I thought we’d missed the season. I was disappointed. I’ve been parsing out the last bit of membrillo (quince jelly) to Lily and Katie to eat with cheese. ‘Is there any more?’ they ask, when faced with the thin sliver of fragrant amber jelly on their plates. ‘That’s it,’ I say. ‘It’s nearly all gone.’
Since moving to Sanlúcar a decade ago, I have made quince jelly pretty much every year in late summer. First, I pick a large bagful from a couple of trees by the river on the land tended by lovely old Juan de Correos (who sadly passed away this summer), or I get some from the land of my friends, Paul and Diana.
Turning the hard pale green fruits into dark orange deliciousness is a Saturday morning’s work – washing the growth of fuzz off each fruit, peeling and coring them (they have nasty black sticky cores), chopping them into the saucepan and adding sugar and the tiniest bit of water. And then the magic happens. The quince gradually transform from something more akin to a potato than a pear in look and texture into the most fragrant, most floral, deepest orange mush. A quick blitz with the hand blender once the mush has reached setting temperature, and then I pour it into two trays to set. As it cools, it solidifies to a jelly and turns translucent. It’s magical. And the taste is heavenly. When it cools and sets, I cut it into blocks and store it for use throughout the year.
In my house, we eat it with cheese or sometimes on toast. I put it as a middle layer in homemade oat bars, and I even add it to apple pies.
So, imagine how I felt when I thought I’d missed the season. We’d been away for so long and I’m still kind of settling back in to life here, so making membrillo had slipped my mind. Until I realised we were down to our last block. A whole year without membrillo? Unimaginable!
This evening, Lady and I went out for our evening walk and I came to a membrillo tree, branches sagging under the weight of a healthy fruit crop. And then I remembered. This was the very tree that I had picked the quince from last year. This tree comes into fruit later than the other trees that I usually pick from and the fruit last year was much better – no rotten bits, no waspy bits, just perfect quinces.
The tree is on the edge of a field, with half its branches hanging out over the fence and over the edge of the road. It was ftom these branches that I picked last year. This evening, I made a mental note to come back tomorrow with my backpack and take what I need.
As I walked past the tree on the return leg of my walk, the man who owns the field was there. I asked if I could take some quinces tomorrow and told him I’d taken some last year. We got into a conversation about membrillo and it’s many delicious uses and he told me to take what I need.
So, tomorrow I’ll be back by the tree to forage some fruit and, although I’d planned to do something else, Saturday will be my annual membrillo-making day.
Me in place 