When Life Gives You Quince, Make Cake!

They're lumpy and hard as a rock, yellow as a golden delicious apple and with a floral fragrance that'll perfume your whole house. In fact, bowls of them were arrayed in homes in ancient Greece and Rome for just that purpose, and were given as gifts at Greek weddings in homage to Aphrodite, the goddess of love.

Quince.

I'd been obsessing over quince for a couple of weeks when my friend Myrna mentioned they had a bumper crop on their trees and asked if I'd like to pick some.

Oh joy!

You see, I'd made a batch of quince-infused vodka a couple of years ago based on her husband Karl's recipe. It turned out terrifically, the only problem being that first attempt had taken a year to fully mature and I hadn't documented the process well.

Quince infusing in vodka.

So after peeling and chopping up a few pounds and stuffing the pieces into a gallon jar with a couple of bottles of Monopolowa vodka—our preferred brand for infusing since it's good quality and cheap—it went immediately into the basement for a couple of months' rest. The problem was, there were still about four pounds of fruit left.

I'd made quince sauce before, which is delicious, but in the spirit of exploration wanted to try something new. That's when I remembered my mother's recipe for applesauce cake, a moist little single-layer cake that she'd whip up when an after-school snack was called for. Since quince sauce is almost exactly the same texture, if a little denser, than applesauce, I figured it would make a good substitute.

The quince sauce added a complexity of flavor and aroma that belied the simplicity of the cake, especially with a little scoop of ice cream served alongside. You can easily substitute applesauce back into the recipe, and I heartily recommend topping each piece of cake with a spoonful of whichever sauce you choose to make it with.

Simple Quince Sauce Cake

For the quince sauce:

4 lbs. quince, the more fragrant the better

Sugar or mild honey, to taste

Juice of 2 lemons

For the cake:

2 c. flour

2 tsp. baking powder

1/2 tsp. baking soda

1/2 tsp. salt

3/4 tsp. cinnamon

1/2 tsp. ground ginger

1/8 tsp. ground cloves

1/2 c. butter or margarine (1 stick)

1 c. brown sugar

1 tsp. vanilla extract

2 eggs

1 1/2 c. quince sauce (or applesauce)

1/2 c. walnuts, chopped fine (optional)

To make the quince sauce, coarsely chop the quince into large pieces, removing core and any bruises or brown spots. Place in large pot over medium heat and pour in a cup of water and lemon juice. Stir to combine. When water in bottom of pot begins to boil, reduce heat to low simmer and, stirring occasionally to prevent sticking, cook until quince pieces are tender. Add sugar to taste (I like mine slightly tart, but it still takes a fair amount of sugar to get it to that stage). Allow to cool. If you want, you can mash it by hand or run it through a food mill to remove skins and make a smooth sauce.

Preheat oven to 350°.

In a small mixing bowl, combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and spices.

In a large mixing bowl or mixer, beat butter, brown sugar, and vanilla together until soft and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add quince sauce and beat in thoroughly. Mix in dry ingredients a small amount at a time until just combined, but don't over mix. Add walnuts and stir them in by hand.

Grease (using butter or margarine) and lightly flour an 8" or 9" square cake pan. Pour cake batter into pan and bake for 40 minutes. To test for doneness, insert a toothpick or sharp skewer into the center. It is done when the pick comes out clean. Serve with a spoonful of quince sauce on top and a scoop of ice cream alongside.

A Question of Quince

“They dined on mince, and slices of quince

Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,

They danced by the light of the moon.”

- Edward Lear, The Owl and the Pussycat

I recently ran across one of my favorite childhood books, a collection of poems called "Edward Lear's Nonsense Book" (left). Now dog-eared and falling apart, when I was a child its odd characters like the Jumblies, the Owl and the Pussycat and the Old Man with a Beard felt like falling with Alice down the rabbit hole. To a kid raised on Barbie dolls and Saturday morning cartoons, it was a curious and unfamiliar universe, one that was at once both delightful and disturbing. Needless to say, I loved it.

Chopped and ready to cook.

Lear's mention of quince, along with runcible spoons and Pobbles (one of whom had no toes), was at least partially responsible for a lifetime of Anglophilia, which I still suffer from. So when my neighbor Karl offered me a box of quince from his tree, I gladly accepted, though I had no idea what to do with them—Lear obviously ignored the fact that they're rock hard and terrifically tannic, obviously not meant for eating out of hand.

Now where's that runcible spoon?

Karl had given me a recipe for his quince liqueur, which takes a month to ferment and which I'll post about later, but it left more than half the box still unused. A suggestion from Katherine Deumling gave me a quick and easy solution, though, and that was to make a quince sauce from them. Like applesauce, it requires little else other than sugar and lemon and heat to make, so in just a couple of hours I'd spared myself the guilt and embarrassment of wasting a lovely pile of fruit.

Now to figure out what a runcible spoon is so I can eat it.

Quince Sauce

4 lbs. quince, the more fragrant the better
Sugar or mild honey, to taste
Juice of 2 lemons

Coarsely chop the quince into large pieces, removing core and any bruises or brown spots. Place in large pot over medium heat and pour in a cup of water and lemon juice. Stir to combine. When water in bottom of pot begins to boil, reduce heat to low simmer and, stirring occasionally to prevent sticking, cook until quince pieces are tender. Add sugar to taste (I like mine slightly tart, but it still takes a fair amount of sugar to get it to that stage). Allow to cool. If you want, you can mash it by hand or run it through a food mill to remove skins and make a smooth sauce. At this point it will keep in the refrigerator for a week or so, or it can be frozen and saved for later use.