If you’re not hep to the American persimmon, don’t feel out of the loop. Few are. The persimmons that hail from the Midwest are entirely different from the Asian varieties you may see at well-stocked markets, and even those aren’t exactly mainstream. Those fruits—typically Fuyus and Hachiyas—are bright orange and glossy. Our native Diospyros virginiana produces small, wrinkled orbs that are too squishy to sell in stores. Their flavor is reminiscent of date and apricot, with a hint of woodsy smoke. They are quite sweet, with a dense, gelatinous texture.

Folklore swirls around our native persimmons, as around other foods of the woods. Not all of it is correct. The most persistent myth is that you should never gather persimmons before a frost. Not so! When the persimmons drop from the tree and are squishy, they’re ready to use—frost or no frost. Eat them any earlier and you’ll grimace. A persimmon harvested too soon will be packed with tannins and eat like chalk.

I first read about native persimmons while I was living on the West Coast, in an issue of Saveur. The magazine ran a traditional recipe for persimmon pudding from Indiana librarian Eva Powell. It was delicious with pulp from local Hachiyas. Then, I came back to Ohio and blundered across an American persimmon tree growing in a neighbor’s yard, just half a block away. When I finally got a chance to make authentic pudding with real-deal native persimmons, I found it cloying. So I started looking for other ways to use one of of the Midwest’s sweetest wild harvests.

I gathered pounds and pounds and gave them to my brewing friend, who fermented them into a tart, crisp, and very pleasant ale that tasted nothing of persimmon. (Persimmon beer has a long history in the U.S. Thomas Jefferson shared a native persimmon beer recipe with an acquaintance in 1805.) I baked cakes and breads. I dehydrated the pulp into fruit leather. I made an amazing but finicky native version of Japanese hoshigaki—slow-dried persimmons frosted with their own natural sugars—following directions from forager and author Marie Viljoen,

Currently, I’m excited about making persimmon blondies—a sort of compromise between cake and pudding. They’re dense, butterscotchy, and fudgier than anything made with fruit has a right to be. The idea for persimmon blondies came from Garrett McCord’s blog, Vanilla Garlic. Being a Californian, Garrett uses Hachiyas. As they’re not totally interchangeable with native persimmons, I altered the recipe quite a bit.

To make these blondies, you’ll need processed persimmon pulp. My favorite persimmon tree is on the perimeter of a local college campus, and I tell myself that gathering fruit there is a public service, that I’m protecting students from slipping on a sidewalk slicked with persimmon goop. Each year, I get one or two weeks of feverish collecting. I wash the persimmons, pluck off and discard their dark, leafy caps, and do the messy work of extracting any seeds. I used to force the pulp through a sieve, but it was time-consuming and the yield was small. Now, I just remove seeds and questionable spots and leave the delicate skins on. The resulting pulp will keep covered in the refrigerator for up to five days, or frozen for a year or longer.