Pears

My dad used to tell me, One of these mornings, Pickle, you’re going to wake up a pear.

Yes, he called me “pickle.”  I’m still not sure where that came from.  But I loved pears (still do).  I would even happily drink the juice leftover from a can of pears, if my parents would let me.  The fruit became a little strange after I ate too many of the pear-flavored Jelly Bellies – at some point, I could no longer say whether the jelly bean tasted uncannily like the fruit or whether it was the other way around.  But gradually, I began to discover other types of pears than Bartlett.  Bosc is a great variety, and Anjou is more of a standard fare for me now.

Well, I have just had the most delicious pear of my life.  I kid not.  A variety I’ve not tried before was on sale this week, so I decided to give it a shot.  It has a brown skin, like Bosc or Asian, but of course was neither of those.  The first bite, compared to an Anjou, was like wine to grape juice.  Good wine, too, like a New Zealand Sauv.

And I can’t remember the name!  I must go back and look for it.  And probably buy a couple more.

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