Cotognata

Step 1

Rinse the quince, and cut each into wedges through the stem and blossom ends. Peel the skin, or, if it is thin and unblemished, you may leave it on (which I do). Pare out the core and the seeds, then slice each wedge crosswise in pieces about 1/3 inch thick.

Step 2

Put the quince, sugar, wine, and water in a heavy-bottomed 3- or 4-quart saucepan; stir together. Slit the vanilla bean lengthwise to split it open; scrape the tiny seeds into the pot, and toss in the pod too.

Step 3

Bring the syrup to a boil, and cook, uncovered, at a steady simmer for an hour or longer, until the syrup has thickened visibly, with big bubbles popping all over the surface. Remove the pan from the heat and let it cool; pick out the vanilla pod.

Step 4

Pack the cotognata into a pint jar or smaller jars; seal with plastic wrap and jar lids. Keep refrigerated. Stir in a small pan to warm it for serving; thin with liqueur or wine for a looser consistency.

Serving Ideas . . .

Step 5

With roast meats and poultry.

Step 6

With cheese (it’s especially delightful with gorgonzola).

Step 7

Put it on toast, or French toast or pancakes; stir it into yogurt; soften it with Grand Marnier and spoon it over vanilla ice cream for a gorgeous quince sundae.

Hints on Quince: A Perfume from the Past

Step 8

When I want to check a quince for ripeness, I hold it to my nose and inhale deeply. There’s no mistaking a perfectly ripe one: the scent transports me back to the home of Nonna Rosa (my mother’s mother) in Busoler, where I spent much of my childhood. The heady, floral scent of quince was everywhere in late fall and winter—in the kitchen, where the cut-up fruit slowly cooked into jam; in the dark pantry, where whole quince were set on wooden shelves, to dehydrate slowly over the winter months; and—perhaps most intensely of all—emanating from the drawers of folded linen, where Grandma tucked the quince to ripen and serve as a sachet.

Step 9

Anyone who has grown up with quince, one of my favorite fruits, probably has happy memories of it, like me. It is cultivated and cooked all around the world, though it is much less popular in America now than in past generations, when it was commonly made into jams and preserves. If you are not familiar with it—yet—here are a few basics: it is an autumn tree fruit, like apples and pears, but has a starchy, tannic flesh difficult to appreciate raw. Cooked, however, quince brings a rich and complex flavor to both sweet and savory dishes. It keeps its shape yet has a lovely soft and melting texture, and the flesh takes on a lovely pinkish color too. In addition to sauces, I use quince in tarts, meat stuffings, and braised dishes.

Step 10

Fortunately, the fruit is still readily available. I see it on occasion in the supermarket but more often find it at farmers’ markets and orchards in autumn. Buy firm, unblemished fruit (don’t worry if they’re covered in fuzz: that’s a sign of freshness); store them in a dark, well-ventilated place or brown paper bag, where they will mature and last for a month or two. Ripe quince will be lemony yellow all over, with a distinctive perfume you can’t miss—even if it doesn’t take you back to your grandmother’s house.