There are few things more magical than a quince. With a little kitchen alchemy you can transform this forbiddingly astringent and fuzzy fruit into something silken and sublime. The tip-off is the fragrance. When ripe, a quince will lose any hint of green, turn golden yellow and emit the most extraordinary aroma, like a candied combination of guava, pear and vanilla. I've heard that, left to ripen on the tree until late fall, they can actually become sweet enough to eat out of hand, but I have never encountered such a specimen. So I've always cooked them, generally poaching or roasting them in sweet preparations, or braising them with savory meats. If you've never tried a quince, now is the moment to look for them at your local farmers market. You'll have to look hard, though. Even at New York City's Union Square market, I found only one vendor with quinces. I wrote about this beguiling fruit here, way back in the very early days of the blog, and then again here, where I included recipes for making quince paste and for Alice Waters' mouth-watering quince and lamb tagine. This week I found a recipe for a hot lamb and quince salad from Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall—he of the River Cottage and the exceedingly long name—and it really struck my fancy. Maybe it will strike yours, too.
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