An Italian Notebook original article.

“First impressions are so important. And in Naples it’s the vegetable antipasti that belt our a trumpet fanfare for the dishes that follow.

“The bright and shiny skins of tomatoes from northern Europe promise much but deliver only bland and wooly interiors.  Instead, make a food pilgrimage to Vesuvian soil and savor the pomodorini grown in Campania.  What’s so special? The siren song of volcanic minerals in every local vegetable.

“If not bruschetta, or a platter of eggplant, carrots or zucchini presented under a film of olio al peproncino (chili oil), choose a plump, delicately-scented mozzarella combined with prosciutto.  The local white wine. Falanghina, provides essential counterpoint.

Or order any vegetable antipasto della casa, most often a self-serve buffet affair, and brace yourself for a veritable Hallelujah Chorus to set before you!”

Persimmons are one of the few consolations that come with the onset of winter.

It is an odd fruit that rarely leaves people indifferent; you either love them or hate them. To some the sweet slippery texture of a ripe persimmon popping into your mouth is a sensual delight, to others who have had their taste buds assaulted by a hard and puckeringly bitter one that ‘ties your teeth’ (lega I denti), it is deemed downright disgusting.  But then again, if you were given a name like ‘kaki’ (the Italian word for persimmon*) you’d want to assault someone too.

Part of the problem is that the trees come in two general categories: those that bear fruit that is hard, astringent, and inedible until soft and fully ripe and those that bear non-astringent fruit. If you see them at your fruttivendolo it’s best to ask him which type they are. The lush, juicy non-astringent persimmons should be eaten immediately. The hard astringent variety, once matured, can be stored in the refrigerator (for at least a month) and frozen (for 6 to 8 months). Persimmons also make an excellent dried fruit and the leaves (both fresh or dried) can be used to brew tea.

For most of the year the persimmon tree is green and lush though not particularly intriguing. But come the Autumn the leaves turn breathtaking shades of yellow, orange and red. I recently stopped to admire a grove of huge trees that must have been centuries old and so tall that the farmers hadn’t even tried to pick the fruit at the top. It was like an enchanted forest. Without any leaves and their naked crooked branches exposed, these trees - with their dangling orangy red fruits - look like something out of a witch’s Christmas catalogue.

*If you’re in a swank restaurant and get the urge for a persimmon but don’t feel like using a word that sounds like it just came out of a public toilet, you can also use the term ‘loto’.