Homer may have called pears the “fruit of the gods,” but I’ve always been an apple person. Pears, it seems, are temperamental, fragile, unpredictable. Who can really guess when a pear might be at the right texture to eat, at that near flash of time between rock-hard and mushy? And once that inscrutable ripeness has been achieved, a pear is delicate and easily wounded. Like a rose. Or a piece of china.

Frankly, pears demand too much emotional nurturing for my taste.

Barbara Flores has the opposite point of view. A graphic designer, Flores was drawn to pears visually. She liked the feminine shape, the Renaissance colors, and only after her eye was sated did she begin to give thought to aroma and flavor. The moment she tasted a White Doyenne – one of 50 varieties in American markets – it was over. The buttery Chardonnay tones dripped into her consciousness like a love potion.

From that formative experience came Flores’ “The Great Book of Pears,” a horticultural, garden and culinary celebration of the pear. Whatever can be said about the pear, Flores says it and while her commentary is never as luscious as the overall design of the book, the seriousness with which she represents pears was sufficient to persuade me to give them another taste.

So I planned a dinner based on the recipes in Flores’ book. Five courses, all with pears. I invited two guests. Then two more. Then two more. Then two more. Then I bought 30 pears.

Pears, by the way, are not a happy crop in Maine. Small, private orchards have managed to flourish in southern parts of the state, but this far north the frost comes too soon for the finicky fruit. Therefore, we have to rely on markets to import varieties grown in other places, such as California, Virginia and Oregon.

Usually, stores carry Bosc, Bartlett, red and Asian pears. Once you read Flores’ book, however, you’ll long for others: perhaps the Tarusa Crimson from New Zealand or the Passe Crassane from France or the Jargonelle – so ancient no one knows its provenance.

In the meantime, the best way to ripen stony pears – plucked too early from their nurturing branches – is to place them in a paper bag over night or until softened to your taste. If you decide to use pears in a recipe, be sure to note what level of ripeness the recipe calls for.

Now, to the pear dinner, which could easily be called the pear day, since I spent from morning until evening either buying and then peeling, dicing, coring and slicing the pears. It’s also worth mentioning that I, like the pear, am often too impatient and demanding and therefore, following a recipe is a bother that I frequently choose to forego.

That is simply a warning about the first course, which I made into a variation of Flores’ grilled pear, chile and asiago quesadillas. Early in the day, I filled flour tortillas with a mixture of butter-sauteed onions and slivers of Bartlett pear, and fresh arugula with grated gorgonzola. As the guests arrived in the kitchen, I placed the folded tortillas onto a hot grill, browned them on each side until the cheese melted, and then cut the tortillas into triangles and served them with a very cold Sauvignon Blanc.

The next course, a celeriac and Asian pear salad, moved us into the dining room, where a bowl of pears presided over the rest of the evening. The salad had also been prepared earlier and decanted by ice-cream scoop onto chilled plates. Because celeriac, also known as celery root, may well be not only the ugliest but the palest of all foods, a garnish of fresh parsley and grape tomatoes were crucial to the success of this crunchy, creamy dish.

For the grilled Bartletts and gingered pork chops, we had visited Sunset Acres Farm in North Brockville because, on the rare occasion that we have meat as a main dish, we want it to be fresh and organic. The marinade for the chops was a combination of garlic, fresh ginger, lemon zest and lots of black pepper. Next to the chops on the broiling pans, we placed halved and peeled pears that had been coated in butter. The last and vital step was the addition of a spoonful of marmalade in the heart of the pear.

So few dishes could look more beautiful by candlelight and companioned with a hefty Catena Chardonnay.

Throughout the evening, a stone pot of warmed pear fruit compote stayed on the table as a condiment to the pork and as a sweet treat between flavors.

The final dinner course was a winter Seckel salad, with thin slices of Bosc pears soaked in and crispened by a Dijon dressing. Parmesan cheese with roasted walnuts (a substitution I made for pecans) added the exact, perfect texture and flavor.

“I love this damn pear dinner,” one of the guests said.

But we weren’t through yet. An anise red pear tart was the last pear event of the evening – served in slices with vanilla bean ice cream.

Here is what I now have to say about pears: They make a lovely meal and seem to, indeed, have an echo of ages past and a magic of simple glory. Was this unexpected to me? Yes, a little. Will I make a pear dinner again? Only the gods know for sure. But pears do seem to be showing up and adding an element of surprise to dinnertime at our house these days.

