Recipe:Quince-o-rama, Part 2: Nostradamus' Jelly
When we last left the Quince Wranglers, they were in the Greenvalley kitchen, holding watch over a sputtering cauldron of QUINCES IN HONEY and scaling a mountain of fragrant fruit boulders. Now the death-defying tale continues, as the Quince Wranglers hasten to meet their fate aroud a fiery lake of QUINCE JELLY WITH ROSE GERANIUM.
Jelly is in theory a simple sweet preserve to make—you boil fruit with water, then strain the resulting liquid and reduce it over heat until it reaches the jell point. In practice, jelly-making is fraught with anxiety. I haven't made enough to know exactly when it's ready, so I'm forever on edge trying to guess the moment when it has reduced enough, but not yet too much. With jam, I can just look at a pot and say, "five minutes more" or "we're there." Jelly is harder to figure out, in part because you have to get it just right. Too little cooking, and you'll have syrup; too much, candy.
Hendrick ter Brugghen, Boy Singing (1627)Jelly's eventual triumph or failure depends on just one factor: how the pectin performs. (Remember: the challenge I set for myself was to make jelly without the addition of commercial pectin.) Like a young tenor out there on center stage, a fruit's own pectin is capable of thrilling but unreliable results. Sometimes the tenor hits the high-C and the results are shimmering and brilliant. Sometimes his voice cracks, and the hoped-for jelly fails to set. And still other time, the jelly might become tough and drab through overcooking, like the tenor who uses his talents excessively and grows old before his time.
Jam is more forgiving; the chunks of fruit give substance to the preserve even if it remains a bit runny. A liquid-derived jelly offers pectin no such cover to hide behind, so even the slightest mistake will ruin the the entire costly spectacle and rip your guts out with disappointment.
Ok, perhaps it's not as dramatic as that. But I still get butterflies when standing over a jelly pot. Naturally I tried my best to hide my emotion from Willy, since Quince Wranglers are supposed to show no fear.
I'm happy to report that this time we got it right. The jelly became gloriously pink (more on that in the next post) and it set up as a firm, transparent crystal.
Nostradamus foresaw that such things would come to pass.
The 16th century scholar is better known as the guy who scribbled down his apocalyptic prophesies, which were popular in his time as well as ours—medieval Sci-Fi. But he was also an apothecary and confectioner, and his cookbook was something of a best-seller of the age, going through three printings in his lifetime. It's a bit harder to find today, but still worth a peruse for anyone who cares about the history of preserves. Nostradamus gives us 7 quince recipes, as well as a fine if time-consuming preparation for preserved pears and other oddities such as "lettuce preserves in sugar."
But Nostradamus seemed to love quince above all other fruits, and he writes about them with loving familiarity. For example, he implores us not to peel our quinces before cooking:
"Those who peel and pare them do not know why they do it; indeed, the peel increases the aroma."
And he goes moony when describing the qualities of his quince jelly. Chapter XV of his cookbook is devoted to "How to make a quince jelly which is supreme in appearance, quality, flavour, and excellence, which is suitable for presenting to a king, and which keeps for a long time." His basic technique is familiar to all Quince Wranglers today—extract juice and reduce—but what is notable is, first, that he insists on removing the quince seeds before cooking, and, second, that he uses a strikingly pre-modern proportion of 3 parts juice to 1 part sugar.
Slaves Fell th Ripe Sugar, W. Clark (1823)In his great book Sweetness and Power, historian Sydney Mintz reminds us that sugar was a rare and privileged substance before the 19th century. For us today, sugar is an ubiquitous additive. For the medieval world, it was a treasured condiment akin in cost and use to spice, and equally noted for its taste as for its preservative effect and medical efficacy. Nostradamus feels its necessary to repeatedly remind his readers not to scrimp on sugar, but even so his recipe for quince jelly uses far less than would be typical today. What this means is that the cook following his advice would need to reduce the extracted quince juice for, approximately, forever in order to concentrate the pectin (and sugar) sufficiently to make the suspension set into a jelly. That long cooking would also result in an intensely red jelly. I plan to try it out. Who wouldn't after reading what Nostradamus has to say about its result, which he evidently stored in a shallow wooden box:
"Should you wish to write something or carve something on the bottom of the box, you may do so; it will be easily seen because the preserve will be as diaphanous as an oriental ruby. It will have an excellent colour and even more flavour, so that one may present it as much to the ill as to those who are healthy."
