Maybe driving along slick January roads while the radio bleats its incessant lose-the-fat/cut-the-carbs/celebration’s-over messages doesn’t bother you, but it whips me into a frothy rage. Your hangover has only just barely passed (with the aid of a nice greasy burger) before all these diet people start making you feel horrible about the past few weeks of joy and butter. Doesn’t the coming of a new year herald an optimistic fresh start? By all means, get healthy (after said burger, of course) if it makes you happy, but please don’t buy into the latest fad diet or attempt to banish any food group from your life. Don’t look at 2005 as “The Year I Reject Bagels” or “The Year I Overcome Bacon” or, worse yet, “The Year I Buy Chemically Engineered Food That Will Make My Butt Skinny While It Slowly Poisons My Internal Organs.” Wouldn’t you rather wear a sparkly sash proclaiming “2005: The Year I Discover the Magic of Food That Heals the Soul and Body and Still Tastes Great.” A smarter sash still might simply read “2005: Year of the Quince.”
What the hell is a quince, you’re asking. Why have you never seen quince-flavored soda pop or Quincy-O’s cereal, or even a quince booster for your smoothie? It’s safe to say they’re not part of the mainstream. But neither are quinces a secretly hoarded ingredient available only to chefs and other epicurean cognoscenti. Quinces are actually quite accessible, and for the next month or so this yellowish, knobbly skinned fruit—best described as a cross between an apple and a pear—is still in season. Out of the produce bin, this fruit tends to be rock hard, not too pleasing to the eye, and quite astringent when eaten raw, so maybe it’s no surprise that you’ve passed them by. But any fan will tell you, quinces will reward a cook’s patience by revealing a host of secrets and pleasures.
Far from being a new fruit, the quince is believed by many to have been Eve’s naughty apple. Quinces also played a great role in ancient Greek culture: some say the “golden apple” Paris awarded to Aphrodite, thus launching the Trojan War, was actually a humble quince. The Greeks considered the quince a symbol of love and fertility, tossing it into bridal chariots and serving slices to blushing new wives before they repaired to the bridal chambers. Pregnant women were advised to snack frequently on quinces to insure industrious and highly intelligent offspring.
The fruit of a hardy shrub, the quince spread easily throughout Asia and Europe. Its Latin name, Cydonia, refers to the ancient city in Crete where the Greeks perfected its cultivation. The French termed the fruit coing, which in Middle English became quin. However termed, the oddly shaped fruit continues to play a strong role in some cuisines (Spanish, Moroccan, Persian, Rumanian, Balkan) and a recovering role in others (English, French, American).
Here in the U.S., the quince did have a brief moment in the sun. Because of its high levels of pectin, the quince makes a killer jelly. The jammers and canners helped the quince tree migrate westward with the settlers. But the need to preserve fruit dropped off, the apple took favor as a sweeter and easier fruit, and the desire for quinces dwindled. Ironically, quince jelly is making a comeback as the traditional Spanish membrillo, a jellied quince paste, pops up on tapas menus across the country. If you’ve ever enjoyed a really good slice of manchego cheese, top your next slice with the mellow and fruity membrillo to understand the perfect interplay between sweet and tangy.
The key to enjoying quinces is taking the time to reap the rewards. Keep a quince in your kitchen at room temperature for a week or so, and it will deliver a gracious aroma that no scented candle can touch. Slowly simmer a peeled and cored quince, and watch its flesh soften and change color to a velvety deep pink. The flavor will have evolved, too, into a sassy pineapple-like taste with a touch of tartness. Next time you cook apples or pears, add a few slices of quince and the new aromas and flavors will make it hard to ever turn back.
The splendor of quinces is that there are so many dreamy ways to use them; the sadness is that they’re available only from September to February (if we’re lucky), so get to the Wedge Co-op to snatch some up. While they are fresh, peel and core them for cooking. Throw chopped quinces in with your pork roast for a subtle flavor, or use them like the Turks do, in a tagine stew with meats and other spiced fruits. Follow the Hindus and mash the fruit with onions, chilies, salt, and citrus juice to make a sambal, and serve it as a condiment for grilled food. For dessert, poach a quince in vanilla sauce or bake it with a filling of sugar, hazelnuts, and cranberries in its hollow. Make quince jelly for your pancakes. If you’ve dawdled and the quinces are gone for the season, take heart. Some very good pastes are on the market that can be eaten with cheese or crackers or licked right off the knife (Lunds carries the brand 34degrees from New Zealand).
Whatever you do, take the time to cook and get to know your quince. The healthiest thing you can do for yourself in the New Year is to view food not as an enemy, but as a source of pleasure and self-discovery. Like Lear’s owl and pussycat: They dined on mince, and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon …
Quince Jelly
8 cups peeled, sliced, cored quince (5-7 fruits)
1½ cups water
1 cup apple juice
3 T lemon juice
¾ cup sugar
¾ cup honey
1 T orange zest
1 T freshly grated ginger root
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp nutmeg
In medium saucepan, over medium-high heat, bring fruit, water, and juices to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer, partially covered, for about thirty minutes (or until tender). Add remaining ingredients and stir for another five minutes. Remove from heat, puree in food processor (if you like it smooth). Let the mixture cool before transferring to storage containers with tight lids. Will store frozen for up to three months.
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