Cranberry Pear Crumble

Valentine's Day is Monday and I am on the couch with a heating pad and a bottle of ibuprofen and the love of my life is at the vet clinic weighing someone's poodle and I can't even get to the store to buy her a card. I called Amber and asked her to order flowers online, which is the most helpless I have felt since the mine collapse in 1991 and that is not an exaggeration. Amber said Dad, she doesn't want flowers, she wants you to stop being stupid about your back. I said I'm not being stupid anymore. She said good, and ordered the flowers anyway. Roses. Connie put them on the kitchen table and said they're pretty and kissed my forehead and that was Valentine's Day. Thirty years of marriage and a forehead kiss is worth more than anything I could've bought standing upright.

Called the disability office Wednesday. Different woman this time, same questions, same forms. She said my medical records from Dr. Patel would support the claim. She said given the documented herniations and the occupational history, I should qualify. She said the word should, not will, because the government doesn't make promises, it makes appointments. I have a review scheduled for March. I hung up and stared at the ceiling and thought about Earl working the mines until his lungs quit and then just sitting in that house in Evarts waiting to die, and I swore to myself that I will not sit. I will not just sit.

Thursday I got off the couch and into the kitchen. Slowly. Carefully. Made a skillet of fried apples because they were in the fruit bowl going soft and because Betty's voice in my head said don't waste, Craig Allen. Sliced them thin, melted butter in the cast iron, added the apples with brown sugar and cinnamon and a pinch of salt, cooked them low until they were caramel-colored and soft as a sigh. Betty made fried apples every fall with the windfalls from the tree behind the Evarts house. I'm making them in February with grocery store Galas because the season is wrong but the need is right.

Clay stopped by Saturday. Seven months sober, still at the hardware store, still seeing Dr. Rivera. He brought a bag of groceries — milk, bread, eggs, a pound of bacon. He set them on the counter and didn't make a speech about it and I didn't make a speech about accepting it and we sat at the table and drank coffee and talked about the weather, which is how Hensley men say I see you and I'm here and that's all I've got but it's yours.

Those fried apples I made Thursday — I ate half of them standing at the stove, one hand on the counter for balance, not even bothering with a bowl. They did what I needed them to do. This cranberry pear crumble is the same kind of cooking: fruit going soft in the bowl, butter, something sweet, a little heat, and patience. Betty would’ve made something like this too, if she’d had pears instead of apples, and I think she would’ve approved of using what you have rather than waiting for conditions to be perfect — because conditions are never perfect, and the fruit won’t wait.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 40 min | Total Time: 55 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

Fruit Filling:
4 medium ripe pears, peeled, cored, and sliced 1/4-inch thick
1 cup fresh or frozen cranberries
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
Pinch of salt
Crumble Topping:
3/4 cup old-fashioned rolled oats
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/3 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
Pinch of salt
5 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into small cubes

Instructions

Preheat. Heat your oven to 350°F. Lightly butter a 9-inch cast iron skillet or a 2-quart baking dish.
Make the filling. In a large bowl, combine the sliced pears, cranberries, granulated sugar, cornstarch, vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt. Toss gently until the fruit is evenly coated. Pour into the prepared skillet and spread in an even layer.
Make the crumble topping. In the same bowl, stir together the oats, flour, brown sugar, cinnamon, and salt. Add the cold butter cubes and work them in with your fingers, pressing and rubbing until the mixture holds together in rough, pea-sized clumps. Don’t overwork it — uneven is fine.
Assemble and bake. Scatter the crumble topping evenly over the fruit. Bake for 38 to 42 minutes, until the topping is golden brown and the fruit is bubbling around the edges.
Rest and serve. Let the crumble sit for at least 10 minutes before serving. Good warm, good at room temperature, good the next morning with coffee.

Nutrition (per serving)

Cranberry Pear Crumble — When the Season’s Wrong but the Need Is Right