Notice that Nostradamus, an apothecary, praises not only the jelly's beautiful apperance and taste, but also its restorative effect on the sick. (I'd also point out that my friend Beatrice, who is from Mexico, says that in her country membrillo, quince paste, is still stored in shallow boxes or cajitas.)
What Willy and I did is a modern quince jellly flavored with rose geranium leaves plucked from the backyard. I can vouch for the fact that quince jelly remains, across the ages "diaphanous as an oriental ruby" (if not quite so red) and its flavor makes it fit to present "to the ill as to those who are healthy."
QUINCE JELLY WITH ROSE GERANIUM
5 pounds quince
8 cups water
3 cups sugar
juice of 1/2 lemon
6 rose geranium leaves (optional—even if you don't have a rose geranium in the backyard, you can still make a delicious quince jelly without them)
1 Quarter quinces, removing the stem and calyx (flower remnant) but leaving peels and cores. Slice each quarter into 4 smaller chunks. Place in a large kettle and add water to barely cover.
2 Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer and cook uncovered until quinces are very soft and slightly pink, as much as one hour.
3 Spread the sugar on a baking sheet and warm it in an oven set to 200 degrees.
4 Strain off the juice through a jelly bag or a colander lined with damp cheesecloth. (By all means, save the pulp for making membrillo.) You should have about 4 cups. Pour into a preserving pan and bring to a boil. Add the warm sugar and lemon juice.
5 Return the syrup to a medium boil and reduce for however long it takes to reach the jell point, which could be 20 minutes or more. Begin testing for a jell set once the hot jelly has visible reduced in volume and begins to slosh around the pan with the thick viscosity of glycerin. A gell set has been achieved when a drop "beads" on a cold plate, or when a teaspoon of jelly placed in the freezer for 90 seconds develops a skin that crinkles as you push your finger through it.
6 Once the jell set has been achieved, turn off the heat. Crush the rose geranium leaves in your fist and swish them through the hot jelly for 20 seconds. Discard the leaves, skim the jelly and ladle into prepared jars. Seal and process jars in a boiling-water bath for 10 minutes.
YIELD
5 pounds quince yielded 2 pints jelly (plus pulp for membrillo)
8 x 4 oz jars
Reader Comments (8)
I've been avoiding making jelly entirely for the reason you mention. When it comes to jam, I just know when it's done. Jelly seems to demand a terrifyingly high level of precision and I'm just not sure if my slapdash kitchen style is equipped for it. That said, your jelly looks absolutely beautiful!
that look absolutely heavenly.
Gorgeous! I just made quince jelly and although it set perfectly and tastes divine, it did not turn that gorgeous color! Do you have any idea why? I hope you post the membrillo recipe...
Hi Julia -- thanks for your comment -- i do know why your jelly didn't turn pink -- and i'm going to talk about that exact subject in my next post, which will be about brick-red membrillo (with recipe) -- i'll get it up in a day or two -- but first I have to run up to berkeley tonight to visit Alice Water's Edible Schoolyard tomorrow morning -- roadtrip! i'll be back to SAVING THE SEASON as soon as i can -- all the best, kevin west
Oooo! Lucky you! I can't wait for the post. I will wait on my remaining quinces until then. Many thanks, until then...
Hi Kevin -
WE have a pile of quince sitting in our kitchen, which I'm hoping to make some lovely paste out of. Is that what you call it? When it's more firm and thick than jelly, and you eat it with cheese? Anyway, very inspired by your intrepidness to actually brave the boiling now...
hi josh -- thanks for your comment -- you're thinking of membrillo -- or quince paste -- or quince cheese, which is what the Brits calls it -- and I'm about to sit down and do a post on it now -- finally -- check back a bit later -- best, kevin west
Hey Kevin
Love your blogging site I came to one of your canning classes and would love to attend another you had mentioned possibily orange marmalade? will you post your up coming classes here? or could you add me to your e-mail list. did you post the Quince Paste recipe yet?
Look forward to catching up with you soon,
Tracy