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Pear Chips
Pare firm pears, then slice thin in bits. To each pound of the prepared pears allow three fourths a pound of sugar, half an ounce of green ginger root, scraped or grated, and half a large lemon. Sprinkle the sugar over the pears in layers, squeezing over the lemon juice. The grated rind of the lemon may be added, if desired. Let stand over night, then heat slowly to the boiling point. Cook until clear and thick like marmalade. If preferred, the ginger root may be crushed and cooked with the fruit, in a little bag, which can be removed before the fruit is stored in the glasses.
Raisiné Take equal weights of pears and grapes.
Wash and stem the grapes, then let simmer till soft, in just enough water to keep them from burning; press through a sieve; add the pears, pared, cored, and cut in thin slices; let simmer, stirring often until the pear is tender, then add three fourths a cup of sugar for each cup of material. Cook and store as for marmalade. Press the grapes through the sieve with a pestle.
Two related pear preserves, both worked at the same ratio of roughly three parts sugar to four parts fruit by weight. Neither needs pectin; the long slow cooking and the sugar do the work.
- "Chips" means slicesNothing is fried or dried. Pears pared and cut thin — an eighth of an inch or less — hold their shape through the sugaring and end up translucent slivers suspended in syrup. A mandoline or a steady knife matters more here than anything else in the method.
- Weigh, don't measureA pound of prepared pears to 12 oz sugar is the working ratio; scale up as needed. Half an ounce of ginger root is roughly a 1- to 2-inch knob, depending on thickness. Half a large lemon yields roughly 1 1/2 tablespoons juice. Use a scale rather than cups — sliced fruit packs unpredictably.
- Green ginger rootThis is simply fresh ginger, called "green" to distinguish it from the dried and ground kind. Grated ginger disappears into the preserve; bruised whole pieces in a spice bag give heat and perfume that you can pull out before potting.
- The overnight stand is not optionalSugar draws juice from the pears and forms the syrup before any heat is applied. Skipping it means adding water, which dilutes flavour and lengthens the boil until the slices break down.
- Heat slowly at the startUndissolved sugar on the bottom of the pan scorches quickly. Bring it up gently, stirring, until the syrup is clear, and only then let it boil.
- Judging "clear and thick like marmalade"Expect 30-45 minutes of open boiling. The pear slices turn translucent and the syrup sheets off a cold spoon rather than dripping; about 220F on a thermometer at sea level.
- Raisiné and the sieveThe recipe specifies only grapes; slip-skin sorts such as Concord would have been the likely American choice. Simmer until the skins burst, then press through a sieve to leave seeds and skins behind — a food mill is faster than the pestle the original calls for. The "three fourths a cup of sugar for each cup of material" is measured after the grape pulp and pears are combined.
- Storing"Cook and store as for marmalade" meant hot jars and often only a paraffin seal. Follow a current tested process for a boiling-water bath instead; these are high-sugar, acid preserves and take well to it.
- YieldFour pounds of pears with sugar in proportion gives a batch of half-pint jars; the exact count depends on how far the syrup is boiled down. The raisiné reduces further and yields less.
Pear chips belong to the end-of-season economy that shapes most of this book: firm, underripe, or windfall pears that will not ripen well are sliced thin, sugared, and turned into something that keeps. The ginger-and-lemon treatment is a long-standing English and American habit for pears, whose own flavour is mild enough to want help. Raisiné is the French name for a thick fruit paste cooked down with grape must or grape pulp instead of, or alongside, sugar — the word comes from raisin, grape, and the preserve is most closely associated with Burgundy and neighbouring wine-growing districts, where it was made when sugar was expensive and the grape harvest supplied its own sweetness. That this frugal country conserve appears in an early twentieth-century American canning manual, sitting beside pear chips and marmalades, shows how far French domestic cookery had entered the vocabulary of the American housekeeping press.