Every year around Christmas my neighbor Chris gives me a pear from Harry and David. These pears have never failed to be the perfect pear – the epitome of peardom.
Sometime in my adult life, I fell in love with pears. I don’t recall eating them as a child. About 35 years ago, I was at the Bread Garden in Berkeley and ordered a pear tart. My life changed. Unlike a flamboyant apple or blueberry tart, the pear tart was understated in its delicious elegance.
My friends and I talked about while there were caramel or candied apples, there was no equal for pears. There was also no pear juice or pear cider. We decided that pears did not have an aggressive marketing plan like apples. At that moment, I unofficially dubbed myself the Pear Princess of America. This was before the Internet and social media so it was more difficult to beat a drum loudly for pear equality.
For years, mail was addressed to my house c/o the Pear Princess of America. When I wrote letters to companies asking for more pear representation, I used the Princess as my job title. I never did add it to my resume though.
I still buy pears and wait for them to ripen and usually eat with cottage cheese and a sprinkling of walnuts or when feeling a tad decadent, a sliver of really good cheese and a glass of sparkling wine. And poached pears are one of my favorite desserts to make for guests.
Yet, pears come and go but none are as perfect as the Harry and David pear wrapped in gold foil.
Happy New Year