The Food Maven Diary
[Archives]

[Previous Entry] [Diary Home] [Next Entry]

11/02/2005 Archived Entry: "Baked Quince"

Quince, like the pomegranate, is an exotic, truly mythical fruit that in most of my middle-aged lifetime has not been available in New York, but now seems inescapable.

Piles of pomegranates have been greeting me by the doors of all my Brooklyn markets. I can’t imagine it is much different elsewhere in the metro area. Pomegranate juice, touted as a wellspring of antioxidants (isn’t everything these days), is in every supermarket’s refrigerated case. Even the subway has ads for pomegranate juice.

Quince are somewhat more recherché, but the other day at the Garden of Eden, the food market in Brooklyn Heights, an aroma enticed me into a corner of the produce section. There I discovered gorgeously golden and fragrant, ripe quinces. Then I saw quinces at the Greenmarket. Then there was a display of them at the little grocery around the corner.

Both pomegranate and quince are mentioned in the Old Testament, and they play a role in mythology of the Egyptians, the Jews, and the ancient Greeks and Romans – probably among others. For instance, the pomegranate is held in the hand of Hera, the Greek goddess, where it represents fertility. That’s understandable, given that pomegranates have 613 seeds, which is probably not so incidentally the number of mitzvahs in the Torah, or rules of daily life, that Jews are supposed to follow. Many spiritual belief systems say that there is mysticism in numbers, you know. Not that I understand it. (By the way, although many people have told me that they have counted, or have had their children count the seeds in a pomegranate, and there are always 613, I just read a scientific article on pomegranates that claims “they can have as many as 800 seeds.” Believe me, I’m not counting to prove this one way or another.)

Meanwhile, quince, often called the “golden apple” and the symbol of Venus, goddess of love, may also be the “apple” of the Garden of Eden. We do know for certain that it originates from the area in northern Turkey, between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, where the Garden of Eden is supposed to have existed – where the human race began. I suppose that’s why the Turks and Greeks are so expert at cooking it.

Venus would be disappointed in our quinces, however. Golden (ripe) quince is a rarity in our markets. In fact, until I found them at the Garden of Eden – that’s the food market, not the biblical paradise -- I’ve only been able to buy green quince. All the supposed experts say that these should turn golden and become seductively fragrant if kept at room temperature. Like pears, to which they are related, they ripen off the tree. But mine have never changed an iota – not a speck of yellow skin, not a whiff of aroma. I buy them green. I give them a couple of weeks on the kitchen counter. They remain green. They seem inert. I throw them out.

My Turkish friend Arzu Yilmaz told me, however, that even green quince cooks up beautifully, and the proof was in my mouth. Arzu’s baked quince were, as the myths have it, truly divine – a rosy orange-pink color, honeyed sweet but balanced with some tartness, as fragrant as jasmine – intoxicating – and with a dense but soft, nearly custardy texture.

Arzu, who was born in Izmir, but now lives in New Jersey with her Turkish-born husband and two American children, teaches Turkish cooking at various schools in New Jersey and New York. She is a marvelous cook, and a charming personality. Seek out her classes if she comes to your area. Her recipe follows – with my directions.

Interesting: Arzu says to add some of the seeds of the quince to the pan because they enhance the color. I think this may be a Turkish old wife’s tale, but I love old wife tales and I never dare question them. On the other hand, my friend, cookbook author and chef Rozanne (Gold), says she has baked quince without the seeds and they still turn that beautiful rosy pink-orange. Some day I will have to try it both ways and see if there’s a difference.

I made these to accompany roasted duck – using the famous recipe from the Four Seasons restaurant that is in my latest book Arthur Schwartz’s New York City Food, which turns out with a magnificently glossy brown and parchment-crisp skin. I have been eating the leftover baked quince for breakfast with my high-fiber, dry breakfast cereal and milk. Baked quince is a wonderful dessert, too – just as is, with a little of the rosy syrup. Or serve baked quince with whipped cream or ice cream. The trendy way to eat is as an accompaniment to sheep’s milk cheeses and that’s one trend I won’t complain about. It is a great foil to Roquefort, and all the funky Italian pecorino (sheep's milk) cheeses that I have been indulging in lately.

About the sugar: I used Arzu’s full amount – 1 cup for 4 quinces – but I suppose you can reduce that somewhat – maybe by as much as half. But remember that quince is very tart and needs to be cooked with sugar to make them appealing, plus the sugar helps activate the plentiful pectin in this fruit. It is the pectin that gives the baked (or otherwise cooked) quince its seductive texture, and also makes it a perfect fruit for jam and preserves.

Baked Quince

Serves 8 for dessert, plain or with whipped cream or ice cream

1 cup water
Juice of ½ lemon (save the lemon half)
4 quinces
16 whole cloves
1 cup sugar

Pour the water and lemon juice into a shallow baking dish that will accommodate the quinces when cut into quarters – for instance a 9 by 12-inch Pyrex.

With a large, sharp knife – quince is hard -- cut each quince into quarters from stem end to bottom. Rub the cut sides of the quarters immediately with the juiced-out lemon half.

With a paring knife, carve out the core of each quarter, saving the seeds. With the paring knife or a vegetable peeler, peel each quarter. As you complete coring and peeling each quarter, immediately turn it in the lemon water in the baking dish, leaving it in the water.

When all four of the quinces have been cored and peeled, press a clove into the center of the rounded side of each quarter. Arrange the quince quarters, still in the lemon water, with their rounded sides up. Sprinkle them with the sugar. Scatter some of the reserved quince seeds around the quarters.

Bake in a preheated 375-degree oven for about an hour, turning the quinces after 30 minutes, then turning them back, clove side up, for the last 5 to 10 minutes. The quince should be fork tender – actually soft. The water and sugar should have cooked down to a syrup. Give them a few more minutes in the oven, if necessary.

Baked quince will keep in the refrigerator, in a container where they are just covered by their syrup, for several weeks.