I had to go to the dentist this morning for a 9.00 a.m. appointment. I had originally thought that at least I wouldn’t have to wait for long, but then I started to wonder if maybe I would have a longer wait than anticipated. Why? Because in my mind’s eye I can see hordes of Sunday Age readers, all sitting desperately in dentists’ waiting rooms, with their teeth clamped shut.
I blame Guy Grossi’s oven poached pears, featured in yesterday’s Sunday Age.
Beurre bosc pears?- check. Cinnamon stick?- check. Star anise?- no, but I bought some. In went the pears to cook in the saucepan for 20 minutes or until the pears were just tender. Well, it was a good 30 minutes before I could persuade myself that perhaps they were slightly more tender than when I put them in half an hour earlier. Into the oven, 40 minutes, 50 minutes, 1 hr 15 minutes- ye gods, they still looked like albino walruses wallowing in barely coloured syrup and as hard as rocks. So, in desperation, back onto the stovetop to somehow make them “caramelized and sticky.”
Well, that worked. So well that once they hit the bowls, they clamped immediately onto the bottom, only to be shifted by multiple applications of boiling water and soaking over night. “Mmmm” we said, taking a mouthful of pear, only to realize that the caramel set like cement between our teeth. “Mmmm” was all we could say, really. That, or “mmnnnngggttttsssshhhh”.
You can keep your oven-poached pears Mr Grossi. Dentists throughout Melbourne and Sydney (and anywhere else the Sunday Life is published) thank you. I don’t.