Oh, What a Pear We Make

When I began the healthy eating thing a couple of months ago, and had to give up every conceivable form of snack food, I wasn't worried. Neither CG1 or I have the slightest sweet tooth...which is a sign of alcoholism...but let's not dwell on what-ifs.

I had zero problem setting aside sweets and grains but I really, really missed fruit. During that two-week carb hiatus I would have cut a bitch for a pear - and said as much to my very sweet nutritionist. Who did not know me and was completely shocked. I can laugh about it now. Not so much at the time.

If you grew up in the 70s or 80s you probably believed pears were found in their natural state already packed in syrup, the institutional-size cans dangling from tree limbs. Working-class families did not buy fresh pears. Compared to heartier fruits like apples, oranges and bananas, pears were...sissies.

If VeggieTales remade West Side Story the pears would absolutely be the white kids.

The result is that a lot of adults have no appreciation of pears. 
"They're gritty." 
"They go bad too fast." 
"They're too feminine." (actual comment)

I admit when pears go bad they are truly horrid. Simultaneously mushy and tough, bland and gritty.

But when pears are good they are the sublime. Tender, subtle, sweet and juicy.

Give pears another try. Please.

If your now-adult palate does not appreciate their sophisticated flavor, but instead you are transported back to the middle school cafeteria and Tina Bonacci trips you - again? I will totally cut that bitch for you.


Country Girl said…
*Gag* Syrupy half, on a saucer with a dollup of mayo and a sprinkling of shredded commodity cheese. HOWEVER, here's where the country kicks in to Country Girl and I was saved from total disgust....my grandmother had a pear tree. I have to stop typing now because I'm drooling on the keyboard remembering those pears, warm from the sun. Pears are a special gift from God.