Recently I picked up a box of quince for a friend from a roadside stall. I drove around with them for most of the day. Every time I stopped for a while, the sun would gently heat the car, and when I returned, I would open the door and be overwhelmed by the heady scent of quince. I had visions of preserving the aroma for year-round enjoyment. Turning it into one of those dangly car air fresheners, an infused cardboard quince dangling from the rear vision mirror!
Quince thrive where we are. They don’t mind frost and need some time where the temperatures dip well into single figures to encourage their flowering. Quince trees abound in home gardens, and their golden fruit are well and truly an indicator of late autumn.
Our first autumn in Tasmania coincided with the beginning of Covid and lockdown. Comparatively, we were very lucky. It’s easy to secure the borders on a small island, and for the most part, life continued with very few restrictions. Our builder had recently started our renovations and, because he worked by himself, was able to continue. The work required was far more extensive than we had initially thought; a single viewing of a styled and furnished house doesn’t reveal the true state of things! Our builder would turn up daily, making doors and cupboards, laying new flooring, constructing a kitchen. We would follow in his wake with a paintbrush or roller, adding the finishing touches to his work. Working in close quarters for many weeks, we got to know each other. We spoke about our plans for our new house and garden, and he chatted about how he came to be in this part of the world, how he had done up his house and planted orchards and extensive gardens. He spoke of the small orchard he and his wife had established, full of quince trees. Most of the fruit they sold to local restaurants and jam makers. But that year, Covid meant the usual buyers of his quince were shut, and so I became the grateful recipient of boxes and bags of quince.
There were countless kilos of quince, an almost insurmountable amount. I made the usual quince paste and quince jelly, chutney and jam and about 40 kg of quince fruit mince. My fruit mince tarts that Christmas were filled with ‘quincemeat’, and I think it was perhaps even better than my usual. The quince added a tartness and a floral note that elevated the flavour. Thanks to the inclusion of a very generous amount of alcohol, the fruit mince lasted, which was just as well. Despite my and my customer's love of mince tarts, 40 kg is a lot!
In subsequent years, I’ve been more restrained in my quince endeavours. I currently have a little over 6 kg sitting on the kitchen table. I much more manageable amount, although I had to chuckle at Calla Walhquist who wrote in The Guardian that she thought four quince was the ideal number; that anything worth doing with quince could be achieved with four or less. Honestly though I would be happy if they just sat there looking plump and golden, with their fragrance wafting through the kitchen.
Quince look like the ancient fruit that they are, untampered by selective breeding, they remain knarly and unapproachable as I imagine they have always been. Predating the apple and the pear, quince are native to Iran and Armenia, and are a symbol in many cultures of love, fertility and happiness. Apicius, the collection of Roman recipes dating from the fifth century CE, or perhaps even earlier, details quince preserved in honey and defrutum, a reduced spiced wine.
Pick out perfect quinces with stems and leaves. Place them in a vessel, pour over honey and defrutum and you’ll preserve them for a long time.
Because of their appearance and their exotic nature, Quince are a feature of artworks. You will find them depicted in paintings by van Gogh and Cézanne. They also appear in literature. In the Tale of the Porter and Three Ladies of Baghdad from 1001 Nights, quince are praised as “it puts to shame the scent of musk and ambergris” and includes this verse:
”The quince combines all of the pleasures of mankind
It is more famous than any other fruit.
It has the taste of wine and the fragrance of musk,
Golden hued, and rounded like the full moon.”
Or Edward Lear’s delightful poem, The Owl and the Pussycat, where they
“dined on mince and slices of quince, which they ate with a runcible spoon".
For all of the reverence afforded quince, they are a somewhat difficult fruit. Nigel Slater theorises that they will never be popular because they require preparation before becoming edible. It’s not possible to pick up a quince from the fruit bowl and bite into it. It is a cook’s fruit. This is, I think, part of its appeal. While they look worthy of a still-life painting sitting on the kitchen table, and their fragrance is almost otherworldly, it is only with a little work that their hidden potential is revealed.
Something magical happens when quince are slowly cooked over a few hours. The hard, pale flesh is transformed so that it is succulent and ruby coloured. I eat it atop rice pudding, add it to a streusel cake or a frangipane tart. For something a little more special, this quince and chamomile tart features not only roasted quince but also a curd made from the quince syrup that remains after the roasting. Quince marries well with a range of flavours, from warming spices, to honey, or as I have done here with chamomile, which adds a delicate, floral note. I’ve used buckwheat flour for the pastry; I like its earthiness, which matches the quince and makes this recipe gluten-free. Unlike many of my recipes, this one has a few steps and is a good project over a couple of days. It needs to be started at least the day before to cook and cool the quince. You can also make the pastry cases ahead of time. The curd is made using the syrup from the roasted quince, so can’t be made until the quince are cooled. I usually make the roast quince the day before and the curd the following morning, which allows for cooling time before assembling later in the day.
Quince and Chamomile Tart
Makes 6 individual tarts. I used 6 x 12 cm shallow (about 2 cm) fluted, loose-bottomed tart tins.
juice of 1 lemon
500 g quince
200 g sugar
2 tablespoons of dried chamomile flowers or 5 chamomile tea bags
Pastry
185 g buckwheat flour
60 g icing sugar
110 g cold salted butter, cut into cubes
1 egg yolk
100 g white chocolate, melted
Quince Curd
60 g creme fraiche
240 ml quince syrup, from the roasted quince
juice and zest of lemon
1 heaped tablespoon of dried chamomile flowers or 2 chamomile teabags
155 g salted butter
3 eggs + 2 yolks
white chocolate curls and dried chamomile flowers to finish
Start with the roasted quince. Make these at least the day before so that they have both a long cooking time and time to cool completely. They will keep for a few days in an airtight container in the fridge.
