The Great Quince Jelly Bash



The Fruit of Our Labors

     It was a warm day in late October when the alien loaded up the Versa (the smallest 7-seater car we could find) for a rare crosstown drive. Normally, of course, I would take the bus or bike the 4 miles to Cologny, but I had to transport five grocery bags of quince, two large kettles, six bags of sugar, 16 jars, and assorted other accoutrements, so clearly, this was an occasion to use the family vehicle. I had sweet-talked four friends into exploring the world of jelly-making, a world with which I, at least, had no familiarity. I however, have excellent jelly-making genes on both sides, so I was sure -- much like the kings of old -- that heredity would carry me through where experience and knowledge failed. Some of my friends had actually made jam or jelly before (though not with the strange, bitter, rock-hard quince). Our ace in the hole, however, was Claudia's housekeeper, Elena. We were going to try the jelly at Claudia's house, mostly because she has a steamer oven, which she had heard could be used for quince jelly. As an added bonus, Elena had actually made the jelly before, and was going to act as advisor.

      I will complain only briefly about how long the 4-mile drive took (I had planned on it, so it wasn't a big deal), and jump to the point where the jelly-making commenced. In addition to their other unusual properties, quince are furry, kind of like peaches, except the fur rubs off easily. So Claudia diligently scrubbed each quince to rid it of fur, while Carol and I used razor sharp knives to slice the fruit into smallish pieces (we did have a certain amount of debate about the size of the pieces, which Elena settled by telling us -- a bit impatiently, but nicely -- that it didn't really matter. She also told us to leave the seeds in and skins on, making the whole process much more simple.). Some quince cooked in the steamer oven, others boiled on the stove. By this time, Luisa arrived, and a few minutes later, Jo. Team Quince was complete.

Carol checks the stovetop quince. Actually, she didn't really -- she's just posing for an "action shot."

      When the quince was soft, the real fun began. To make quince jelly (as opposed to jam, which one can also make), one uses quince juice, not quince pulp. We experimented with a variety of methods of extracting the juice from the pulp. One website said to put the pulp in a pillowcase, tie the pillowcase between two chairs, and let the juice drip through all night. Since our children all needed to be retrieved from school at 4:15, we obviously did not have time for this amusing exercise. Plus, Elena told us that the only advantage to that method was that the jelly would be pink. Pink jelly sounded fun, but not worth the wait. After trying a wire strainer with minimal success (the pulp slipped through), we used a large kitchen towel. We wrapped the mush in the towel, twisted the ends tightly closed, then squeezed the towel so that the juice came out. It was sort of like milking a cow, except that it was definitely a two-person job. Also, it was quite a workout (I understand that for the inexperienced, milking cows can be as well). Nevertheless, the kitchen smelled lovely. (I read that quince have been used for perfume and air freshener since ancient times.)

Jo and Claudia milk the quince.

Luisa looks on with a bowl of mush.

     

      Of course, everything always takes twice as long as planned, so by the time we had extracted three kettles full of juice, most people had to leave for school pickup. Since my kids are older and can take the bus alone, I stayed behind to bond with Claudia over the final step: The gelification of the juice. This is accomplished by adding a truly astonishing amount of what, in French, is called sucre gelificant (I'm not sure what it is in English). Quince is kind of like rhubarb, in that it is so repulsive on its own that the only way it can be eaten is to sweeten it beyond recognition. At least the leaves of the quince tree aren't poisonous. I think.
      So we added the sugar, boiled and bubbled, and poured the scalding liquid into our pre-sanitized jars. As a novice jelly-maker, I found it particularly satisfying that the lids of the jars did indeed seal as the liquid cooled, just like they were supposed to. Now I have a pantry full of quince jelly, which is my new favorite spread. The world, however, is not a perfect place. Not only do I have three bags of quince left (not rotting I hope) in the garage, but it turns out that no one else in the family even likes quince jelly. What I have to say is, too bad for them.

  * * *

      This story has an interesting epilogue. Eric and I were at the grocery store buying more jelly jars, when the elderly woman ahead of us in the checkout line began pointing at our jars and talking to us in French. I thought I understood something about her telephone number, but not much more than that, so Eric and I did our usual smile and nod in a friendly way. Nevertheless, the woman persisted, and we finally understood her to be offering us a bunch of jelly jars that she was going to throw away. One does not usually run into friendly and talkative people in Swiss grocery stores (they are perfectly polite -- just not friendly and talkative), and I decided to accept the jars. She gave me her telephone number and I actually succeeded in reaching her on the phone and setting up a time to pick up the jars. I went one afternoon, and she greeted me warmly at the door of her eighth-floor apartment. We had a friendly chat in German (her first language, of which I understand about 10 words, including "Wo ist der Bahnhof," which was pretty useless in this context), French (in which she is fluent), and English (she had a French-English dictionary right by the door in anticipation of my visit). She gave me the jars, kissed me on both cheeks (Genevans do three kisses, but she's from the German part of Switzerland, so it was only two), and sent me on my merry way. I am delighted to have had a real visit with a real Swiss person, and am trying to work up my courage to call her and set up another visit. The jars will be very helpful when I get around to cooking up the rest of the quince, as well!