I try to make everything celebratory, simply so I can make a dessert or a special dinner. On Friday, December 12th, my dad finally retired from his job, and in light of the special event, a cake was called for.
We gobbled down a delicious dinner of a chunky mushroom marinara, served atop zucchini noodles for a change, sliced with my spiralizer, and portabello/garlic marinated tofu (me) and chicken cacciatore (my wonderful parents who enjoy delicious vegan meals with me, but because it was my dad’s “special day” I made his favourite.)
For dessert, we enjoyed a maple-persimmon upside-down cake. Funnily, while slicing the persimmons, one had a message inside! I laughed and no one believed me. Why would I carve “Hi” into a persimmon is beyond me, but alas, it was there to greet me.
This was my first exposure to this (now I realize, exceptionally under-rated) fruit. I bought both varieties, Fuyu and Hachiya, that are found at my local grocer. Where was it hiding this whole time, I just don’t know, but frankly, I’ve a new favourite fruit. I immediately went out the following day and bought a case at Costco, as they were rather shabby and obscure various places throughout the rest of the city. I love you, Persimmons.
Back to the cake.
My sister and brother-in-law had expressed they might be joining us, so we each stopped at one (large) piece of cake.
My dad thanked me and left the table, and my mother and I eyed the cake in the centre, like two hungry children with sweet tooths the size of… well… two hungry children. “Maybe they aren’t coming, and we can have another piece.” I suggested to my mom, my eyes not leaving the cake.
“Surely we can each have a sliver,” she said matter-of-factly, as I nodded in agreement. I carefully, then, proceeded to cut a slice each, large enough to not cut through a persimmon, I justified.
We ate and continued to stare at the cake. Finally, I called my sister.
“I don’t think we can make it, Laur,” she explained. I clicked the off button, cut a slice off for dad to enjoy tomorrow – after all, it was his cake – and my mom and I polished off the rest, each maple-soaked, sticky gooey bite, pure bliss until the plate was clean.