The good fruit fairy, who has in late summer put bags of freshly-ripened apples next to our mailbox, has returned – only this time the bag was full of pears!
I am somewhat ashamed of my childish squee over them. I guess while I never regarded them as something special they somehow are – rarer than apples, and even though I have weighed the thought of buying some in the supermarket for the last few weeks, I somehow haven’t managed to.
Those pears are delicious. Like the apples, they seem to be of the gardengrown variety – small and with a lot of taste, little sugar.
The peel is thick, almost leathery. I can pull half a millimeter of it off the soft flesh with mt fingers. The flesh itself is bright white, dripping juicy and soft with ripeness – supermarket pears are hard and crunchy, not properly soft at all! It crumbles and melts on my tongue as the juice runs down my chin (I feel sloppy, but that’s part of the experience, much as with nectarines and melons).
When I lived on campus, one of my neighbours got goosebumps from the texture of pear flesh on her tongue. She couldn’t explain why – it was just a funny neural connection.
I don’t get goosebumps, but I thoroughly enjoy the pear anyway. I think I’m going to snatch a few more before they are all gone…