Eating euphemistically

There's a thin line between "caramelized'' and "burned,'' a short step from "smoky" to "scorched.'' I opted for the more optimistic descriptions for my poached pears. I stumbled upon Forelle pears at the market -- small, and sweet-smelling -- and thought they would be perfect for poaching in red wine. They were. I had to wing it -- 500 cookbooks and I couldn't put my hands on the recipe that I knew was lurking among them.

I poured enough red wine -- a Chianti -- into small pot to cover the pears, which I had peeled. I added agave syrup, a cinnamon stick, crushed allspice, cloves, nutmeg and peppercorns to add heat and bite. The pears simmered and tinted themselves in this deep red liquid - so far, so good. I took them out once they were tender and raised the heat a bit to reduce the liquid to syrupy sweetness.

I served dinner in the meantime -- mistake. Our guest spotted the smoke -- or was it merely steam -- first. The stuff was syrupy, that's for sure, and flirting with vaporized.

Served it anyway - it coated the pears beautifully and actually tasted rich, fruity and concentrated. The only real disaster was the Edy's. I had planned to serve a small scoop of vanilla ice cream with each pear. Forget to put in in the freezer. Hours later, when I found it in still resting comfortably in the shopping bag, I figured no one needed another beverage.