A Short History of a Quiet Fruit

Until I tasted my first Comice, I was never much of a pear fancier. It’s easy to like a fruit you can hear, which is why I favored the more forward crispness of the apple.

But that first Comice changed my mind. Noticeably fatter than other pears, it had a promising heft. The skin was somewhat rough, giving way to a buttery-smooth flesh. The flavor was explosive and more intensely pear-ish than I thought possible. The bright wine-y juice trickled down my chin.

That was it. I was hooked.

And I was not alone. Pears have been provoking that kind of reaction for centuries. The benefits of this pirus- mania are with us still. Unlike apples, which are dominated commercially by relatively recent inventions, today’s best pear varieties have been around for more than a century.

The father of the modern pear is a Belgian named Nicolas Hardenpoint, who began his work around 1730. “Nearly all pears before (Hardenpoint) were crisp or breaking in flesh,” writes U. P. Hedrick, an early-20th-Century fruit historian. “The soft-fleshed, melting pears were hardly known as yet.”

The breeding of pears, like that of apples, is accomplished largely by the propagation of “sports”--chance genetic mutations that are then refined by horticulturists. So enthusiastic were the Belgians about their pear-breeding, writes Hedrick, that “(they) seemed to have been quite carried off their feet by (it), and during the first half of the 19th Century, a fad like the ‘tulip craze’ of Holland reigned in the country.”

The Bosc pear dates from that period, developed by Hardenpoint’s successor, Jean Baptiste Van Mons, in 1807.

That commercial workhorse of pears, the Bartlett, comes from England, where it was found in a Berkshire church garden in 1770. In London, the trees were sold by an orchardist named Williams, who named it after himself. (In Europe, the Bartlett is still called the Williams pear.) It was given its American name by orchardist Enoch Bartlett, who began selling it in this country in 1817.

The great American pear, the Seckel, originated strictly by chance. It seems that every fall around the beginning of the 19th Century, a hunter named Dutch Jacob used to return from his rounds with the most delicious pears, the source of which he never divulged. He eventually bought the tract of land, near Philadelphia, but soon sold it to a man named Seckel, who introduced the pear to the public. The original tree stood until at least 1870. Since it is so different from any native American fruit, it’s thought that it sprang from seed brought over by German settlers, whose Rousselet pear it resembles.

By the mid-19th Century, the roster of pears was fairly set. A list of fruit from 1857 is full of familiar names. There’s Bartlett, Bosc, Anjou, Forelle, Seckel and Nellis. The only one missing is the Comice, which had yet to cross the Atlantic.

The king of pears was discovered by a gentleman farmer in France’s Loire Valley, where the inquisitive pear lover can still find a plaque reading: “In this garden was raised in 1849-50 the celebrated pear Doyenne du Comice by the gardener Dhomme and by Millet de la Turtaudiere, President of the Comice Horticole.”

In his 1934 book “Anatomy of Dessert,” British writer Edward Bunyard is palpably overcome by the Comice’s grandeur. “In the long history of the pear the year of 1849 stands alone in importance. The historian will be reminded of the annexation of the Punjab, the accession of Francis Joseph, while in that year America hailed her 12th President in the person of Zachary Taylor.

“But what are such things to us? . . . Happy those who were present when Doyenne du Comice first gave up its luscious juice to man. Whom could they envy at that moment? Certainly not Zachary Taylor.”

Like in France and England, there was an explosion of interest in pears and pear-growing among the New England landed gentry from roughly 1820 to 1870. Even though the pear is most unsuited to cultivation on the East Coast--being subject to a devastating blight that thrives in the wet, warm Eastern summers--it was widely planted.

The results were predictable. “It is folly to suppose that every person who plants an orchard of pear trees succeeds,” writes a disheartened P. T. Quinn in his “Pear Culture for Profit,” published in 1869, at the tail end of the craze. “On the contrary, as far as my personal observation has extended, there has been more money lost than made, for I could enumerate five persons who have utterly failed to every one who has made pear culture profitable. . . .

“Think but an instant of the number of pear trees that have been sold annually for the past 15 or 20 years, and then search for the healthy, vigorous orchards that should by this time be producing abundantly!

“It is during the time spent in wading in the dark, without any beacon to guide their steps, that the inexperienced suffer from a series of disappointments.”

On the West Coast, though, pears did very well. Though pears were originally brought by the Franciscan missionaries (descendants of these original trees were still growing in the orchard at the San Gabriel Mission at the turn of the 20th Century), modern West Coast pear-growing really began with the pioneers who settled Oregon’s Willamette Valley in 1847 and the California prospectors who came looking for gold in 1849.

In the drier summers of the West Coast, the pear thrived, and with the advent of rail shipment of fruit in 1869 its cultivation became an industry. Today, California, Washington and Oregon account for between 90% and 95% of the U.S. crop.

And it has become the natural home of the Comice, by nature an extremely temperamental fruit that had proved difficult to cultivate on the East Coast or in Europe.

“Who does not know the melting Comice, now available so large a part of the year, thanks to the Panama Canal and our own Dominions?” asks Bunyard. “Two thousand years of pear history was necessary to educate a public worthy of such refined delight, and the world’s great gourmets had died still unacquainted with the perfect pear.”

