This sandwich answers a sharp blue cheese not with another intensity but with cool, watery sweetness, and that contrast is the whole of it. Gorgonzola is the Lombard blue, its penicillium veining giving a salty, mineral, piquant edge over a fatty, lactic body; in the soft dolce form it spreads, in the aged piccante it crumbles. Pear is its deliberate opposite: crisp or barely yielding, mild, faintly grassy, carrying a clean sugar and a lot of cold juice. Laid together on bread the two do not blend so much as alternate, a salty creamy stroke and then a cool sweet one, the pear washing the palate of the blue between bites and the blue keeping the pear from reading as merely sweet fruit on bread. It is a sandwich built on relief rather than collision.
The craft is the ripeness of the fruit and the form of the cheese. The pear is used just short of fully soft, sliced thin, because an underripe one is hard and flavourless and an overripe one turns to wet pulp that floods the bread and loses its structure against the cheese; the aim is a slice that stays distinct and cold in the bite. A soft gorgonzola dolce is spread so the salt sits in an even base for the fruit to cut through; a piccante is crumbled so the sweet and the sharp meet in alternating pockets rather than a single blended note. The bread is plain and sturdy, kept out of the way, because the entire event is the dialogue between the cheese and the fruit and an assertive loaf would only intrude on it. Walnut or honey is sometimes added, but at its cleanest the sandwich is just the blue and the cold pear, and nothing has to mediate them.
The variations stay in the same family and the same logic of one foil for the blue: gorgonzola with walnuts, which answers it with bitterness instead of sweetness, the version finished with honey or a few leaves of rocket, the one built on the firmer piccante. Each of those deserves its own article rather than being crowded in here.