I had a pear today at work.<\/p>\n
Every Monday, a fruit basket arrives on our floor. The bananas always go first, followed by the grapes, apples and mandarins. By Thursday, only the pears and oranges are left. I can understand why oranges remain — their strength lies in their pressing — but pears?<\/p>\n
Is it the complexion of their skin — always a bit mottled? Or is it their colors, an autumnal range, reminiscent of decay? Is it the shape, not round or pert but, well, pear-shaped — an adjective most often modified with “horribly” by the British? Apples look less like human anatomies past their sell-by date. Are pears apple’s ugly friend?<\/p>\n
Apples often do boast bright young colors and taut puncture-me skin, but how much of this glamor comes through articifial enhancement? Pears, on the other hand, seem never to have benefited from science’s tonics. They have to rely on more subtle inducements.<\/p>\n
When is the last time you bought pears at the supermarket? I have certainly gone a year or more without tasting one. But this morning, on an empty stomach, I trawled the bottom of that basket and bit into my first pear in a while.<\/p>\n
Inside, the texture looks glassy, but the flesh is smooth and giving, pliant even, as if flattered by the unaccustomed attention. Pears are easy on the taste buds too, not as tart as apples, and wetter, though the juice is silky like soft water, and prone to run down the chin.<\/p>\n
Does this make them harder to eat in polite company? Is this why they are shunned by the corporate snacking community? Do get reacquainted with a pear one of these days — they’re the mature fruit.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I had a pear today at work. Every Monday, a fruit basket arrives on our floor. The bananas always go first, followed by the grapes, apples and mandarins. By Thursday, only the pears and oranges are left. I can understand … Continue reading