Monday
I’ve eaten them, I’ve cooked them, I’ve loved them but I can’t say I’ve ever had the full-on orgasmic quincey-profumo affair. Writers write effusively about the heady smell of quince as the fruit sit in a fruit bowl. Really? There’s not a lot of change, to be honest, with my three. I chose them carefully, and there they have sat for a month reclining in a nice black bowl while I wait for them to share their magic. Dormant. Mute. Not happening. Am I missing something? I sniff and I sniff, maybe I have sniffed up all the scent before it was ready to be released? Well, that’s stupid. Now I am writing stupid stuff. The quinces are getting the better of me.
But it is a conundrum.
I’ve been buying quinces for years – I’ve never had a quince tree apart from in
my dreams – so buy them I do, and I usually get on with cooking them long
before they have a chance to fill the house with their ‘glorious scent’. They
smell great when they cook, and I love the way they change to deep pink and
crimson depending on the other ingredients in the recipe. But fill the house
with perfume when they are raw? Does it just burst forth one day, like a pear
that has little or no perfume until it starts to ripen, which it does from the centre?
Is that the life of a quince? Someone tell me, put me out of my misery. Am I
doing something wrong, or do they really not smell at all. Did someone just
make that up?
Tuesday
I decide I better consult the great oracle in the sky and get some answers. Google threw up all of these tantalising reports: Quinces are highly fragrant; quinces smell like exotic guava; quinces emit scents of ripening apples and pears; quinces have hints of vanilla, citrus, apple…. And on and on Google effused, but the worst was this: The honey sweet fragrance of quince will fill the whole home.
I was feeling inadequate, as if there was a secret being kept from me, then I read about other people who have experienced scent-free quinces. Oh! I’ve found my tribe! Deeper I dove … All I need is a windowsill, Googleman told me. The sun will make quince turn yellow and then they will emit their secret scents. I looked at my quinces, as lumpy as thigh cellulite and already a beautiful sunny yellow. But then the most extraordinary thing happened, I swear I didn’t imagine it. This sweet scent rose up and filled my nostrils. It was gorgeous, honey-sweet, like a floral meadow when morning sun warms it, filled with jasmine and grapefruit and white roses, and yes QUINCE. OMG the quinces were opening up! I rushed to the fruit bowl, picked up one and with eyes closed drew in a deep sniff. Nothing. I lowered my head, studied the quince and the perfume was there again. Oh, joy. I raised my head and there was no more perfume. It certainly wasn’t coming from the quince. That’s right, it was coming from deep inside my shirt. Err-mmm. I investigated further, and there it was, the glorious smell of Chanel’s Chance Eau Tendre. So I get it. A wee spray of Channel on the bowl of quinces and everything smells like roses. Or quinces. Just like they say it will in all those housey type magazines.
Quinces are like feijoas – in that you can’t miss the scent!!! Maybe it is a bit like brown boronia – a most uninspiring shrub with chocolate coloured flowers which smell like heaven BUT it is a fact that some people can’t smell the perfume. My son in law planted one by the back door and our daughter has no idea why everyone except her loves this uninteresting slightly scruffy looking plant. I planted one at home and my husband also is mystified as to why I go out of my way to walk past it.
But, back to quinces. From an eating point of view, they improve cooked apples (i.e. crumbles, pies , sponges) more than you can imagine. A quince tree is on my shopping/gardening “To Do” list.
Hi Lorna, thanks for your comments. I don’t think it is because I can’t pick up their smell – I have made a living by using by sense of smell and taste, and they are pretty sharp. I just think these quinces are weird. They weren’t covered with that downy fluff stuff when I bought them. I’ll give them another week in the fruit bowl then cook them and see what happens. Yes, I would love a quince tree, too, and I must check out the brown boronia. Do you know the Latin name of it? Thanks
Please tell me where you found the quinces – I find them very hard to get in New Plymouth. I have made jelly, paste and desserts. It is an old but fabulous fruit and I just love them
Lot your blog
Hi Christine,
I live on Waiheke, so got them locally. But you might like to buy a tree. They take about 4 years to produce fruit. Here’s a link to an orchard selling them.
https://www.waimeanurseries.co.nz/our-products/fruit-trees/quinces/
It’s a long wait, but then you will have them every year!
A quince should be picked from a tree when fully yellow. In the US and other countries commercially farmed fruit is often picked unripe and green (including lime, many people don’t know that lime is actually yellow when ripe).
Also, quinces smell differently. The majority of them smells about the same, but I have a tree (grown from seed, so technically it’s a new strain) that grows quinces that smell more like citrus than like a “normal” quince and it just so happens that these quinces make by far the best jam. It grew its first fruits last year and I saved the seeds and this year I grew 6 new trees/seedlings from its seeds. Hope they’ll also smell “citrusy”.
Thanks Brian for the info re quinces. Limes are a personal preference I think. They are certainly more acidic when green and that sharp acidity is what is called for in Thai dishes (and other cuisines) and in ‘cheesecake’ or custard mixtures as the acidity helps thicken the mixture when combined with eggs.