Quinces

Hasty, impetuous cooks may get no joy from this stubborn fruit, but for those with a little patience it will give up its golden secrets: honeyed flesh, a sublime perfume and the power to whisk you to a land of romance.


bowl of fruit sends a message. Pears give a sense of elegance, especially if they are long and slender; apples, no matter how rare the variety, are homely, cheerful and comforting. Figs, with that soft skin, are undeniably sexy. And quinces? Golden and voluptuous, they are such a rare sight they immediately suggest mystery.

Recipes for quinces started to appear in this country in the 17th century and in many ways a quince orchard seems the essence of old-fashioned Englishness. But the quince is also much used – and grown – in the Middle East and the fruit comes with all the exoticism we associate with that region. Both the Greeks and the Romans treasured the quince (the Romans called it a melimelum, meaning ‘honey apple’, as both its flavour and scent are reminiscent of that golden liquid). Perhaps it suits our modern age less well because it is such an inconvenient fruit: you can’t eat it raw; it has hard, tannic flesh; and it sometimes carries a light fur on the skin. Only long, slow cooking makes the quince palatable. It’s a fruit for those who have the patience to wait and work for the reward of sublime eating.

It is the only fruit that can be cooked simply and still result in a mouthful as complex as a great wine

The easiest place to start is by poaching them in water and sugar. Peel and halve them – I rarely core – and simmer in water with sugar, lemon juice and a couple of strips of rind until the flesh is tender. It can take over an hour for a quince to soften and the longer it takes, the more the colour of the flesh changes. Cooked, it can be anything from a pale pink to a glorious deep amber. The poaching liquid needs no reducing as the fruit is packed with pectin (quinces are great for making savoury jellies) so you end up with a lovely syrup. It is the only fruit that can be cooked very simply and still result in a mouthful as complex as a great wine. It tastes like the best Sauternes: honeyed, with a flavour of tropical fruits and a heady, musky scent. Poached quince with a spoonful of clotted cream is one of the most sensational desserts you can serve.

This brings us to an important point about the quince. The dishes you can make with it seem otherworldly but are, in fact, simple to prepare. There are certain ingredients that are so special in their scent, texture and flavour – and their ability to transport us elsewhere – that they work their magic best when not prodded or refined into something complicated. The quince is one of these. It has the ability to lift a crumble to unexpected heights, for example. Poach the fruit, then slice and combine with apples or pears. Add a little of the poaching liquid to some whipped cream to serve. You can also bake poached slices of quince for 20 minutes under a blanket of double cream mixed with sugar and calvados, or use them to make a clafoutis. They’re good in upside-down cake or tarte tatin, or use them as you would pears, cooking them with spices and herbs such as cinnamon, star anise, rosemary and bay.

Quinces are perhaps best known for their role in a Spanish tracklement – now found in many delis – called membrillo. This is quince paste, basically a firm jelly that’s made by simmering equal quantities of quince purée and sugar before being allowed to set. Russet-coloured slivers of this are delicious with strong cheeses (this is how the Spanish eat it) and as an after-dinner sweetmeat. I also love it with pork and lamb, instead of apple or mint jelly. In fact, the quince is much used in sweet-savoury combinations. It is paired with lamb, duck and chicken to make the stews – tagines and khoreshts – of Morocco and Iran, and the resulting dishes are luxurious and exotic. Serve a platter of little quail or poussins that have been cooked with quinces, ginger, saffron and almonds (and perhaps a little honey) and you’ll feel like you should be eating in a Moroccan courtyard filled with fountains and strewn with rose petals.

Ideas for straight savoury dishes are equally simple and abundant. A quince and Bramley sauce, spiked with ginger and with a little texture, is great with pork and wild duck, and poached slices, sautéed at the last minute in some butter, turn the humble pork chop into an elegant supper. Stick halves around a joint of pork (you can add a slug of vin santo or marsala too) for a special Sunday roast, or bake chicken joints with partially cooked quarters of quince, onion and sage leaves, all moistened with olive oil.

Even if you never eat your quinces it’s lovely just to keep a bowl of them in the kitchen – they will perfume the house as they ripen and glow ever more golden. The Thais reputedly keep boxes of mangoes under the bed until the scent is so overpowering that they have to pull them out and cook them. If you can find a decent stash of quinces, I’d advise you to do the same thing.

Diana Henry is a contributor to Market Kitchen, which is screened on UKTV Food at 12.30pm and 8pm on weekdays.

This article is from Waitrose Food Illustrated:
Issue October 2007





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