Edible San Francisco

Pears. Supple, voluptuous, and curvaceous. Delicious, but only when perfectly ripe. It is impossible to write about pears without becoming poetic. And few, if any, writers attempting to set words down on the subject of pears can stay away from quoting and/or referencing the late horticulturist, Edward Bunyard. Out of print and a collector’s item since its original publication date in 1929, his prized The Anatomy of Dessert was re-published last year by Ruth Reichl (editor-in-chief of Gourmet magazine), much to fruit connoisseurs’ pleasure and delight, in the Modern Library Food series.

David Karp, a self-described fruit detective, explains the old-fashioned title of the book in the preface of its newest incarnation, “Curiously for the American reader, the ‘Dessert’ of the title, according to British use, specifically denotes fruit. ‘Anatomy’ here connotes analysis and appreciation, founded on Bunyard’s prodigious knowledge, interpreted by stringent critical standards.”

Laurie Colwin’s More Home Cooking, a first-edition gift from my mother years ago, and second book of the same title, introduced me to thinking about, looking at, eating, and baking with pears differently. A collection of quirky and poignant food essays, Colwin’s words, drawn from her monthly columns in Gourmet, display her easy style of funny and direct prose, quietly demanding thoughtful, intentional attention to whatever food subject she’s writing about. Her essay “In Praise of Pears” introduced me to a number of pear names and their unique properties. I credit Colwin almost exclusively for my love of pears and setting me on my way to learning all I could about the elusive fruit.

Pears are regarded as a mysterious fruit in the United States, even though our part of the continent has produced and popularized many a delicious variety. Americans consume far fewer pears than our European counterparts, especially the French. It doesn’t help the pear’s American image and consumption that it’s considered a European fruit. Pears, metaphorically speaking, appear to have fired their PR agency, telling marketers far and wide that they are not like other fruits, that they are different

Like apples and many other fruits, supermarkets have demolished my intuition about what the fruit really tastes like. Only a few of the thousands of varietals in the pear family and lineage have become popular. So few people understand the life the pear leads before ending up in their carts, homes, or mouths, or even how to tell when a pear is ripe, that our societal desire for the fruit diminishes every year.

Few people, even the most sophisticated, fruit lover, can say they love pears, or one specific pear, as unequivocally and passionately as peaches, strawberries, or apples. If a pear were a woman, she would never leave her house without a fancy hat, high heels, well-tailored and sumptuous clothing, a matching purse, and a polite, but purring demeanor. The pear as woman is, as a queer theorist might say, High Femme. Think I’m being overly dramatic? Consider what others have said before me.