Once upon a time there was a very nice pear called William and I cooked him and ate him…and all of his family. As a peary tale, it’s grimm, but there it is; it’s rare for a pear to have a happy ending. The relationship between man and pear, fruitful as it may be, is, of necessity, brief. A delicious pear is an elusive beast. A body can painstakingly choose each fruit, mindful of colour, scent and form, then carefully pack them so as to ensure that they remain without bruise or blemish on the journey home, yet still suffer bitter disappointment as teeth sink into an insubstantial, watery delusion. Such is the disingenuousness of many a seductive looking pear. The Williams, lying cheek by jowl with some very disappointing Conference pears, in the picture above were models of firm, scented and delicious juiciness making them paragons of peardom.
I had recently read on “Manger”, a very elegantly presented blog, a deliciously simple recipe, with pears which sealed the fate of William and his nearest and dearest.
Pears cooked in butter with flaked almonds and served with a salt caramel sauce sounded wonderful and so it turned out to be.