Half-fill a large pot that has a lid and can be transferred to the oven (a Dutch oven is ideal for this) with water, and add the juice of a lemon. Peel the quince and halve them. Drop them straight into the water to prevent them from discolouring. Add a little more water if necessary to ensure that the quince are covered. Add the sugar to the pot. Bring to the boil over a medium heat, reduce the heat and cover the pot. Cook gently for about 25-45 minutes or until the quince have softened. The cooking time will depend on the size of your quince, their variety and ripeness, so keep an eye on them. You want the tip of a knife to just pierce the flesh.
Heat the oven to 140°C. Remove the pot from the stove and add the chamomile flowers or tea bags. Replace the lid and bake in the oven for 2½-3 hours. Over this time, the quince will soften and turn a pinky-red colour. The cooked quince should be soft but not falling apart.
Remove from the oven and cool in the syrup.
Once cool, remove the quince from the syrup and use a teaspoon to scoop out the core. Put the quince in an airtight container and refrigerate until you are ready to assemble the tarts. Don’t discard the syrup.
To make the pastry, put the buckwheat flour and icing sugar in the bowl of a food processor. Pulse a couple of times to mix before adding the butter. Continue to pulse until the flour and butter are combined and the mixture looks like bread crumbs. Add the egg yolk and pulse until the dough comes together. You may need to add just a splash of water.
Tip the pastry onto a lightly floured work surface and knead a couple of times until it is smooth. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for an hour. The longer chilling time makes this gluten-free pastry much easier to handle. Remove the pastry from the fridge and roll out on a lightly floured bench top until it is about 3 mm thick. Cut out circles large enough to fit the tin. I cut around a saucer. You will need to reroll the pastry scraps to cut out the six circles. Lift them carefully into the tart tins, pressing the pastry into the sides and trimming the edge. Return to the fridge for thirty minutes.
Heat the oven to 170°C. Line each of the tart tins with scrunched up baking paper before adding pastry weights or rice and baking for 20 minutes. Remove from the oven and carefully lift out the baking paper and pastry weights. Return the tart tins to the oven for a further 5-10 minutes or until the pastry is baked through and has turned a light biscuity colour. Sit on a wire cooling rack until the pastry cases have cooled completely.
When the pastry is cool, pour a small amount of melted white chocolate into each case and use a pastry brush to paint the white chocolate over the base and sides of the tart. This seals the pastry and protects it from softening too much once the curd is added. It also adds a little sweetness. Set the tart cases aside until you are ready to fill them.
To make the curd, add the creme fraiche, quince syrup, lemon zest and juice and chamomile flowers (or teabags) to a medium saucepan. Heat gently over a low to medium heat, stirring to combine the ingredients. Heat until just below boiling point. Turn off the heat and leave to infuse for 30 minutes.
Strain the liquid to remove the chamomile flowers and any small pieces of quince that were in the syrup. Pour this back into a clean saucepan. Lightly whisk the eggs and yolks and pour them over a sieve into the saucepan. I like to do this to ensure that there aren’t any globs of egg white that cook and are visible in the curd. Add the butter. Cook over a low heat, stirring regularly, until the mixture thickens and coats the back of a spoon. This may take 25-30 minutes. Take care not to boil the curd, as this will impact the texture. Remove the curd from the heat and cool completely before using.
The tarts can be assembled a couple of hours before you serve them. Remove each pastry case from their tin. Spoon in the quince curd, leaving a little room so that it doesn’t overflow once you add the roasted quince. Slice the quince and arrange on the top of the curd. Make white chocolate curls by dragging the blade of your knife firmly over the back of a block of white chocolate and adding a few to the top of the tart, along with a sprinkle of dried chamomile flowers.
Any leftover quince syrup makes a lovely base for cocktails or even just add some soda water for a wonderfully fragrant drink. Leftover roasted quince can be heated with yoghurt or rice pudding and any remaining curd is delicious on toast.
Next week: an apple festival + oven baked apple fritters
Each week I share the latest instalment of the book I am writing here on Substack, Home Baked: a Year of Seasonal Baking. A subscription will ensure you don’t miss any of the stories and recipes. You might also want to consider a paid subscription which will give you access to previous recipes, as well as printer-friendly recipe cards, bonus material, access to Q&A and a quarterly compilation of the recipes. There is also an additional newsletter on Friday, which is a mixed bag and touches on all manner of food topics. I’d love for you to be a part of it.
I could talk about quince for ages! Paid subscribers can access not only the printer-friendly recipe card for this week’s tart but also suggestions for a couple of other ways to prepare quince and a recipe for a simple quince and honey cake.
My quince harvest is four to five months away here in the Northern Hemisphere and I’m saving this recipe for then. Looks great!
I never understood quince until reading your article, not realising that one can't simply munch on a quince like you would an apple. There are many wild quince trees around my region... I think I'll go for a bit of a forage and try my hand at roasting them. Thanks for the great read.