Predicting a Crisp

Whether it’s thanks to convention or some surely outmoded logic, most food writers tend to write about their cooking, dining, or eating experience et cetera after they’ve eaten. I’ve found this to be a bit too constricting for my tastes, so I’m here to change that. Tonight I’ll write about what I’m going to cook and eat tonight before I cook and eat it and I promise no rejoinder from my future self, who will most likely have plenty of comments, corrections, and unnecessary insights.

Make no mistake, this movement found its roots not in ideology but in convenience, as it was the shortest route from A to B, the greatest compromise, and if it happens to inspire a new school of food writing – or any kind of writing that depends on relating experiences – so be it. I will assume full and extra credit when the time comes, but until then, I’m happy just to get some words on blog.

For would I were to wait until after tonight’s experience, there would be no entry on this blog tomorrow. Tonight is the second Wednesday Night Club, and a crucial component of that club is participation, and participate I will. This participation not only separates me from the computer while I’m participating, but since the participation involves lavish indulgence in all drinks alcoholic, it is necessary that I avoid the computer even after the participation.

Last week this dilemma presented itself and convenience came to the rescue even then. Last Thursday I had to be at work early thanks to an afternoon commitment I’d made away from the office. One perk of early arrival is the lack of pressure to do real work and the freedom to write. That’s why last Thursday there was new material, as I was able to get cracking at seven o’clock in the morning, less than twelve hours after my normal time to write.

But this week there is no need to be at work early tomorrow, and therefore (prepare for a bit of futurism here), getting out of bed early’s impossibility lies somewhere beyond indubitable. So that’s why this part time futurist must write his entry now.

On the menu – leftover pasta I never mentioned, although it was quite significant at the time, featuring fresh fettuccini, heirloom tomatoes, spinach, and a dash of cream. The pasta will play only a bit role in tonight’s feast, however, as I will be returning for the third installment with my trustiest ingredient of late, the pear. Yes, I have a whole new bag of pears and some leftovers from last time. I have a Bosc, a D’anjou, and a heap of Bartletts. All of them will be cut up into small pieces, thrown into whatever baking dish we may have, covered with a delightful medley of sugar, nuts, cinnamon and butter, and baked until it’s a Pear Crisp.

Just imagine the joy we’ll feel when it’s getting late, the beer’s flowing unabated, and the conversations have taken turns not even the best futurist could predict. (Someday I’m going to do a serious post about futurists. I keep on reading about them, what with all this apocalypse stuff and the long tail economic model that the Wired editor just wrote a book about). All of a sudden, smells of Santa Claus in August start wafting throughout the place and then forty minutes later, bang, what’s this? it’s a Pear Crisp for you to dig into. This is going to happen in the future.

I’m curious about how the pears will taste compared to the heavily caramelized tart from Monday. I see an adjective coming from me: good, and an adjective coming from attendees: tastes like apples. I guarantee that at least one person says they taste like apples.