But lucky us.

This recipe appeared in “Royal Cookbook: Favorite Court Recipes From the World’s Royal Families,” published by Parents magazine in 1971. It claimed to be the ancient Roman dish patina de piris, but someone--possibly the recipe testers, possibly a Metropolitan Museum of Art staff member named Nada Saporiti, who wrote the chapter on ancient cuisine--had taken a lot of liberties with the original 2nd Century recipe, serving the pears whole with a custard sauce rather than mashing them up and baking them with eggs, and leaving out some of the more challenging ingredients (such as pepper, olive oil and fermented fish sauce). But the Parents magazine recipe--ironically, a sort of orphan--is a delightful dish in its own right, despite its dubious pedigree.

PHONY ROMAN PEARS

8 very firm pears, such as Comice

2 cups sweet or semisweet white wine

2 tablespoons honey

1/4 teaspoon ground cumin

1/4 teaspoon ground lovage, optional

Custard Sauce

Peel pears, leaving stems on. Place in large skillet. Mix wine, honey, cumin and lovage and pour over pears. Cover and poach until tender, about 10 minutes, basting often. Drain liquid, boil down to 1 cup and reserve for Custard Sauce.

Chill pears and place upright in 8 wide, stemmed glasses. Pour Custard Sauce, hot or cold, over pears. Makes 8 servings.

Each serving contains about:

289 calories; 75 mg sodium; 121 mg cholesterol; 14 grams fat; 37 grams carbohydrates; 4 grams protein; 2.33 grams fiber.

Custard Sauce

1 cup whipping cream

1 cup reduced wine from pears

3 tablespoons honey

1/8 teaspoon salt

3 eggs

Scald cream in top of double boiler over hot water. Add wine, honey and salt. In small mixing bowl, beat eggs with fork and gradually stir in some of hot liquid. Return eggs to double boiler. Cook, stirring constantly, until sauce thickens.

This recipe from Marcella Hazan’s “Marcella’s Italian Kitchen” is different from the normal pear-wine combination in that these pears are braised, not poached. First they are sauteed in butter, a step that establishes the base for their finely articulated flavor. Subsequently, bay leaves add their distinctive aroma and, of course, the final significant element is the red wine. You should make every effort to use Amarone because of its intensely concentrated fruitiness and faintly raisin-y quality. Of all alternatives to Amarone, the most highly recommended would be a late-harvest Zinfandel. When the pears are done, there must remain no wine in liquid form, but only a dense syrup that dyes the fruit deep - purple and forms a caramel-like coating on it. To favor the reduction and evaporation of the wine, it is necessary to use a broad, low pan, rather than a tall, narrow one.

BRAISED PEARS WITH BAY LEAVES AND RED WINE (Pere Cotte Con Alloro e Amarone)

4 firm pears

1 tablespoon butter

4 to 6 tablespoons sugar

6 to 8 bay leaves

2 cups dry, full-bodied red wine such as Amarone, Barbera, Chianti Riserva or late-harvest Zinfandel

Peel pears, slice each in half lengthwise and core. Leave stems attached. Choose lidded saute pan large enough to accommodate all pear halves lying flat.

Place butter in pan and turn heat to medium-high. Cook butter, uncovered, just until foam subsides. (If butter cooks longer and changes color, pears will acquire disagreeable burned-butter flavor.)

Remove pan from heat and arrange pear halves, flat side down. Return to heat and saute pears lightly on 1 side, then turn over and saute other side lightly. (Only part of round surface will brown.) Add sugar, using larger amount if pears are less ripe. Spread bay leaves in pan and pour in red wine. Cover pan loosely and turn heat down to medium.

Cook pears, turning occasionally, until easily pierced with fork but firm enough to maintain shape, about 15 minutes. If cooking juices are not yet dense and syrupy, uncover pan and raise heat to reduce liquid. Makes 8 servings.

Each serving contains about:

127 calories; 19 mg sodium; 4 mg cholesterol; 2 grams fat; 20 grams carbohydrates; 0 protein; 1.16 grams fiber.

Paula Wolfert, who published this recipe from Albert Parveaux, proprietor of the Chateau de Castel Novel, in her book “The Cooking of South-West France,” says: “This superb souffle-like fruit cake is similar to a German apple pancake. But Parveaux says, ‘Its simplicity is misunderstood by some of our guests, who think complexity is the same thing as excellence.’ He explained the true secrets of a successful flaugnarde: ‘First, never put sugar into it the way they do in the Perigord, because it won’t rise on account of the extra weight. Second, be sure to use a metal dish, since metal heats up quicker and thus will give the batter a better rise. Third, only fill the pan to one-third of its height--the flaugnarde will thus have room to rise, and it will in fact fill the pan when baked.’

“You must eat this flaugnarde while hot, though it will hold its rise as long as 10 minutes. When serving, slip it out of its pan onto a serving plate; then dust heavily with granulated sugar. You can substitute a straight-ahead skillet to cook this. The grated nutmeg over the top of this pudding is a nod to its Indian pudding heritage and is also mysteriously wonderful with pears.”

