Do you ever feel like the Universe is messing with you?  Taking the piss maybe, just a little bit?

Every November, I make a little tour of greengrocers and farm shops, hoping against hope that they will have quince.  They never do, which always baffles me as surely the quince is quince-essentially English?  It was certainly beloved of the Edwardians and Victorians, but despite living in the West Country, surrounded by orchard fruits, there is never a quince to be found.

This hasn’t really bothered me until this year.  Sure, I was sad.  Maybe even mildly vexed.  But this year, not only was it heavily featured upon Market Kitchen—which is normally a surefire way of getting unusual fruit and vegetables into the supermarkets, let alone farm shops—but bloggers far and wide were cooking with it!  That was just insult upon injury!

Why could I, in the orchard of England, not find any quince?  Aran was making membrillo in Florida, Clotilde and David were poaching quince in Paris, and Andrew—who must surely be the luckiest man on the planet—was poaching quinces he’d found at the side of the road.

Well.

The bit was firmly set between my teeth by this point, and so I started visiting my usual farm shops, my list of known shops expands year upon year, and calling ones I’d never been to before.  Some, worryingly, had never heard of quince.  Others said, “Ooh, no.  No one eats those any more.”  I even went so far as to try and track down a quince tree that I could scrump some fruit from.  Poor Dave put up with my dark mutterings for days.

I had an ace up my sleeve, though.  Farringtons Farm Shop is my go-to place for unusual vegetables—fresh borlotti, cavolo nero—so perhaps they would have some?  Luckily I rang before jumping in the car, as they’re not exactly local.  No, no they didn’t have any.  I could have cried, and perhaps sensing this, Diane, the farm shop manager, offered to order me in a tray of quince.  She did warn that she might not be able to get any, but still… how kind of her!

As you can see, my quest for quince has had a happy ending.  A couple of days later, Diane called and I drove down there with Lucas to collect eight of the most aromatic quince ever known to man.

Aren’t they beautiful?

I must admit that by the time I had the quince in my hands, I had completely forgotten what I had originally wanted to make with them.  So, some fast-thinking was called for as I had no idea how long they would keep for.

I was somewhat seduced by Nigella’s Ruby Red Quince from Forever Summer, but a quick Google revealed some serious concerns about the cooking temperature/times.  I also discovered that not every quince will turn ruby red—apparently it’s all to do with the ripeness of the quince, as well as the variety.  An unripe quince will turn a beautiful dark red, but a very ripe one may not get much beyond amber.  There’s some interesting science behind the transformation from off-white to ruby red, but I think some things are perhaps best left as magic.

I tracked Nigella’s version back to Maggie Beer’s original recipe for slow-roasted quince, and after an initial wobble about having the oven on for seven hours, decided to just go for it.  In my Googling I’d also come across a quince & brandy ice cream which sounded delectable, so I knuckled down and made that too.  (I also made an amazing lamb and quince tagine, which was unapologetically unphotegenic yet utterly delicious.)

So, after all the trouble I went to, were the results worthwhile?  Absolutely.  I couldn’t believe how different the fruit tasted with the two different preparations.

The ice cream was fresh and light, tasting exactly like the scent of the fresh quince.  Honey-sweet, somewhere between apple and pear in taste and wonderfully light in texture thanks to the Italian meringue.  The brandy kept it from being too sweet and made it more autumnal in taste, if that makes any sense.  At any rate, it was very good and very adult.  If I had a quince tree in the garden then the first fruits of the season every year would go towards this!

The ruby red, slow-roasted quince were a complete contrast to the lightness of the ice cream.  Each bite conjured up thoughts of Turkish bazaars, with heady flavours of rose, caramel, and spice as well as the apple/pear inbetween-ness.  Slow-roasting the fruit created a glacé fruit effect, and each bite was a seductive experience.  Definitely worth leaving the oven on all day for—I was too chicken to have it on while we slept!

They say that all good things come to those who wait, and they’re right.

Slow-roasted quinces

Source: Maggie Beer

1.5 kg quince
600 ml water
1 orange, juice & zest strips
400 g white sugar
1 cinnamon stick

Peel, core, and cut the quinces into bite-size bits. Reserve trimmings. (I left mine as halves.)

Wrap and tie quince trimmings in a piece of muslin. Put water, orange juice and rind, sugar and cinnamon stick in a pot and bring to the boil, then add the muslin bag. Simmer over medium heat for 15 minutes or until syrupy. Remove and discard muslin bag, reserving the orange rind and cinnamon stick.

Put quince in a shallow baking dish just large enough to fit them all snugly in one layer. Add enough syrup (including reserved orange rind and cinnamon stick) to come three-quarters of the way up the sides of the quince, then cover closely with a piece of baking paper cut to fit the inside of the dish.

Roast for 8 hours at 90C (overnight), the quince pieces will become tender and the most beautiful deep ruby colour and the pan juices become syrupy. If not by the next morning simply increase the temperature to 120C and cook until the syrup reduces.  Cool in syrup before serving.

Quince and Brandy Ice Cream

Source: Waitrose

• 2 large quinces, peeled, cored and quartered
• 300g caster sugar
• 2 large egg whites
• 1 lemon, juice
• 50ml brandy or calvados
• 284ml double cream

Put the quince flesh in a saucepan with 300ml water and 100g sugar. Cook gently for 10–15 minutes until soft. Drain, reserving the liquid. Purée the quince flesh, then push through a sieve to ensure it’s totally smooth. Cool.

Measure the poaching liquid – there should be about 150ml. Add the remaining sugar to this and heat slowly, stirring to help the sugar dissolve; bring to the boil. Boil for 4 minutes – during this time the syrup should reach the short-thread stage (108°C). If you don’t have a sugar thermometer, remove a small amount with a teaspoon, dip your fingers in cold water, then pinch the mixture between the tips of your thumb and index finger; when you part them, the syrup should make a little thread.

Whisk the egg whites until stiff, then pour on the hot syrup, beating continuously. Fold in the lemon juice, brandy and quince purée. Loosely whip the cream and fold it in. Freeze the mixture in an ice-cream machine or a shallow dish in the freezer; beat about 4 times at hourly intervals to break up the crystals. Eat within a month.