An excerpt from the latest Simon Hopkinson book "Second Helpings of Roast Chicken" published by Hyperion.
One of the most astute observations on the contrary pear was noted exactly by the great Eddie Izzard during one of his wonderful shows. Izzard's gripe and frustration are well grounded. You buy a couple of pounds of slightly under-ripe, clean, and unblemished pears, with the innocent intention of allowing them to ripen up over a few days at home. "Hmmm, yes, I will arrange them in that bowl I think, put them on the sideboard, and enjoy them with some Roquefort on Friday when Michael and Gloria are coming for supper." Then, as if by magic, that very afternoon they will suddenly decide to blotch and bloat, their insides turning to a fluffy mass of woolly flesh, bereft of both taste and texture.
In fact, so frustrating is the fresh pear that when wishing to use some to fashion a hot pear desset, such as the one that follows, I will often find myself reaching for a can of Del Monte. ("This cook he need a perfect pudding? He say yeah!") But then – and I know I'm not alone here – I have always enjoyed a can of fruit, so long as it has been stored in the fridge for a few hours to become really cold. Similarly, its perfect partner, a welter of Carnation Milk, should also be well chilled for maximum enjoyment.
If you want to cook pears from raw, then buy them rock-hard – which, I am convinced, is what the canny canners do anyway. An impenetrable pear will always perform, just so long as it is cooked in a balm of sweet and fragrant syrup, preferably perfumed with a nice black bean of vanilla, a bay leaf perhaps, and – though certainly not for me – a curly brown scroll of cinammon bark.
The first person to cook me some pears in this fashion was Mr. J. Gordon Macintyre, who owns a most individual hotel in Nairn, in the Scottish Highlands. He has been proprietor, chef, actor/manager of his own in-house theatrical productions, and general all-round bon viveur for well over thirty years now, continuing in a tradition inherited from his father before him. I remember these delicious pears arriving at the table in a deep earthenware pot, still lightly steaming from their poach and with the scent of sweet vanilla pervading the dining room along with a final heady boost of a slug of eau de vie de poires Williams that had been poured in at the last minute.
Poached Pears with Vanilla and Eau de Vie
You may, if you wish, choose to serve these whole. However, I prefer to do away with the aesthetics of the thing and cut them in half, making quite sure that no trace of the pips or fibers remains. The best and nearest way to core pears is to use a small melon-baller. Serve the pears warm, rather than hot or cold. You will need a large bowl (preferably metal) that has been put in the freezer for 30 minutes.
Serves 4
6 firm William pears
pared rind and juice of 1 small lemon
5 tablespoons golden granulated sugar
1 vanilla pod, split lengthways
1 large glass of sweet white wine (a Muscat would be good)
1¼ cups water
4-5 tablespoons eau de vie de poires William
2/3 cup whipping cream, very well chilled
2/3 cup double cream, very well chilled
3 tablespoons confectioners' sugar
vanilla seeds scraped from a split 1/4 of a fresh vanilla pod
Peel the pears and cut them in half lengthways. Place in a bowl and sprinkle over the lemon juice, turning them over and around with your hands. Scoop the core out with the melon-baller, forming a neat hemisphere. Remove any fibers with a small knife. In a roomy stainless-steel or enameled pan mix together the lemon rind, sugar, vanilla pod, wine, and water. Bring to a simmer and cook gently for 5 minutes. Slip in the pears and poach for around 15-10 minutes or until just tender when pierced with knife; they should also look a little transparent. Add the eau de vie. Put a lid on and leave to cool to lukewarm, by which time the pears will be fully cooked.
Meanwhile, make the crème Chantilly. It is important that all is cold for this most lovely of whipped creams; this allows for any chance of the cream separating whilst being beaten. Put everything in the bowl and hand-whisk the cream using fruid motions until loosely thick, but on no account very thick. This does not take as long as you think it might. And it is a special further pleasure ot see the difference between hand-whisked and electrically aided beaten cream.
From Second Helpings of Roast Chicken