Raccoon said to the possum, "Shake me them simmons down."
Old Man Possum was way up high, doing his mighty shake. Raccoon waited on the ground, licking his chops for a juicy fruit to fall from the simmon tree.
Simmon? It's a Southern linguistic shortening of persimmon. The nonsensical word is easier to say and sing than the three-syllable "per-sim-mon," as Maggie Sue Wimberly demonstrated in the song "Rock 'n' Roll Simmon Tree."
Maggie Sue recorded the tune in the 1950s. She was among the singing hopefuls knocking on the doors of Sun Records as Elvis, Jerry Lee and Roy sang the Memphis recording studio into history. Today, Maggie Sue's song is recognized by Sun fans who keep alive the music magic of the late Sam Phillips, who melded blues, gospel, hillbilly and country into real rock 'n' roll.
The music "experts" who compiled the first re-releases of Maggie Sue's simmon song were unfamiliar with Southern fruit trees. They believed she was singing about cinnamon and labeled the tune, "Rock 'n' Roll Cinnamon Tree." It didn't matter to them that cinnamon trees are nonexistent in the American South.
Music journalist Hank Davis finally set the record straight in 2002 when he compiled "Memphis Belles: The Women Who Sang for Sun Records" for Bear Family Records. I helped Hank locate some of the Memphis Belles who'd dropped out of the limelight or changed their names, so I'm in on the simmon/cinnamon joke and enjoy retelling it.
Can't you see a possum in a tree, shaking down orange cinnamon sticks for the waiting raccoon?
This soliloquy leads to one very important fact: Persimmon season is in full force. Yummm!
Mr. Persimmon, my friend Bob Stewart of Ocean Springs, has just delivered a bag of simmons, which I carefully mete out to friends as if the fruit were real gold. For those of us who don't have trees, homegrown persimmons are that precious.
My neighbor Doris used to have persimmons, which I purloined and gladly shared with the neighborhood possum. Katrina, sadly, claimed both her trees, and the possum, but Mr. Persimmon comes to my autumnal simmon rescue.
If your tongue is puckering and your nose wrinkling because you think persimmons are best left to wild beasts, then you've not had a good persimmon. When you were a kid someone probably played a joke by persuading you to bite into an unripe one.
In the words of the famous Capt. John Smith of Jamestown, Va., "If it be not ripe it will drawe a man's mouth awrie with much torment." Native Americans introduced Smith and other settlers to the wonders of this fruit, just as the natives here likely introduced them to early French settlers. When you live off the land, you eat what is available.
Some folks dislike persimmons for the same reason they avoid raw oysters - the slimy texture. Persimmons, when ripe and mushy, are also very sweet and some might not like that.
For eating raw, I favor an Asian variety that grows well here and can be eaten when still somewhat hard and crunchy. This variety, a bit more tomato-shaped, is not overly sweet and quite refreshing when chopped into bite-sized pieces and chilled overnight.
The mushy ones are great for baking cakes, breads and puddings, but they're also tasty au naturel if you like a jamlike texture, or frozen as a no-additives-needed sorbert. The variety that must wait for the mushy stage tend to be shaped more like giant apricots.
If you want to experiment with simmons and have no personal source, head to the farmers market or green grocer. Some Asian markets also buy locally grown persimmons.
Beware. If you don't want to experience Capt. Smith's taste-bud torment you must know what kind of persimmon you are about to eat, and at what stage you should eat it. Then, as you savor this nectar (the scientific name translates from Greek as "food of the gods") croon these bars from Maggie Sue Wimberly's song:
Possum up the simmon tree, The raccoon on the ground.
The raccoon said to the possum,
'Shake me them simmons down.'
Oh, raccoon get the rhythm, When they hit the ground, You ought to see him rock 'n' roll, Shaking them simmons down.
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