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The Poor Pear It is a fact that for most of us, our first exposure to pears was from a can, which I suppose is reason enough to turn against them. Even today I find it difficult to forgive a pear for not being an apple while at the same time, never ceasing to be amazed by its versatility. Intellectually,
I concede that the green round Comice is a charming fruit. It is sweet
and juicy and when perfectly ripe, buttery. I remember eating one with a
large piece of Brie on a small terrace in Avignon on a languid October
afternoon. Later, I came to enjoy the sweet wine flavour of the Anjou
and the tart taste of the long necked Bosc. The bell shaped Bartlett,
which can be red or gold but always tastes sweet and musky, whatever its
hue. I
could go one and yet I know that no pear can offer the satisfying crunch
that an apple can, the wonderful feel of peel against teeth. A pear is
more of a piece, softer and more fickle than an apple. A slight bruise
and the total entity is ruined. My
experience compares to that of Varenne, the 17th century
French chef who wrote:”The pear is the grandfather of the apple, its
poor relation, a fallen aristocrat … preserving the memory of its
prestige by its haughty comportment.” Of
course, comportment mores have changed since 1650 and today, to be
shaped like a pear is not a symbol of aristocracy but a life sentence,
one to be avoided at all costs. Pears
should be purchased when firm, when there is a slight give to the stem
and it is best to let them ripen in a bowl away from the sun. Since the
best tasting pears –Comice, Bartlett and Anjou – tend to fall apart
when cooked, the cook is left with the less alluring but more
accommodating varieties: Bosc, Winter Nelis and Seckel. But even with
these, you must proceed gingerly. Roasting a pear requires less heat and
more butter and sugar than roasting an apple, and poaching a pear,
whether to be served with a classic chocolate sauce or ice cream is more
of a coddle than a poach. Even the pear equivalent of applesauce must be
cooked very carefully. Though
it is not an apple, I admire the pear for its ability to conjure
different faces in the face of different spices; its sweet predilection
for assuming warm, sweet and vaguely mysterious flavours as the weather
gets cold. The
temperamental nature of the pear gives it an immediacy an apple could
never have, a way of softening and giving that I, in my rigidity,
can’t muster. But that’s only because I came to know the pear first
in a can. Pan
Roasted Pears with Honey, Hazelnuts and Stilton Four
servings ½
cup hazelnuts 2
teaspoons unsalted butter 2
large firm pears, peeled, halved and cored 1/3
cup honey 4
ounce wedge Stilton cheese, quartered 1)
Preheat the oven to 350 F. Place the hazelnuts on a baking sheet
and bake until toasted, about 10 minutes. Place the nuts between 2
kitchen towels and rub to remove as much skin as possible. Coarsely chop
the nuts and set aside. 2)
Melt the butter in a medium size cast-iron skillet over medium
high heat. Add the pears and cook until caramelized on both sides, about
3 to 5 minutes. Lower the heat and add the honey to the skillet. When
the honey melts, turn the pears to coat them on both sides. Cover and
cook until the pears are tender but not too soft, about 5 minutes. 3)
Cut each pear half across into ¼ inch thick slices, but keep the
shape intact. Place each pear half onto a plate and fan it forward.
Place a piece of Stilton beside the pears and scatter each plate with
some of the Hazelnuts. Serve immediately. |
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