There’s something deeply comforting about the aroma of a freshly baked cake wafting through your home, especially during the holiday season. And for me, nothing quite captures this feeling like a good ol’ Persimmon Cake. Originating from the American South, this moist, spiced cake offers a delightful combination of sweet persimmons, aromatic spices, and crunchy nuts – a true celebration of fall and winter flavors. The use of ripe persimmons not only lends a beautiful orange hue to the cake but also a unique taste that I find irresistibly delicious! I have a particular fondness for this cake as it reminds me of the joyous times spent with my family, huddled around the fireplace, nibbling on slices of this cake, and sipping on hot cocoa. I believe the best foods are those that bring back fond memories and this Persimmon Cake does just that! Plus, it’s a breeze to make. All you need is some ripe persimmons, basic baking ingredients, and a little bit of love. So, why not introduce your loved ones to this fantastic dessert this holiday season?
Ingredients
- 3 c. persimmons, cut in chunks
- 2 tsp. baking soda
- 1/2 c. butter or margarine
- 1 2/3 c. sugar
- 2 eggs
- 2 tsp. vanilla
- 1 tsp. lemon juice
- 2 c. flour
- 1 tsp. salt
- 1 tsp. cinnamon
- 1 tsp. nutmeg
- 1 tsp. cloves
- 1/2 c. raisins
- 1/2 c. chopped nuts
Baking Instructions
- Heat oven to 350°.
- Mix together the persimmons and baking soda; set aside.
- Mix together the butter, sugar, vanilla and lemon juice; set aside.
- Mix together the flour, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves; set aside.
- Blend butter mixture with flour mixture. Add persimmon mixture.
- Add raisins and nuts.
- Put in 1 large loaf pan or 2 small loaf pans.
- Bake at 350° for 50 minutes for large loaf or 30 minutes for small loaves.
Calorie: 500
Total cooking time: 1 hour
Difficulty level: Easy
The Persimmon Perplexion: The Cake-tastrophe That Wasn’t
When life gives you persimmons, make persimmon cake, right? Well, that’s what I thought when I found myself with three cups of bright orange fruit, as if I had my own mini pumpkin patch on my kitchen counter.
Step 1: Persimmons Meet Baking Soda
So, I cut the persimmons into chunks, and in a surprising turn of events, I introduced them to two teaspoons of baking soda. You heard that right, folks. Baking soda. Not the most usual persimmon companion, but who am I to judge?
Step 2: The Sweet and Buttery Dance
Meanwhile, I turned to butter (or margarine if that’s your jam). I mixed it with a generous 1 2/3 cups of sugar, 2 teaspoons of vanilla, and 1 teaspoon of lemon juice. The butter seemed to be enjoying its tangy-sweet disco.
Step 3: The Floury Assembly
In another bowl, the dry gang got together. Two cups of flour, one teaspoon of salt, and a trio of spices – cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. It was like Christmas in a bowl, if Christmas smelled like a bakery instead of pine trees and snow.
Step 4: Blend, Blend, Blend!
Next, it was blend-o’clock! Butter mixture met flour mixture, and it was like a high school reunion – slightly awkward at first, then inseparable. I then added the persimmon and baking soda duo, and hoped they wouldn’t feel too left out.
Step 5: The Nutty and Fruity Affair
With the base all ready, it was time for the fun part. Raisins and nuts. Half a cup each. Into the mix they went, like little treasures hidden in a sweet, spicy cake.
Step 6: Bake it Till You Make it!
Now, into the oven. 350°, 50 minutes. 30 if you’re using two small loaf pans, but I like to go big or go home. So, one large loaf pan it was.
While waiting for the bake, I pondered over the existential crisis of eggs. They didn’t make it into this recipe. Were they feeling left out? Should I make an omelet just to make them feel included?
Step 7: Sweet Victory
50 minutes later, the sweet, spicy aroma of persimmon cake filled my kitchen. It was a small victory, and I was ready to bask in its glory. As I pulled the golden loaf from the oven, I couldn’t help but feel a little like a baking superhero.
So, there you have it. My persimmon cake story. It’s a tale of butter, sugar, fruit, and a dash of existential crisis. A reminder that life’s a piece of cake, or at least it can be, if you just take it one ingredient at a time.
