Pear & Gorgonzola on Bitter Greens

Pear and Gorgonzola

2 whole pears cut into cubes

1 handful of toasted walnuts

Ana recited the recipe as she staged the counter for the morning’s shoot.

How many times had she rehearsed the recipe in her head? Out loud in the mirror or to others in the studio? Too many times and today was no different. After all, this was what all the hard work added up to, and she couldn’t blow it based on minor technicalities like forgetting the recipe.

“Ana in 10 minutes we’re live,” the director said, motioning her to take her mark, behind the portable counter facing camera one, then two.

Conversational, always conversational never talking down or over, she recited to herself.

She looked over the table one last time, moving the pear bowl 1/8 of an inch, then the package of walnuts to wiping the specks of nut dust off the edge to hitting the switch on the electrical burner.

“In 5, 4, 3, 2, 1,” the director counted off, pointing to Ana to start.

“Hello and welcome to this week's Taste of our Table, today we’re featuring one of my favorites, “Pear and Gorgonzola on Bit-ter.” She paused, smiled at the camera as the lights flickered overhead. Her eyes rose to the ceiling. Was this a warning to request another take of her intro or to change the recipe all together? After all, she wasn’t exactly comfortable reliving the past.

“There’s a storm blowing over,” said one of the assistants as the lights went off, and the emergency lights shot on.

Blinking, she tried not to stare into the glowing lights, though her eyes were drawn immediately to them with a flood of memories …

“It’ll be okay, Ana, I promise,” said Vikram, holding her hand. “Just promise me you will not cut down the tree before I’ve returned.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Ana, we’re going to take a small break here, until we adjust the cameras to the alternative lights. Meanwhile, you can hang out here or go to the green room, kick back and relax.”

She chose the green room, it was the least likely place for the memories to resurface. Sitting on the edge of the couch, she brushed the tiniest of wrinkles from her apron caused by slouching or getting too comfortable. Couches were her crutch, she’d spent countless days there just sitting, wondering, and crying.

Again, she listed the ingredients aloud, counting them on her fingers. “Two whole pears, one...” she stopped when she caught a glimpse of the pear in her hand. Why had she grabbed the prop of all things? It wasn’t like they were indispensable but the star of the show. Lifting the pear to her face, she inhaled. The sweet, floral scents danced around her nose, perfect for a bite. She took a big bite before she realized what she’d done.

“Sha-zah,” she screamed, jumping off the couch, unable to decipher if the shout was because of what she’d done or how aromatic the flavors danced around her palate.

Pear

“How many have we eaten so far?”

“Too many,” said Vikram lying on the blanket beside her, staring upward at the canopy of pear leaves cascading overhead. “But, they are so good.”

“That they are,” she said, wiping her wet hands over her floral skirt. She didn’t mind, it would all wash out.

“I spy the best ones on top.”

Ana agreed, they were much bigger and golden up there.

“We should have some.” He stood, searching the landscape for a suitable lift to elevate him just high enough to grab one of the bigger ones.

She stood too, dusting the blades of grass from the back of her skirt, “my papa keeps a ladder over there.”

Vikram ran off, and returned shortly, teetering with the oversize wood ladder in his hands. He laid the ladder inside the branches, pushing it deeper into the leaves until it sat securely on the trunk.

“I’m going up.”

“You be careful,” she said, grabbing hold of the wobbling ladder each time he climbed onto the next rung. “Maybe we should wait or try something different?” she offered, just as the ladder began to sway, and he jumped, plummeting to the ground with a laugh.

“That tree doesn’t like me much,” he dusted off his trousers.

“Let me on your shoulders,” she suggested, “and I’ll reach them.”

Squatting, Ana threw one leg over his shoulder followed by the next. Slowly, he stood, slightly off-kilter as he worked to balance her securely on his shoulders. Vikram took two steps, and Ana grabbed a clump of leaves, drawing one of the branches to her. She stretched her hand while pushing off of his shoulders, struggling to reach the biggest one with all of her might. Inches away from grabbing the luscious stone fruit, the branch broke, sending them back onto the ground. Ana landed in his lap with a thud as a melody of pears pounced around them.

