By October. The pecans are falling from the trees around Gloria and James house. This is a yearly event that James treats as a small harvest festival. He goes out with a bucket and picks them up from the yard and brings them in and they spend a Sunday afternoon cracking and shelling them at the kitchen table. I have done this with them since I was fourteen. The first year I did not know why we were doing it. By the second year I understood: it is a ritual, a marking of the season, and also you end up with two pounds of pecans that go into the pecan pie at Thanksgiving.
We did the pecan shelling on Sunday. Gloria made coffee and James told stories while his hands worked, which is his mode, and I cracked pecans and listened. The stories were not always linear. He went from talking about a man he worked with in 1985 to talking about the best fishing spot on the Coosa River to something that happened to him as a boy in Montgomery. I did not need them to be in order. I just needed to hear them. I am learning that this is what listening is for sometimes.
I have been writing in the blog again, two posts this week, one about the chili and one about what it is like to cook for one person when you grew up mostly not cooking at all. That second post got some comments from people saying they recognized what I was describing. I did not expect strangers to recognize it. But they do. People know what it is to feel like cooking is a language you were never taught and are learning late. More of us than I thought.
After we finished shelling on Sunday, I had a small pile of pecans that were not quite enough for the Thanksgiving pie — maybe a cup, a little more. Gloria said to take them home and do something with them before they sat, and I knew right away what I wanted. A crisp felt right: something that lets the pecans do real work in the topping, that is warm and a little dark from the chocolate, that tastes like a Sunday afternoon in October is supposed to taste. This is what I made that evening, and it was exactly the thing.
Pear and Dark Chocolate Crisp with Pecan Crumble
Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 40 min | Total Time: 1 hour | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- For the filling:
- 4 medium ripe pears (Bosc or Anjou), peeled, cored, and sliced 1/4 inch thick
- 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
- 1 tablespoon cornstarch
- 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
- 1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
- 1/4 teaspoon fine salt
- 2 oz dark chocolate (70% or higher), roughly chopped
- For the pecan crumble topping:
- 3/4 cup old-fashioned rolled oats
- 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
- 1/2 cup roughly chopped fresh pecans
- 1/3 cup packed light brown sugar
- 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
- 1/4 teaspoon fine salt
- 6 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
Instructions
- Preheat. Heat your oven to 350°F. Lightly butter an 8x8-inch or similar 2-quart baking dish.
- Make the filling. In a large bowl, combine the sliced pears, granulated sugar, cornstarch, vanilla, cinnamon, ginger, and salt. Toss gently until the pears are evenly coated. Fold in the chopped dark chocolate. Pour the mixture into the prepared baking dish and spread into an even layer.
- Make the crumble. In the same bowl (no need to wash it), combine the oats, flour, pecans, brown sugar, cinnamon, and salt. Add the cold butter cubes and work them in with your fingertips, pressing and rubbing until the mixture holds together in clumps and no dry flour remains. It should look rough and uneven — that’s what you want.
- Top and bake. Scatter the crumble evenly over the pear filling, covering it in a loose, thick layer. Bake for 38 to 42 minutes, until the topping is deep golden brown and the filling is bubbling around the edges.
- Rest and serve. Let the crisp rest for at least 10 minutes before serving. The filling thickens as it cools. Serve warm, plain or with a scoop of vanilla ice cream or a spoonful of plain whipped cream.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 390 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 20g | Carbs: 52g | Fiber: 5g | Sodium: 160mg