Preserved Quince

I think you should try to smell a quince today.

If you haven't grown up with this fruit, its perfume is unusual but still somehow familiar; it's the missing fruit smell from your vast register. They smell ancient and warm and spiced with a clear citrus spike. I suggest them as an antidote to rain that has been falling angrily for hours and will most likely persist for the rest of the day, week, month.

Of course, you can smell quince all you want, but I don't think you should take a bite.* You can't eat them raw because bad things will happen to you. Witness:

•  Adam took a bite and got banished from Eden and had to wear clothes.
• J almost ate one of the ones pictured above while I was out at the pub. He would also have been banished and subjected to my fierce and angry wrath: quince aren't easy to find in Glasgow and these Spanish babies were not cheap. Fortunately J felt a sense of foreboding and decided not to proceed with his snack and domestic harmony reigned.
• I took a wee nibble as I was cutting them up. It wasn't actually that bad, but you know when you eat a persimmon that's not ripe and your whole mouth feels like it's full of aggressive cotton balls and you want to scrape all of the skin out of your oral cavity as soon as possible? Well there was a soupcon of that, so I would imagine a bigger bite would not be pleasant.

But as soon as you cook them, they soften, banish the bitterness and release only their sweetly complex flavour. And most fantastically of all, they turn from boring white into amazing pink, coral and red. Look:

This is my pot of poaching quince right after they've all been sliced and added to the sugar syrup (I dissolved about 2 cups of sugar in two cups of water).

And this is what they looked like after about 45 minutes. How magical is that? What other fruit performs such alchemical wonders all on its own while you sit read celebrity gossip online?

After the fruit was cooked, I scooped it into two clean, boiled jars and stuck them in the fridge (preserves make me nervous, so I make very small batches and keep them cold).

I cracked open one of these jars the other night to accompany some organic crowdie (a soft cheese made in the Highlands) and a few very crisp oatcakes. Quince has quite a bit of naturally occuring pectin so that makes the soft fruit pieces more like jellied sweets than syrupy preserves. There's a grittiness to the flesh, a bit like a pear, that gives the pink segments a sturdy texture and substance next to the soft folds of cheese. And the flavour: so perfumed and layered, redolent of dozens of aromatics, even though nothing but sugar was added. Your mouth fills with a taste that was hinted at when you first smelled the fruit. It's a miraculous payoff for such a simple bit of work.

* Certain varieties of quince can be eaten raw, particularly those grown in the Middle East. If you're unsure, cook the sucker.

Comments

[MBT Shoes]

It's so nice to have you do all of the research for us. It makes our decision making so much easier!! Thanks.

[ClubPenguin]

I honestly can't remember ever seeing them, but guess I wasn't ever really looking. Thank you!

[torrent download]

You can't eat them raw because bad things will happen to you.

[Katie]

Hmmm. Well, in Glasgow you can find them at Roots and Fruits. I'm not sure where you could go in Toronto. There was a Star article online that said they were available in "most supermarkets", but if that fails, I would try fancy/specialty fruit and veg shops, especially ones that deal in Mediterranean goods (There are quince jellies and jams made in Spain, Italy and Portugal so you could look out for those, too). I honestly can't remember ever seeing them, but guess I wasn't ever really looking.

[Jess]

Fascinating. Where do you think I'd find them?