How To Fuck A Pear
A big thank you to everyone who spread the good stuff since our last outing. The target was to reach a seemingly insurmountable ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY subscribers and we’ve gone beyond somehow (ok I know how… mainly by me aggressively adding anyone I meet to the list), arriving at 171! So to the old guard; please keep sharing, and to the 11 newcomers; may your table be filled with joy.
Let me set the scene.
It’s Autumn. One of those crisp days singular to the season, where the light is as sharp as the smell of falling leaves. The farmers market stalls are creaking with fall’s gifts and warm with their colours. There are squashes of every shape; some striped like tigers, others like toads and some secure enough to settle with being a uniform green. There are mushrooms I’ve never heard of, apples of varieties whose names are odder than their form, pears galore, a million…
Ok I can’t continue this lie. I haven’t been to any farmers market. I’ve barely even stepped outside this season. This was instead the plan in my notebook where I record ideas for this newsletter; “go to Autumn farmers market, write about squashes and fruit.”
However I’ve been too busy and have spent most my waking hours either looking after an ill baby or prostituting my mind to the man in exchange for monthly reimbursement. Yet in the free-time I get, I do at least read Nigel Slater’s The Kitchen Diaries and live vicariously through his grand descriptions of Autumnal market stalls that “are a tapestry of ochre and dark green.”
I then look out into the dark evening, and another Autumnal day lost to the indoors, and with stiff upper lip I pip myself up saying well at least food shopping can still get better than this in other seasons. But then Nigel goes on to say - actually - “food shopping does not get better than this,” so really there’s no consolation.
Ok, let me set the scene truthfully this time.
It’s Autumn. I’m in Lidl. The vegetable section is a tapestry of gold and dark blue (this is largely the Lidl logo emblazoned on all the packaging). There are squashes (just butternut and some token halloween prop pumpkins) and all the other same things that are the same there every other month of the year; tomatoes, asparagus, spring onions…
Ok I can’t continue this lie. I haven’t been to any Lidl. Don’t you get it? I’m trapped inside godamnit! I will go to Lidl tomorrow at some point hopefully and I will continue this then.
A day later…
I’ve managed to go on a great expedition to Lidl, where I was - in fact - pleasantly surprised. There were multiple kinds of apples that were labelled beyond simply “red” or “green,” and all grown in in this country. They are cheaper too than other times of year and I’d dare to say the taste was even better than those I’d brought at my favourite and ludicrously bouji Peckham grocer.
The pears were crisp, just ripe, and perfect for the purpose I’d envisioned while dreaming of Autumnal markets; poaching. This Autumn for me may not have been a season savoured like Timotee Chalomet’s idyllic summer of Call Me By Your Name, and the pear, unlike his peach, may not be picked from an Italian garden, and instead placed in a plastic bag from a faceless corporation off a main road in south east London, however we must always endeavour to take joys where they are to be found.
Red Wine Poached Pear
This is a warming and deeply fruity dish that is not only perfect for the enveloping season, but also more specifically this weekend of halloween. The propped up pears resemble little witches’ hats, making this the spookiest of puddings and an occult crown for your festive feast.
One note before beginning however:
I stole this from Rick Stein. But he in truth stole this from his mum in law, and she got it from someone else so these things are circular and eternal like the divine Hindu spinning wheel of life, you see? Additionally if you go to his recipe here, he puts an eye-watering (and what can only be a misprint) quantity of sugar in, so in my retelling of it you have been saved making an inedibly sweet version that is all but guaranteed to bring on instantaneous type 2 diabetes.
Ingredients
1 lemon
1 orange
1 bottle red wine
100g fresh root ginger, chopped roughly in chunks
1 cinnamon stick
4 whole cloves
5 fennel seeds
1 fresh bay leaf
1 sprig rosemary
200g caster sugar
300g blackberries
8 pears that are still crisp, not yet giving and soft
Cream, ice cream or even custard to serve
Method
Do not begin to peel and core your pears yet!
First, zest and juice your citrus (when I made this, I only had limes and that worked very well). Add this and all the ingredients apart from the pears into a pan and simmer on low heat for 15 minutes. Mash the blackberries from time to time so they give up their juices.
Take a moment to savour the sight and scent of your bubbling cauldron.
Strain the poaching liquid through a sieve into another pan large enough to hold the pears. Bring this back to a simmer on low heat.
Now is the time to prepare the pears. Working one by one, peel them and then core them as shown here (this creates a nice flat base they will stand on later). As soon as you have peeled and cored one, chuck it in the simmering liquor. The reason we peel now rather than sooner is that the fruit browns and spoils when rendered so naked and exposed.
The pears will float and this is fine. Spoon a little cooking liquor over all of them and leave to poach gently for 20 minutes. Turn them all over and allow to continue poaching on a gentle simmer for another 20, or until they are tender and easily pierced with a knife. Allow to cool in their liquor for an hour then remove the pears and boil the liquor til it is reduced by two thirds and has become a syrup (remember it will be thicker when it has cooled too, so you can test for doneness by spooning some on a cold plate and see how thick it has become).
Plate beautifully and put some ice cream, cream or custard out for guests to place on top with great artistry.
Given the title and Call Me By Your Name reference, I will clarify at this point that the intention is then to eat the pear.
Gonzo food writing of the highest (and lowest) kind.