Cradock – They’re round, in the way that the face of a mean-eyed mass murderer is round.
They’re as hard and ungiving as a death row inmate denied leniency. And like a hard nut doing lots of time, there’s not much by way of a soft centre to obviate the tough outer core.
But they’re one of the heroes of the Karoo at this time of year. They hang heavy from trees and then fall to the ground in all their gnarled knobbliness, and you have to think, are they bitter? Does the quince regret its misshapen form like a Notre Dame hunchback, does it hide its face from the mirror like an Elephant Man who wants to look like smooth-faced boys? Does the quince bemoan its forbidding appearance, does it covet the apple’s roundness and the pear’s sensuous curves?
The quince could be forgiven for slouching off and hitting the road, thumb out, leaving the pretty plums and perky peaches to preen their juicy lives away. If a quince were to go off the rails, turn to the dark side, take to drugs, end up in the gutter, no one would be surprised, least of all the nectarines and litchis.
Yet the quince is not bitter. For this hardy fruit of the dusty plains holds a beautiful secret in the way that the fruit of the cactus disguises its sweet charms with a decidedly prickly exterior. The way that a plain stone can be cracked open to find a world of purple crystal amethyst. The way a truffle seems to have nothing to offer until it’s sliced into a sauce, whereupon it becomes the sauce.
In almost every Karoo garden right now, these misshapen infidels of the fruit world lie waiting for a human who understands to come along with a basket and save them from the ignominy of a mouldering, worm-infested end. That kind hand will be rewarded well in the kitchen.
Quince is even better for a crumble than apple. The texture, once stewed in a syrup, is almost identical to that of a stewed apple, but it holds its form better, it turns a subtle dusty pink, and its flavour is out of this world. No longer the gnarled, grisly outcast of the orchard, once cooked the quince is the Cinderella at the ball, every potential royal beau in sight eager to find the shoe that fits.
This week, for the first time in a long life, I made quince jelly and a quince crumble, both from the same batch of quinces given to me by the redoubtable Sandra Antrobus, who collected them from beneath the trees in her lovely garden. They were not pretty to look at. A handful were fairly presentable, others were grotesque gargoyles, and out of one oozed a blushing pink worm who’d evidently just had lunch and needed a stretch. Or half a worm, as I had just cut the quince in two. This is not cruelty, it is collateral damage. I did not mean to harm that lowly worm.
On advice I washed the fruit under cold running water and then peeled them somewhat coarsely and cored them, placing the cores and peels in a large pot, filling with cold water just to cover, then bringing them to a boil and boiling rapidly for a few minutes. This is the extraction of the juice, the old cookbooks will tell you, and is the first step in jelly making.
In writing this I am unusually circumspect as there are many veteran jelly makers out there who are going to find this full of holes. But it is the first step in what I did, and I did end up with a good, clear, set jelly. So.
I next put a folded, clean tea towel in the sieve part of my Chinese steamer, poured the cooked fruit and the water into this and left it to strain overnight, without pushing or prodding it, which would have made the juice cloudy. You don’t want that, the old cookbooks will tell you.
They will also tell you to do the “pectin test” but I’m afraid I skipped this and went forward blindly to the next step, hoping for the best. I got lucky. What I did next was add an equal quantity of sugar to the strained juice, stir, and bring to a boil. I then boiled it furiously for about 50 minutes. I then allowed it to cool, while sterilising jars and their lids, and poured it in.
I fully expected to end up with a runny syrup something like cerise honey but, lo and behold, set it did, just firm enough to be luscious while not so firm as to be like a packet jelly. I wouldn’t like to present it at a bizarre church bazaar for scrutiny by the local tannies, but I was happy with it and I got great beaming smiles from Sandra when she saw it. So.
The rest of the quince went to crumble, so:
QUINCE CRUMBLE
For the filling:
6 to 8 quinces, peeled andcored
1 cup water
1 cup sugar
For the crumble:
125g butter
1/2 cup sugar
1 and a half tsp vanilla essence
2 cups flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 egg
The rest of the quince was cut into small pieces and stewed with a cup of sugar and a cup of water until just tender, and allowed to cool before going into a pie dish lined with the crumble.
For this, cream butter and sugar and add eggs and vanilla essence. Sift flour, baking powder and salt and add slowly to the mixture. Press half to two-thirds of the dough into a greased dish, and prick holes in the base. Add the cooled quince, with not too much of the syrup, crumble the pastry on top, and cook in a preheated 180°C oven for 25 minutes.
Weekend Argus