Actor Hugh Laurie (yes, he of the sardonic British wit and House acting fame, although I know and love him best for his role in Jeeves and Wooster) apparently put out a blues album a few years ago. Who knew he had such versatility?! We all contain multitudes, as it turns out. Upon being asked why he went out on such a limb, career-wise, he said this: “It’s a terrible thing, I think, in life to wait until you’re ready. I have this feeling now that actually no one is ever ready to do anything. There is almost no such thing as ready. There is only now. And you may as well do it now. Generally speaking, now is as good a time as any.”
Well said, Hugh. And not to rely solely on other people’s words but I also stumbled upon this line from the French poet Guillaume Apollinaire, which echoes the sentiment in a slightly different way. He says, “Now and then it’s good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy.”
I was talking about this just yesterday with a friend, as we took a walk with her two-year-old twins down to the water (she on one side of the street, her girls toddling merrily ahead of her, and I on the other side of the street, holding my soft bread-dough-esque loaf of a baby, his head resting sleepily on my shoulder). It’s funny, we remarked, how easily one can spend time looking ahead—making money to enjoy at some later date or working late in anticipation of some future rest. Babies have a way of forcing you into the present, although less in a let’s slow down and savor the moment way and more in a I need 5 more hands and can’t focus on anything but trying to wrangle this squirmy human.
In these months, time seems to expand and contract at odd intervals and at unfamiliar speeds. Some days it feels like we’ve been suspended in this strange bubble forever, the days blurring together, set against the same four walls of the same rooms. Other times I sense that the months have flown by in an instant, with no outings or novelties or changes to pin down time or give it edges.
Newness comes on more gradually these days, generally not arising from a sudden departure from the norm, but rather in smaller incremental stages. We stack days upon days and they turn into weeks.
But…BUT…now and again there is novelty! Surprise! Change! I take the ferry across the Long Island Sound and drive four hours up the coast and suddenly I’m in a new house with new smells and new sounds. I sleep in a new bed. I walk on different roads and instead of hearing the gulls squawking at sunrise, I hear the eerie echo of a loon across the water. I eat different meals for dinner and I use different shampoo. Every little change thrills me: these wine glasses are shorter and thicker than mine, their curved base feeling pleasantly hefty against my palm. The air has the distinctive resiny smell of pine.
Even when I come back, I try to remain open more, cracking little fissures in my well-worn routine to let some new light in. Sometimes it comes on without trying. For example, I discover that I have three pears and a single apple in the vegetable drawer. (Why there? Great question. I was having it keep company with six or so hazelnuts leftover from making cookies, a stray shallot, and a few boxes of Vermont Creamery salted cultured butter. I didn’t want them to be lonely.)
I had a hankering for a muffin-like quick bread, as one does. Having that sort of loaf (one that keeps for days, freezes well, and has a deliciously crunchy topping that you can chip away at every time you pass the fridge) on hand, is a smart move.
Did I have eggs? Of course not. No eggs, but plenty of butter. Fifty pounds of flour, sure, but no eggs. At least three jars of cinnamon (two regular and one Vietnamese) but no eggs. Cool, great planning on my part.
I’m not a lady who trifles with the whole “flax egg replacer” situation, I’m sorry to say, and I didn’t have any canned chickpeas to rely on the aquafaba trick (subbing chickpea soaking liquid for egg whites). A quick consultation on the internet yielded this strange and puzzling hint: seltzer water.
Apparently you can sub 1/4 cup of plain seltzer water for an egg in any recipe that is supposed to be “fluffy”—think muffins, cakes, scones, and so on. Bear in mind that you still need fat, as seltzer is clearly not bringing anything to the party in that regard.
Since I had both butter and oil, I gave it a whirl, and you guys, it works. The bread was perfect: tender and moist but not dense, with delicious sweet pockets of soft, baked fruit. I added a bit of cardamom, but you could do cinnamon or nutmeg, or any combination of the three.
I used pears and a teeeeeny bit of apple, but I’ve called for just pears in the recipe. Feel free to use half pears and half apples, or all apples, or even other fruits (I imagine quince, fig, and plum would all be nice).
**If you forget to (or don’t feel like) melting the butter, you can just add it at soft room temperature and it’ll be fine! I can attest to this.
Spiced Pear Bread
Makes one 9” x 5” loaf
1/2 cup (120g) vegetable, olive, or coconut oil (I used vegetable oil)
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
1 cup (213g) brown sugar
1/2 cup plain seltzer water
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 1/2 cups (300g) all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup (170g) plain full-fat yogurt (Greek or regular)
3 medium pears, peeled and chopped into small pieces
2 tablespoons turbinado sugar
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Lightly grease a 9” x 5” loaf pan (don’t try to use a smaller pan or your batter will overflow as it bakes).
Beat together the oil, melted butter, and brown sugar until well-combined (I use a stand mixer for this batter).
Add the seltzer water and vanilla and mix—it’ll slosh around a bit so mix carefully, and don’t worry about it all coming together smoothly. It’ll combine well in the next step.
Add the flour, cardamom, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Mix on low speed to combine, then add the yogurt and continue mixing until the batter is smooth.
Fold in the chopped pears, then scrape the batter into your prepared pan and smooth the top.
Sprinkle generously with the turbinado sugar and bake for about 60 minutes (start checking around 55, and know that it could take up to 75)—the bread is ready when the top is nicely browned and a tester inserted into the center comes out with no wet batter clinging to it.
Remove from the oven and cool fully before slicing. I usually just let it cool fully in the pan, but you can let it cool for 15 or so and then flip it out onto a wire rack to finish cooling if you prefer.