“You said you wanted a pear,” she laughed, handing him one of the big ones.

“Sure, just not the whole tree.”

Gorgonzola

2 whole pears, seeded, skinned left on; cut into cubes

1 handful of toasted walnuts

1 small block of Gorgonzola cheese, crumbled

What would one missing pear do? After all, there was a whole bowl left on the table.

Tossing the fruit between her hands, she took another bite as the juicy goodness ran down her fingers onto her chin hitting the lip of the apron, where the cameras never filmed.

Outside the window, the winds grew. Tiny debris and raindrops hit the windowpane, sending chills down her spine. Solemnly, she closed her eyes and listened. How often she wished that he could hear the melody inside of the rain like her. Natures calling, ever so sweet and melancholy.

She stumbled backward than forward as she held onto the clothesline than the rainwater bin to steady herself as she made her way back to the house. The backdoor swung violently in the wind as a gust of air tore through the outside louvers then barrel as she watched it tumble down the road. Slamming the door closed, she shoved the table in front of it, stacking the chairs and bench on top. She looked back at the window as glass shattered around her feet.

In the distance, the phone rang.

“Hello,” she gasped.

“Are you okay?”

“Better most days than today, it’s like a storm came outta nowhere?”

“It’s all over the radar; did you not see the news?”

Ana stared into the distance. There was more to running a farm than staring at a radar. Who was to coax the chickens back into their house, who would keep the pigs from waddling in mud when the storm arose? Where were the ducks, the geese, when did horsey run into the open field, and nowhere to be found? At least not today in this brewing storm.

“Are you there?”

“Yes.”

“How is it?”

“Not the best, the trees are lying down with branches on the ground.”

Vikram stared at the screen, and said a quick prayer, “get somewhere safe until this blows over.”

“When are you coming home?”

“Soon.”

“You said that that the last time.”

“And I meant it then too. Ana please, I’m doing this for both of us. One day these pears will be golden, and it’ll be because of the hard work that we do.”

She kept quiet, thinking, he could be there with her if he wanted to. Whatever, it was there at the grove, kept him there and away from their home.

“Go to the laundry room, take a pillow, flashlight, pen, and paper and ride out the storm there.”

“But, I don’t feel much like...”

“Write me a letter.”

“Okay,” her voice faded, “I guess...”

Penned between the washer and dryer, Ana propped the pillow, resting her notepad on her knee. Scribbling the date in the top right corner, she wrote:

Bitter Greens

2 whole pears cut into cubes

1 handful of toasted walnuts

quarter slice of purple onion

handful of kale, chopped

pinch fresh mint, finely diced

dash of salt, a dash of pepper

drizzle of vinegar, and oil

The flashlight faded at dusk, leaving her to sit the remainder of the night in total darkness. Vikram hadn’t put in the safety, backup lights like he said he would, and she couldn’t fathom the last place she’d seen candles. So, she sat there, wishing for the warmth of his hand wrapped around hers, and quietly repeated the ingredients of the recipe.

A soft tap at the door, she whirled around to see Rick, the production manager standing in the doorway “Ana,” he said, “let’s try this again, we think we’ve got the lights under control.”

She wiped her mouth of the drooling juice, hiding the core behind her back.

“Is that one of the pears from this morning?”

She shook her head, no, presenting the last bite.

Snatching it from her hand, he tossed it into the nearest trash, “these aren’t cheap,” he said, “the sponsor barely gave us a full case. You would think they were gold or something.”

“Or something,” she repeated as the set came into focus. Not another recipe about pears hadn’t there been enough already. What if she just wrote the recipe down, and had someone read it aloud? What if she placed it as an article in the newsletter, newspaper, or magazine? What if people hated pears just as much as some despised plums or apples or even oranges? What if?

Chewing the last of the pear, she took her mark in front of the counter and began reciting the recipe in her head, subliminally wondering what Vikram would have thought of her today.

If only he’d only stayed.