Poaching from others: pears poached in wine, red and white

I just wrote a blog about mussels and how I ignore them and don't use them. The same could be said about how I treat pears. And it's a shame. Pears, which have been called "the workhorse of the winter dessert kitchen" are really one of my favorite fruits. Why don't I eat them or cook with them more often? It's probably the same phenomenon which explains why native New Yorkers haven't been to the top of the Empire State building, or to the Statue of Liberty: familiarity. Since they're always there, well...

So, Annalena was thinking about a French dessert for tonight's cassoulet fest. Not too rich (since she's already serving prune armagnac ice cream), and something based on fruit. And she remembered the classic poached pear.

I have written about poaching fruit before, but mostly about quinces. These are much easier. You can do one, or the other, but if you want to do something spectacular, do both.

Let's start with the pears. You don't want the ripest ones you can find. You actually want something that is maybe a bit underripe, because you're going to be cooking in liquid for a substantial amount of time. For my taste, bosc pears are right for this. Underripe bartletts or anjous would be good too, but if you can, go with boscs. For 5-6 pears, get your poaching liquid ready. This is a bottle of wine (use something you'd drink but not the best stuff you have). I used a bottle of merlot, that is "eh," but not great, and in a separate pot, a bottle of muscat blanc that I just don't care for, but others like. Add a cup of water to each pot with the wine, together with 3/4 cup of sugar. If you have vanilla sugar, you might want to use this, especially with the red wine poach.

Adding some spices to these wines will make the dish better, but they're not essential. For my red wine pears, I added a cinnamon stick and half of a vanilla bean. For the white wine, the peel of a lemon and a substantial amount of sliced fresh ginger.

Peel the pears, but leave the stems on. Most traditional recipes now tell you to stand the pears up in a pot in which they fit firmly. You can go crazy with the logistics here. Truth to be told, all you need to do is make sure that the pears are covered with liquid. And you can insure this, by wetting a piece of parchment paper, crumbling it, and covering the fruit and wine with it. Turn the heat to medium high, until things come to a boil, and then lower it. Cook away and keep an eye on them. Check after twenty minutes. Do they pierce easily with a knife? They probably won't, but maybe they will. Check again after 30 minutes. At 45, the most recalcitrant of pears will be ready. The red ones will have a lovely purple hue about them, and the white ones will look like pears, but smell wonderful. Let these guys cool in the liquid, then remove them with a slotted spoon.

Now, let's have some real fun. Strain the liquids to remove the solid spices. Put the liquid back in the pots, and turn the heat to high. Keep cooking, for about half an hour, until you've got about 1/3 to 1/4 of a cup of thick, sweet, fragrant syrup. That's what you'll use to anoint your pears. While this is happening, by the way, your house is going to smell wonderful.

Leave the pears at room temperature in the reduction. They will taste better this way. Know that, while the flavors do permeat the pears, the color will not have gone deeply into the pear. The way to finesse this, is to cut the pears in half, and serve them, cooked side up. When you do that, you might want to cut the core out with a melon baller, but that's not necessary if you want to carry rustic themes forward.

With ice cream, or whipped cream, or just with the reduced syrup.

Our hero, the lowly pear. Workhorse of the winter dessert kitchen.