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It was my birthday last week and, instead of getting to celebrate with family and friends, I got the gift of the stomach flu. Jonji also caught it at the exact same time, rendering us useless as parents. Needless to say, it was my least favorite birthday so far. The only relief I felt those couple of days, besides my parents taking the kids so Jonji and I could horizontally wallow in despair and try not to puke (mostly in vain), was watching the rain drip down in a quiet, comforting blanket outside, causing the birds to have a little party outside our window. Across the street, two mockingbirds vigorously shook their feathers under the dripping sky, perched on identical weathervanes on our neighbors’ mosaic-covered garden shed. We watched them from the couch, slightly less miserable because of their clear enjoyment.

I think that was the first truly ill birthday I’ve had, but it wasn’t the first rainy one I’ve experienced—the hazards of having a November birthday. The rain felt appropriate on a sick day, and I was grateful. During our recuperation period I took Wren out for a walk around the neighborhood, noting the lack of leaves on many of the damp trees, Nature’s Christmas baubles laid bare for us to see; oranges, lemons, pomegranates, and persimmons shining brightly amongst the faded and drooping foliage.

My mom and dad have many fruit trees in their backyard, most of which they planted when they bought the house 25 years ago. Standing against one fence is a humble Fuyu persimmon tree, which in recent years has produced bountiful harvests, though too often that’s been taken advantage of by eager squirrels. This year, however, the critters graciously left the fruit for the humans, and Mom has been passing them along to us by the bag full. In an effort to use them up, I went looking through my cookbooks. I excitedly found a recipe that included lemon, honey, burrata, pistachios, and persimmons in Andy Baraghani’s book, but then realized the burrata we had in the fridge was past its prime (a terrible revelation, as I’m sure you’d agree) and we were out of pistachios. Not to be deterred, I decided to keep the lemon-honey mixture and the persimmons from the original recipe, but otherwise go down a completely different path. The resulting salad was scrumptious; a little tart, sweet, and crunchy, it was so good it’s been giving my Everyday Greens Salad a run for its money in how often it appears on our table. It feels sophisticated yet approachable. If you’re scared of eating lemon rind, have no fear; the honey and salt mellow out the bitterness so much that you barely notice you’re eating little chunks of whole lemon.

Note that this recipe can generously serve two or lightly serve four. Scale up as needed.

Persimmon & Parmesan Salad with Lemon

serves 2-4 / inspired by a recipe by Andy Baraghani in his book, The Cook You Want to Be

½ a small Meyer lemon, washed
1 tbsp honey
⅛ tsp fine sea salt
2-3 little gem lettuces
1-2 Fuyu persimmons (use two if they’re small or if you’d like a more fruit-forward salad)
3 heaping tbsp roasted almonds, roughly chopped
parmesan, for shaving
olive oil, for drizzling

Cut ½ a small Meyer lemon into quarters and remove the seeds. Finely chop the lemon quarters and add all of it to a small bowl along with any lemon juice that was squeezed out. Stir 1 tbsp honey and ⅛ tsp fine sea salt into the chopped lemon and set aside. As it sits, the honey will loosen and the lemon rind will sweeten and soften.

Tear off the leaves of two little gem lettuces (use three if they’re on the smaller side), discarding any brown or broken leaves. Wash and dry the leaves thoroughly, then add to a large bowl in a rough single layer.

Slice the ends off of the persimmon and peel if the skin is particularly tough (feel free to leave the skin on—do what makes you happy). Cut the persimmon in half through the top, then lay each half on its side and thinly slice into half moons. Cut the halves in half again, if you want bite-sized pieces, or leave as semicircles. Sprinkle the fruit over the lettuce, then top it all with 3 tbsp chopped roasted almonds. Shave parmesan over the top—use your judgement, but I always go for more rather than less.

Drizzle the salad with good olive oil, making sure to get a bit on each lettuce leaf. Evenly scatter the lemon-honey mixture over everything. This salad can be served as is, all sprinkled and layered, or tossed like a traditional salad. Add salt and olive oil as needed. Enjoy!