Pear and Pickled Radish

A ripe pear is a lovely thing, and they are still with us. Tubby as a cherub, their flesh butter-soft, especially if you watch over them as carefully as you might a sick child, and have the patience to wait for the day they reach perfection. It is a fleeting moment, more so than even an avocado.

I probably take more care over ripening a plate of pears than I would a dish of peaches at the height of summer. (The pear’s window of perfection is open for a shorter time than that of the stone fruits.)

And so it is today—four cossetted, perfect pears that need using while they are at their most heavenly. Two of them are eaten at breakfast, slowly, with the sort of respect you might reserve for a piece of lovingly sliced sashimi. The other two are translucent with juice, their flesh almost pure white, and should be dispatched as soon as possible.

I have never done this before, but I have a fancy to match them to some sweet-sour pickles. Radishes, contrastingly crunchy and peppery, take rather well to modern pickling, the sort that is less about preserving and more about making something to shake other flavours from their shyness. I have a feeling they will form a beautiful partnership with the pears. And so they do.