BATTER CAKE WITH FRESH PEARS FROM THE CORREZE (Flaugnarde)

3 eggs

About 1 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour, or 1/4 cup cake flour plus 1 1/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

Dash salt

1 cup milk, warmed

1 tablespoon dark rum

2 pears such as Comice or Anjou

2 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter

Superfine sugar

Lightly beat eggs in mixing bowl. Sift flour and salt and add to eggs, stirring. Add 2 tablespoons warm milk and mix until egg-flour mixture is completely smooth. Gradually stir in remaining milk and rum. Strain through fine sieve and let stand 1 to 2 1/2 hours.

Peel, core, halve and thinly slice pears (3-mm slicing disk attachment of food processor is perfect for job). Butter straight-sided 8- or 9-inch metal cake pan with 1 1/4 to 1 1/2 tablespoons soft butter. Pour in batter and carefully place fruit slices on top, then scatter bits of remaining butter over all. Bake on lower shelf of 450-degree oven 15 minutes, then lower heat to 400 degrees and bake until well puffed and golden brown, 30 to 35 minutes.

Use spatula around edges and under flaugnarde to loosen. Lift out onto serving dish. Sprinkle generously with sugar and serve within 5 minutes. (If flaugnardes cool, they can be reheated at 325 degrees 10 minutes.) Makes 4 servings.

Each serving contains about:

388 calories; 139 mg sodium; 183 mg cholesterol; 13 grams fat; 55 grams carbohydrates; 12 grams protein; 1.29 grams fiber.

This wonderfully homey invention comes from Emily Luchetti’s “Stars Desserts.” The Cornmeal Poundcake is quite nice in its own right and could be served with nothing more than ripe fruit and a little whipped cream.

PEAR-CORNMEAL BREAD PUDDING

7 eggs

5 egg yolks

1 cup sugar

Dash salt

2 1/2 cups heavy whipping cream

3 1/2 cups milk

1-inch piece vanilla bean

1 1/2 pounds pears, peeled, cored and cut in 1/2-inch dice

5 slices Cornmeal Poundcake, cut into 1 1/2x1-inch pieces

1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

Chantilly Cream

Whisk together eggs, egg yolks, sugar and salt in mixing bowl. Set aside.

Combine cream, milk and vanilla bean in heavy-bottomed sauce pan and scald. Slowly whisk hot-milk mixture into eggs. Cool and strain.

Place pears in bottom of 3-quart rectangular baking dish. Arrange Cornmeal Poundcake pieces on top of pears. Pour egg and milk mixture over pears. Sprinkle 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg on top.

Bake pudding at 325 degrees, uncovered, until paring knife inserted into custard comes out almost completely clean, 55 to 60 minutes.

Spoon pudding into bowls, top with Chantilly Cream and sprinkle remaining 1/4 teaspoon grated nutmeg over. Makes 10 servings.

Each serving contains about:

832 calories; 250 mg sodium; 520 mg cholesterol; 58 grams fat; 67 grams carbohydrates; 15 grams protein; 1.00 gram fiber.

Cornmeal Poundcake

1/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon soft unsalted butter

1 cup brown sugar, packed

1/2 cup granulated sugar

5 eggs

3/4 cup sour cream

3/4 teaspoon almond extract

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

Dash salt

1 1/4 cups flour

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1 cup cornmeal

Combine butter, brown sugar and granulated sugar in bowl of electric mixer. Using paddle attachment, cream on medium high speed until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Continuing to mix, add eggs one at time. Stir in sour cream and almond and vanilla extracts on medium-low speed, mixing well.

Sift together salt, flour and baking powder. On low speed, fold flour mixture and cornmeal into butter mixture. Pour batter into buttered 9x5-inch loaf pan.

Bake poundcake at 325 degrees until wood pick inserted in center comes out clean, about 1 hour and 10 minutes. Cool cake and unmold by running knife around inside edge and inverting pan.

Chantilly Cream

2 1/2 cups heavy whipping cream (not ultra-pasteurized)

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 1/2 tablespoons sugar

Scant dash salt

Place cream, vanilla, sugar and salt in large bowl. Whisk just until mixture holds shape. Use within 1 hour.

An old-fashioned California dessert from “Helen Brown’s West Coast Cookbook.”

PEARS PACIFICA

3 pears

1/4 cup lime juice

1/4 cup honey

1/2 cup rum

Chopped almonds

2 tablespoons water

Sour cream

Peel pears, cut in halves and remove cores. Arrange pears, cut side up, in baking dish. Into each pear cavity place 1 teaspoon lime juice, 1 teaspoon honey and 1 tablespoon rum. Bake at 350 degrees 1 hour, basting with mixture of remaining lime juice, honey, rum and water. Turn pears over toward end and sprinkle with chopped almonds. Slip under broiler to brown. Serve warm with cold sour cream. Makes 6 servings.

Note : Combination of orange juice, sugar and white wine is also good baste for baked pears.

Each serving, without sour cream, contains about:

137 calories; 1 mg sodium; 0 cholesterol; 0 fat; 25 grams carbohydrates; 0 protein; 1.16 grams fiber.