At home with Jackie How to grow and cook with luscious quinces
These luscious winter fruits have been prized since ancient times, and remain a delicious addition to the modern backyard, writes JACKIE FRENCH
Medieval winters must have been a laugh a minute. Draughty castles, and huts where the inhabitants froze if the fire went out. No magazines, no streaming movies, just some fruit and veg to admire by the light of a smoking tallow candle. “Hey look, Ethelberta! What does this remind you of?”
Those were the days when a suggestive dish of parsnips might be an invitation to a bit of how’s your father, and a dish of quinces brought more than a hint of nudge-nudge, wink-wink. Back then, if a bloke asked for a look at your quinces, he wasn’t talking about fruit, unless he was, in which case you’d both be embarrassed. It takes a very dull candle indeed to think of a quince as bosom-shaped. Admittedly, the flesh can be a delicate flesh-pink to rich sunburn-red, but only when it has been cooked long and slowly.
Quince trees, however, must have been a boon – cold-hardy and growing anywhere frosty enough for autumn leaves to fall, with fruit that lasted all through winter and subtly perfumed the house with a hint of what we now know as ripe pineapples.
GROWING & COOKING
Early varieties of quince (Cydonia oblonga) can be harvested in March, while late varieties hang on the tree until June. Don’t pick them too early, as they won’t taste of anything much. Ripe fruit is yellow, not green, and smells fruity when you sniff it. Fruit fall is a sign that the fruit is ripe, or the tree has moisture stress, or the possums have decided to eat them before you do.
If you want to cherish your quince tree, feed it in early to late spring, although neglected trees will bear fruit for decades, slowly growing into a thicket of suckers, which should be ruthlessly pruned away. Quince trees often fruit very young, so count your blessings... and your quinces before birds, rats, fruit bats or possums eat them. You can buy fruit fly exclusion bags that will keep off other quince marauders, including codling moth.
Quinces have a fragrance that no other fruit possesses. And it’s possible to eat some varieties fresh if you cut very thin slices and have a good set of choppers, but quinces are far better cooked, either
simmered or casseroled on low heat until the fruit – peeled, cored, and sliced or halved – is soft and turns from vaguely cream to pink and then deep red.
The best tips I know are: don’t add sugar until the fruit is soft, because it tends to toughen it; and cook the fruit long and slowly for the best colour, and so it doesn’t break into sludge when it finally softens.
These days, when you serve stewed quinces with cream or yoghurt, or quince and apple sauce, or quince jelly, or jelly cooked a little longer to make a firm ‘quince cheese’ to eat in slices, you can be sure that your entire household – and any guests – will be thinking of their tastebuds and their tummies, and not other parts of the anatomy, as they tuck in.