Ginger Tablet

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.

The Blood and Vegetables Commandments

Well, I lied. I said I would post every day for two weeks and then I really didn't. My reasons were complicated. First of all the executive committee of Ginger Tablet took one look at me and decided I needed to get out of the house more. They prescribed a weekend of parties, field trips and excessive drinking. I complied. Once I had met their requirements and demonstrated correct dancing techniques to artist populations in Glasgow and Dundee, I returned home to commence the blog once more.

That's when an important component in my computer decided to die. More specifically, the "power tip" for my ancient Dell. I had to order a new one and wait patiently for it to arrive, consoling myself in the cool glow of J's deluxe and powerful Mac.

Plus, after I gave blood last Thursday I died a slow and miserable death and that really got in the way of my life goals. Oh boy, am I joking. I don't mean to proselytize like a rabid new convert, but giving blood is exactly like what they say on the guilt-tripping commercials: easy+fast+painless+feel good smugness+COOKIE. Honestly. I know the trust is broken, but I'm not lying now. A few years back, some "doctor", some pimple on the ass of the otherwise majestic city of Montreal, misdiagnosed me with cancer. During that time I had a lot of blood taken for tests. Other than the thought of dying and having my lymph nodes constantly probed (they reside in delicate places), extruding blood was the thing I hated most. I was pretty worried it was going to feel the same, but it actually hurt less. And even though they were taking far more, it only took about 10 minutes. I've also fainted around needles twice in the past, but I didn't even feel funny standing up after the bloodletting. Plus, not only did I get a cookie, it was a Tunnock's tea cake! I'm doing this again, as soon as possible.

I know a lot of people have very genuine reasons for not doing this, but if you're not among them, just do it. Sermon over.

Another one beginning:

I strongly suggest that you make some mushroom pate (and that you forgive my lack of accents). Are you tired of your normal sandwich fillings? Is that acrid store-bought hummus making you sad? Is that unsettling flop of luncheon meat turning your stomach? Mushroom pate, my friends, that is the answer.

Admittedly, this doesn't sound like a sexy proposal. It sounds a little vegan in fact. A little like a "substitute" for something that actually tastes nice. But I'm pretty sure I had a dream about this spread last night, and I couldn't wait to unsnap the lid of my lunch box today.

Happiness can be yours. Just buy some regular mushrooms. That's what I did; one of the massive supermarkets was selling a 2lbs box of mushrooms for 1.50 and I couldn't pass up that bargain. So to deal with this very large quantity, I cut up an onion and some garlic and added a bit more butter than I normally would into a pot (a couple of tablespoons). I sauteed them and then began slicing my mushrooms and throwing them in there, too. At first I wasn't going to add the lot, but the smell of them cooking weakened my will. I sliced all of them and sent J out for a bottle of white wine. While he was gone, I added some rosemary and thyme, and just kept on stirring them now and again. At this point they were dark and slippy and small and amazingly delicious. Especially with a bit of salt thrown in. When the wine arrived, one glug was added and after a couple of minutes the heat was turned off. I made one piece of toast. I put half of the mushrooms and the crumbled piece of toast into the blender. Blitzing occurred, my love was instant.

With a texture like raw silk and a flavour that seemed impossibly deep given the basic ingredients, I only managed to dislodge the spoon from my hand with the thought that the pate would (crazy as it seemed) be better tomorrow after a night in the fridge. AND IT WAS. The method I used was a simple one, but you can added in loads of other things like shallots, different booze, cheeses like parmesan, cream and maybe mascarpone, different herbs; your choice. You could make it properly vegan and use olive oil instead of butter. This is also perfect for sensitive geniuses who want a vegetarian spread but find beans difficult.

With the rest of the lovely mushrooms we made a risotto. That was easy too as the mushrooms had already been cooked and flavoured. I just put in a bit of oil, added the rice and a dribble of wine. Then the stock, stock, stock and it was done and it was perfect.

To review, that was two delicious things made from one pot of sauteed mushrooms. It makes me think that sauteed mushrooms could in fact be a staple of the kitchen that I should always have on hand. Not only so I can eat pate for the rest of my days, but also for their skills with eggs, dark meat and pasta. Buying two pounds at once is starting to seem like a paltry amount. But then again, I've just roasted seven peppers and baked a couple dozen banana muffins. As I've been temporarily taken over by a squirrel preparing for winter, my voluminous leanings should perhaps be avoided.

A Darling Zucchini

I had never seen round zucchinis before this year. They're called Eight Ball Zucchini Squash in North America. I'm not sure what they call them in the UK. Maybe Round Courgettes.

These sweet and spotted little orbs produce all kinds of strange feelings in my heart; I suddenly have the urge to make stuffed zucchini. That has never, ever, ever happened to me before.

You can use these in exactly the same way as their oblong cousins, although apparently their flesh is slightly denser, so slightly better for frying. This one was sliced and roasted with tiny tomatoes, peppers, garlic and thyme and then piled onto a baked potato already blanketed with a thick layer of cheese.