The quince is a lonely fruit. No one wants it. It’s lumpy and yellow outside. Pale, grainy and tasteless inside. Tricky to peel. Tough to core. Reluctant to cook. And generally belligerent.
And yet, misunderstood. The quince, handled gently, showered with patience and encouragement and a generous measure of sugar, is capable of change.
After hours of stewing in its juices, the quince will, without warning, transform. Its poaching liquid will snap from cloudy to clear. Its pineapple and rose-petal fragrance will coalesce into intoxicating pineapple and rose-petal flavor. Its gritty bite will smooth into luscious chewiness. Its pale yellow flesh will blush a deep, brilliant pink.
The quince has fallen in love.
Deep down, the heart-shaped quince has a soft spot. The fruit’s rosy color, dizzying perfume and pectin-packed intensity give it a reputation as Cupid’s favorite. Even if sloppy scribes had a tendency to confuse the quince with its cousin, apple, it was the quince (rumor has it) that pleased Aphrodite, goddess of love. It was the quince (they say) that seduced Eve.
The immature quince, not surprisingly, is prone to dramatic excess. When slightly green, the quince experiences an overwhelming rush of pectin (tempered somewhat in the ripe fruit). Captured at this impressionable age and exposed to the passions of heat and sugar, the young quince goes all clingy. Left too long in this condition, the quince will permanently bond to spoon, pot or other object of its affection.
This tacky trait can be exploited to benefit the more mature, if footloose, fruits. A slice or two of quince can thicken an apple pie, gel a jar of jam or boil down to gum-drop resilience. The quince’s tenacious charm inspired the very first preserves, an enduring entanglement that lives on in the word marmalade, Latin (more or less) for quince.
The modern quince’s recipe for romance remains unchanged: Callow quince, matched, pound for pound, with the sweetness of sugar or honey. Plus a splash of bitter lemon heartbreak.
The mixture can be cooked down into a dense, intense paste that slices cleanly alongside cheese. Or slow-simmered with orange and lemon into a compote fragrant enough to make a bee swoon.
But quince flaunts its charms best when clarified into amber jelly. One spoonful, contrasted against a pale shortbread heart, glistens with the tenderness of first love.
Before, that is, the cookie crumbles.
QUINCE VALENTINES
Makes four dozen
1 cup (2 sticks) butter
2/3 cup sugar
1 egg
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
2 1/2 cups sifted flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
Quince jelly (recipe follows on page 24)
1. Mix: Cream butter and sugar. Beat in egg and extracts. Add flour and salt.
2. Roll: Divide dough into 3 sections. Roll out each between 2 lightly floured sheets of wax paper into 1/8-inch thin sheets. Chill in the refrigerator or freezer.
3. Cut: Cut into 1-1/2-inch circles with a plain or fluted cookie cutter. Punch a heart into half the cookies with a tiny cutter.
4. Bake: Transfer to parchment paper-lined baking sheets and bake at 350 degrees until just beginning to color at the edges, 8 to 10 minutes. Transfer to a rack.
5. Fill: While the cookies are still warm, spoon a bit of quince jam onto the center of each round. Top each with a heart cookie, gently wiggling into place, letting the jelly melt and fill the heart. Cool. Share.
QUINCE JELLY
Makes about three cups
4 quinces (2 pounds)
4 cups water
3 cups sugar
1/4 cup lemon juice, strained
1. Grate: Quarter and core but do not peel quinces. Grate them. The shredder attachment of the food processor can make this painless, but a box grater works fine too.
2. Simmer: Heap the grated quince into a large pot. Add the water and cover. Bring to a simmer and cook 15 minutes.
3. Strain: Pour through a colander lined with cheesecloth into a medium saucepan. Squeeze or press with a wooden spoon to release as much juice as possible. Discard solids. You should have about 4 cups of juice.
4. Boil: Add sugar and lemon juice. Bring to a boil and cook, uncovered until gloriously pink and ready to set, about 30 minutes. Check by dropping a bit of jelly into a saucer of water; it should hold together. Or use a candy thermometer. The goal is 220-225 degrees.
5. Cool: Pour the hot jelly into a clean glass jar and let cool. Cover and refrigerate.
QUINCE COMPOTE
Serves four to six
4 quinces
1 lemon
1 orange
1 1/2 cups sugar
4 cups water
1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise
1/4 cup pomegranate seeds, optional
1/4 cup cranberries, optional
1 cup whipping cream
1. Prep quince: Scrub quinces, removing remains of blossom and stem. Quarter and carve out the core. Cut into 1/2-inch thick wedges, leaving peel intact.
2. Prep citrus: Peel away the lemon zest and reserve. Cut away all the white pith and discard. Slice into 1/2-inch thick rounds. Remove seeds. Repeat with the orange.
3. Simmer: Stir sugar and water together in a large saucepan. Add prepared quince, lemon, orange, both zests and the vanilla bean. Bring to a low simmer, cover and let cook until quinces turn from pale yellow to glowing amber, about 3 hours. Trust your quinces. Don’t peek too often.
4. Gild: Once the quince has achieved its lovely color, feel free to enhance the drama by adding red-on-red accents. Consider a few pomegranate seeds or a small handful of cranberries. Cook another 15 minutes.
5. Serve: Spoon warm fruit and syrup into individual glass bowls. Embellish with a spoonful of cream, whipped or not. Swoon.
