Quince and Almond Tart
I have picked the last of the quinces. I planted these quinces eight years ago and they are the only trees I have grown perfectly – they have been watered and pruned and fed. Maybe I overcompensated because they are a tree I have come across in this district but nobody grows them much anymore. All the trees I know from around the place are old, knotted and full of character.
Leon, a lovely man who helps me with my pruning, is sometimes scolding about my overaffection for these trees I have planted. Last August when he came to help me with my trees he was disappointed to see piles of manure at their feet and told me the trees would get too excited about growing to concentrate on producing fruit.
Clearly, they are a tree of great character, and often take great character to look after them with the right mixture of tough love and patience. Here in Collector, I used to get some quinces from a great bushman named Gordon Ranger, who would happily sit on the porch with his shotgun, and then go on to assure me that while he could not guarantee a harvest from the other side of the tree, those on the house side had been spared the attention of hungry cockatoos.
Maybe it is as much the people I meet around quinces, as the trees themselves, but I think also the fruit itself is full of character. They are beautiful trees, with perfect simple pink blossom, yet wild and woody, with crinkly, disused paperbag type leaves that cling on. I love the colour of the fruit. That lime green sometimes leads me to ponder a kitchen painted such a colour. Their scent, the way they sit in a bowl, like a Dutch stilllife painting with the added bonus of that unique, musty, unmistakable smell. I love the woolly down that covers them. I love their toughness. You see them on the edge of creek beds and clinging to craggy granite outcrops in the Tablelands.
Somehow they survive and hang on without much attention – except for those crafty cockatoos that are so cleverly secretive about their destruction– and can escape the attention of Gordy’s shotgun as they quietly pilfer away on the other side of the tree.
Perhaps the popularity of quinces has faded since the fashion for preserving things died just about the same time the supermarket was invented. Once every country household made quince jelly or put quinces in Vacola jars – my father always said it was his favourite stewed fruit. Quinces need to be cooked to make them edible – perhaps another mark against them in today’s world of instant gratification. Unlike most fruit, quinces are short of acid but have good pectin, making them great preserves. The Portuguese word for quince is marmelo – hence, quince marmalade. They also go well with almonds – and a classic is quince and almond, or frangipane.
Quince and almond tart
Serves 8-10
Pastry
100g softened butter
100g icing sugar
2 whole eggs, beaten
250g plain flour
pinch of salt
Mix the flour, sugar and salt in a bowl. Add the butter and rub it so it resembles breadcrumbs. Pour in beaten eggs and mix well, but do not overwork. Bring gently together to form the dough. Cover and rest in the fridge for 30 minutes. Preheat the oven to 180C. Use the pastry to line a 28cm loose-bottomed, fluted flan tin. Cover the pastry with greaseproof paper and fi ll with baking beans or rice. Bake in the oven for 15 minutes, then remove the beans and paper and bake for another fi ve minutes. Set aside to cool.
Baked quince
250g honey
500ml water
½ lemon, sliced
6 large quinces
1 bird’s eye chilli, fi nely sliced
1 bay leaf
Scrub the quinces with a scourer to remove fluff. Cut them into quarters and take out pips. Cut again into halves, depending on the size of quince. Place in a baking tray with honey, water, lemon juice, bay leaf and chilli. Cover with foil and bake at 170C for about one hour. Take off the foil if you have too much juice and reduce the liquid. Put aside. Use what you need for the tart, drained. The rest is delicious with cream or ice cream.
Almond cream filling
250g butter
240g almond meal
250g icing sugar
50g fl our
5 whole eggs
30ml amaretto (optional)
flaked almonds, toasted (optional)
Cream the butter and sugar in a large bowl and beat with an electric mixer until light and fluffy. Add the eggs a little at a time, beating well after each addition. If the mixture looks as if it may curdle, add a spoonful of the fl our. Sift the flour and add with the almonds, then fold into the egg mixture.
To assemble
Drain the quinces. Spread the pastry case with quince marmalade. Fill with the almond cream. Top with the quinces, arranged neatly. Bake for 25-35 minutes. Remove and allow to cool. Spread lightly with apricot or quince marmalade and cover with toasted almonds or sprinkle with icing sugar. Serve warm with vanilla ice cream or pouring cream.