Quince-a-nera

One of the coolest things about my little house in Oakland is that it came with a quince tree. Some of you may be wondering what the heck a quince is (besides, obviously, a fruit). Quince looks very similar to a small yellow-green apple, but unlike your garden variety Golden Delicious, it's not a juicy, tasty treat eaten right off the tree. It is, in fact, inedible raw - unless you happen to like cottony-textured, astringent fruit. Once cooked, the character of the fruit completely changes - from super-tart to pretty mellow, and very similar in texture to cooked pears. And because quince is a member of the rose family (Rosaceae), it gives off the the slight aroma of rose petals when being cooked.

For the first few years I lived here, I didn't appreciate the quince tree for how cool it is. I even considered cutting it down and replacing it with something more 'useful,' like an apple tree. I couldn't really understand why the guy who lived here before me even planted it. I mean, it's not a very common fruit. Have you ever gone into a grocery store or a farmer's market and seen piles of quince for sale? When you go to the bakery and look at all the yummy seasonal fruit pastries, have you ever seen a quince turnover sitting next to the apple and peach ones? I didn't think so. Sometimes restaurants on the higher scale of things offer quince (most often as a tart) on the dessert menu, and there's a very well-regarded and pricey restaurant in San Francisco named Quince, but other than that, it's languished in relative obscurity.

But it's because of its obscurity that convinced me to keep the quince tree around. I knew as soon as I cut it down, quince would become incredibly trendy and I would be besieged with quince recipes I would want to try but I wouldn't be able to find the fruit anywhere. And then I would really kick myself for cutting down the tree right before it got popular. OK, that hasn't really happened, but that's because I didn't cut the tree down. I know for sure it would have if I did.

One of the cool things about making jam from quince is that, because of the high pectin content in the fruit, you can actually make jelly out of the water you boil the fruit in. This makes it the perfect fruit for me because I'm a sucker for a good deal, and I have a hard time resisting two-for-the-price-of-one. (Even though the 'one' didn't cost me anything in the first place.) Last year, though, we never got around to making the jelly because someone who shall remain nameless drank the leftover quince water before we had a chance. I can't hardly blame him though, because the quince water is slightly syrupy and has the faint taste of roses. In other words, pretty damn yummy.



This year, not only did the water survive long enough to be turned into jelly, we also made quince paste. Also known by its Spanish name, membrillo, quince paste can be found in specialty grocery stores and is most commonly paired with Manchego. Membrillo is made pretty much the same way jam is - peel, core, slice fruit, boil, puree, add sugar and cook down. But after the cooking down on the stove, it goes in the oven for even more cooking down, resulting in a very concentrated block of quince goodness.

When it came time for holiday baking this year, we wanted to incorporate the quince paste into the process. I looked up some jam cookie recipes, most of which call for raspberry or apricot jam, figuring quince would be a good substitute. It took us several attempts to get exactly what we were looking for.

The first recipe we tried was Oatmeal Raspberry (Quince) Bars. They came out kind of like a Nature Valley granola bar with quince filling - very oaty and crunchy. I liked it, but Mark, who favors a softer cookie as opposed to a crispy one, wasn't particularly a fan. Next up, we tried a Thumbprint cookie, which was OK, but the cookie part was kind of bland and the quince not sweet enough to make up for it. A dusting of powdered sugar kicked the sweetness up a notch and improved them quite a bit. With the extra sugar, they were good but not the exact perfect thing.

Our third try was the charm. We adapted a recipe called Apricot Crumbles, which is a bar cookie like the Oatmeal Raspberry Bars, but with a butter/flour/sugar topping instead of oats. They were just the ticket. The pastry part was buttery but simple, and really allowed the quince to shine. Sadly, the recipe only makes an 8x8 pan - so we had to cut them into really small pieces and they were gone before we knew it. At least next year, we'll know what to do with our quince paste. And maybe if you received some quince jam from us this year and you're wondering what the heck to do with it, you can try it too.

Quince Crumbles

Ingredients

* 2 sticks unsalted butter, cold, cut into pieces
* 2 cups all-purpose flour
* 1/3 cup granulated sugar
* 1/4 cup light brown sugar
* 1 teaspoon baking powder
* 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
* 1 egg yolk
* 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
* 3/4 cup quince paste or jam

Directions

1. Heat oven to 375° F. Coat an 8-inch square baking dish with 1 tablespoon of the butter.
2. In a food processor, combine the flour, granulated and light brown sugars, baking powder, and salt. Pulse to combine. Add the remaining butter and pulse until crumbly. Add the egg yolk and vanilla and pulse until the mixture just comes together but is still crumbly.
3. Transfer 1/2 cup of the dough to a small bowl or cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate. Use your fingertips to press the remaining dough evenly into the baking dish, pushing the dough up about 1/4 inch around the edge.
4. Spread the jam evenly over the crust. Crumble the remaining refrigerated dough over the top. Bake until golden, about 35 minutes. Cool on a wire rack for 20 minutes before cutting.