The following recipes are taken from “The Great Book of Pears,” by Barbara Jeanne Flores, with photographs by Susanne Kaspar. (2000, Ten Speed Press, Berkeley, Calif., $16.95)

Celeriac and Asian Pear Salad

(Serves 6)

Dressing:

3 tablespoons mayonnaise

3 tablespoons sour cream

3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

1 tablespoon Dijon mustard

1 tablespoon honey

1 teaspoon salt

freshly ground black pepper to taste

2 tablespoons toasted sunflower seeds

1 pound celeriac, peeled and shredded

1 Hosui or Shinseiki Asian pear, peeled, cored and shredded

chopped fresh chives for garnish

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Toast the sunflower seeds in the over for 7 to 8 minutes.

Combine dressing ingredients in small bowl.

Add the dressing to the celeriac immediately after shredding, to avoid discoloration. Stir in the Asian pear and sunflower seeds and garnish with chives. The salad is best if refrigerated for hours.

Grilled Bartletts and Gingered Pork Chops

(Serves 4)

2 large garlic cloves, crushed

2 tablespoons finely grated fresh ginger

1 tablespoon grated lemon zest

salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

4 rib pork chops, 3/4-inch thick

4 firm ripe pears, peeled, halved and cored

2 tablespoons butter, melted

1/4 cup marmalade

Preheat the broiler. In a small bowl, make a marinade of the garlic, ginger, lemon zest, salt, and pepper. Coat both sides of the pork chops with the mixture and set them aside for 15 minutes. Prepare the pear halves and toss them in a bowl with the melted butter to coat. Place the pear halves (cut side down) and chops on a broiler rack. Broil for 5 minutes. Turn both pears and chops. Place 1/2 teaspoon orange marmalade in each pear and brush the remaining marmalade over the pork chops. Broil another 2 to 3 minutes, or until the pork is cooked through and the pears are lightly browned. Serve the pork chops topped with the grilled pears and cooking juices.

Winter Seckel Salad

(Serves 10)

1/2 cup pecans, coarsely chopped

Pear Dressing:

2 tablespoons white wine vinegar

1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar

2 teaspoons Dijon mustard

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

? cup extra virgin olive oil

4 ripe Seckel or Bosc pears, peeled, cored, and cut into thin wedges

1 head butter lettuce

1 small head radicchio

2 bunches arugula (4 ounces each)

1/2 cup coarsely grated Parmesan cheese

Preheat over to 350 degrees. Toast the pecan pieces in oven for 7 to 8 minutes.

To make the dressing, mix the vinegars, mustard, salt and pepper together in a large bowl. Gradually whisk in the olive oil until blended. Add the pear wedges and coat the pears with dressing. Set aside for at least 15 minutes.

Tear the lettuce, radicchio and arugula leaves into bite-sized pieces. Put the torn salad greens in a large bowl. Add the toasted pecans and grated Parmesan. Just before serving, toss the greens gently with the dressing.

Pear Fruit Compote

8 ounces dried pears

8 ounces mixed dried cranberries, apricots, peaches, prunes, raisins

11/2 cups of water or to cover

zest of 1/2 lemon

2 tablespoons pear eau-de-vie or brandy (optional)

Place the fruits in a pan and add the water, lemon zest and eau-de-vie, if using. Simmer for 11/2 hours over very low heat, or until the fruit is soft and the liquid rich and syrupy. Store in the refrigerator. Use the compote for a meat accompaniment, as a natural sugar substitute, over ice cream, or blended for a quick jam.

Anise Red Pear Tart

(Serves 6)

Red wine poaching liquid:

3 cups dry red wine

1/2 cup packed brown sugar

1 teaspoon aniseed

1 vanilla bean, split, or 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

4 cloves

zest of 1/2 lemon, cut into 1/2-inch strips

7 large Bosc pears, peeled, cored, and cut into 1/2-inch slices

Short crust pastry:

1 cup of bleached all-purpose flour

1/4 teaspoon grated lemon zest

1/2 cup salted butter, cut in pieces

1 tablespoon water

1/2 teaspoon almond extract

mint sprigs for garnish

To make the poaching liquid, combine the red wine, brown sugar, aniseed, cloves, vanilla bean or extract, and lemon zest in a large pan. Bring to a full boil. Add the pear slices and reduce heat to a simmer for 5 minutes, or until the pears are barely tender. Remove the pears from the heat. Marinate the pears for 4 hours or overnight, turning them so they cover evenly.

To make the pastry, mix the flour, sugar, and lemon zest. Work the butter into the flour mixture with your fingers until crumbly. Add the water and almond extract and mix until the dough forms a ball. Cover and refrigerate for 30 minutes. Press the dough into the bottom and up the sides of a 101/2-inch tart pan.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Remove the pear slices from the liquid with a slotted spoon and place them on the shell in a spiral. Boil the poaching liquid until thick and baste the pears. Bake for 25 minutes, or until light brown. Cool for 20 minutes and serve with whipped cream and a garnish of mint.