The Elegant Comice

I had gotten sick of pears.

As we are fully into Fall, I felt that I should celebrate and immerse myself into the season by eating plenty of our beautiful Autumn fruits. I made my list to stock up on glistening, garnet pomegranates, honey-sweet persimmons, and of course, pears. However, when I got to the produce aisle at Berkeley Bowl, the pears were so stunning (not to mention cheap) that I bought pounds and pounds of pears.

I brought home Bartletts and Comices. I love Bartletts because they are so sweet and fragrant, though they quickly become grainy and overbearingly perfumey once they've passed their peak. I had read that Comice pears were wonderful from the Chez Panisse cookbook, so I thought I'd give 'em a try. The Bartletts were ready to eat within a few days of their purchase, but the Comices needed more time. That said, I was pretty damn sick of pears by the end of last week.

Somehow, randomly, my mind returned to those Comices as I drove home. I hadn't even wanted to look at them since my overdose on the last grainy, mottled Bartlett. I should try to make a french toast with warm pear compote and fresh whipped cream, I thought. I picked up the pears as soon as I got home and prepared them for the compote. I was amazed at their beauty as I diced them, they were tender and juicy, and the knife went through their fine, custardy flesh like butter. I popped one of the ivory morsels in my mouth. Oh! It was magnificent. Silky, tender texture, intensely juicy, and, oddly enough, with a slight hint of cardamom in the first bite. I began slicing more flesh from the blossom ends as I prepped them, shoving the rounds guiltily in my mouth.

I'm watching over the pear compote now, and I think I've just wasted a perfectly divine dessert--a fresh, naked Comice pear in all its impeccable glory.