Poached Pears With Vanilla Sauce

September has this quality for me: the school year is real, the light is different, and September 14th is coming. Every year it approaches the same way, as a fixed point on the calendar that I feel before I see it, a specific weight in the chest that is not grief exactly, is more like: the annual conversation with someone who is not there, conducted in the language of sunflowers and mushroom soup and the particular silence of the Holy Sepulchre cemetery on a Tuesday morning.

This year the September 14th weight has additional layers. Babcia Rose is gone now too, and I am learning what it means to carry two absences at once, which is different from one absence, not doubled but layered, the loss of Babcia Rose sitting on top of the loss of Jess in a way that makes both sharper and both somehow more bearable because they are company for each other.

The school year has a good feeling. My student who watched for three days before speaking has spoken every day this week. The student who needs proximity to my desk told me on Friday that my classroom is his favorite room in the school, which is the sentence I work toward every year, the sentence that means the room is safe. I wrote it in my notes. I will not forget this student.

I made the mushroom soup on Sunday, the full version, the long version, because I wanted it in the house this week in the way you want certain foods in the house before difficult days: warm, ready, there. Dried mushrooms from the Polish grocery on the South Side, the soaking water kept, caraway seeds, a bay leaf, a little cream. I cooked it from Babcia Rose's notebook this time. It was the best batch I have made. I sat at the kitchen table and ate a bowl and thought about Jess and thought about Babcia Rose and the soup held both.

The mushroom soup was already made — already holding what it needed to hold — and I found myself thinking about what to make for the evenings after September 14th, when the day is done but the quiet isn’t. Babcia Rose made poached pears in the autumn, nothing complicated, just fruit and a little sweetness and the smell of vanilla moving through the kitchen, and it turns out that is exactly what I needed beside me this week: something warm, something that takes care of itself on the stove, something that asks very little of you while it gives a great deal back.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 firm pears (Bosc or Anjou), peeled, halved, and cored
3 cups water
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise, seeds scraped
1 cinnamon stick
Zest of 1 lemon
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
For the vanilla sauce:
1 cup heavy cream
2 egg yolks
3 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Instructions

Make the poaching liquid. In a wide saucepan, combine the water, sugar, vanilla bean and seeds, cinnamon stick, lemon zest, and lemon juice. Bring to a gentle simmer over medium heat, stirring until the sugar dissolves, about 3—4 minutes.
Poach the pears. Add the pear halves cut-side down to the simmering liquid. Cook uncovered over medium-low heat, turning once halfway through, until the pears are just tender when pierced with a paring knife, about 18—22 minutes depending on ripeness. Remove the pears with a slotted spoon and set aside.
Reduce the syrup. Raise the heat to medium-high and simmer the poaching liquid until reduced by half and slightly syrupy, about 5 minutes. Discard the cinnamon stick and vanilla pod. Reserve the syrup for drizzling.
Make the vanilla sauce. In a small saucepan, warm the heavy cream over medium-low heat until it just begins to steam — do not boil. In a bowl, whisk together the egg yolks and sugar until pale. Slowly pour the hot cream into the yolk mixture, whisking constantly. Return everything to the saucepan and cook over low heat, stirring continuously with a wooden spoon, until the sauce thickens enough to coat the back of the spoon, about 5—7 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in the vanilla extract.
Serve. Arrange two pear halves in each shallow bowl. Spoon the vanilla sauce over and around the pears, then drizzle with a little of the reserved poaching syrup. Serve warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Poached Pears With Vanilla Sauce — What I Make When the Week Needs Something Gentle