Posted in Culture, Family, Food, Home, Personal, Relationships

An Instapot and a Pear Tree

The spoon touched his mouth and he began smacking wildly. Until then, my son had been exclusively breastfed and this was his first taste of food. I didn’t carefully select what food it would be, I just grabbed a container from the food bin. Turns out, I grabbed pears.

The following night, we attended a dinner party. My friend Lola began slicing a pear. I was watching her from across the kitchen island and was mesmerized. Either that was the sharpest knife in the world or that pear was made of butter (or “butta” as they say in the LuLaRoe world.) Her children gathered around, hands extended, waiting for their fair share, pear juice running down their face. My husband also had a slice, remarking that pear was probably his favorite fruit and recalling childhood memories of eating it. Lola was now holding my son and asked if she could give him a taste. I told her he had just had pear the day before so I knew he wasn’t allergic. He loved it!

Pears don’t come up in everyday life often and rarely on back to back days. When they do, I am reminded of a scene from the film ‘City of Angels’ where Maggie describes a pear to the angel Seth. Toward the end of the movie, once Seth has become human, Maggie rides her bike to the store and picks out a pear for Seth. (I won’t tell you what comes next because I’m not about that spoiler life. You’ll have to watch for yourself.)

That evening, once we were in bed – the time of day when my husband and I have the best conservations, I was able to confess under the covers and in the comfort of darkness that I had never in my life eaten a pear.

“WHAT? How is that possible?” He said in disbelief.
“I don’t know. I just haven’t. My mom never bought them while I was growing up, so I never bought them as a grown up. I am a product of my environment.”

I mean, I have had pear before. The kind that comes in heavy syrup from a Del Monte fruit cocktail cup. Sometimes at school we would have peaches and pears, also in heavy syrup. What I meant was, I had never held the fruit in my hand and taken a bite from it. I don’t know what that tastes like. I don’t know what the texture feels like on my tongue. I don’t know if they are tart. I don’t know how to tell if they are ripe. I don’t even know when pear season is.

“They taste like an apple, but sweeter. And softer. And jucier. They’re so go—you’ve really never had a pear before? Ever?”
“Nope. Never.” I said, feeling a little self-conscious.
“That’s crazy.”

Maybe it is crazy, but I’ve never had fruit cake either and I’m not about to start this holiday season. Speaking of, maybe I’ll get a pear tree for Christmas from my husband (even though I really want an Instapot… hint, hint)
Don’t get me a partridge though, I already have enough mouths to feed.
pears

Here is my son with his first taste of food, eating pears, something I’ve never had. Ever.

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Author:

I'm a forty-something river goddess, music enthusiast, author, blogger, crafter, couponer, DIYer, budgeter, campground manager, wife, momma to nine, and doting grandmother to four... Mostly, I'm just a gal that has a lot to say.

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