 minutes.
5. Stir in couscous and then add hot water or broth.
6. Turn off heat, cover, and let sit for five minutes.
7. Add in parsley, fluff the couscous with a fork and then serve.

Fuyu Persimmon, Pear and Pine Nut Salad

Serves: 4 - 6 people

Ingredients:
1 bunch of cleaned raw spinach, arugula, or other leafy salad green
1 Fuyu persimmon chopped into cubes
1 pear chopped into cubes
1/2 cup pine nuts
1 Tbsp sugar
Your favorite dressing (I like to use an oil and white balsamic vinegar blend seasoned with Dijon mustard and lemon zest)

Preparation:
1. In a pan, heat pine nuts on medium heat, toasting gently.
2. Sprinkle on the sugar and quickly incorporate it into the nuts so they become lightly coated.
3. Once the sugar starts to meld to the nuts, immediately turn off the heat so you don’t burn the sugar.
4. Place greens, persimmon, pear, and nuts in a salad bowl and mix with your favorite salad dressing.