A quince is a remarkable thing. It’s a fruit. Covered in fuzzy lint. That you can’t/shouldn’t eat raw.
(I didn’t take pictures of my quince, so I’m borrowing this pic from the great Google.)
Inside, the flesh is pale. It’s firm and hard, yet styrofoamy in texture. Ish.
Grate it, and it looks not unlike raw potatoes ready to be hash browned.
You thought I was kidding. Seriously. Look at that. Fruit? Root vegetable? It’s a toss up. Nope. It’s quince.
Now to marmalading this. (Yes, I just turned marmalade into a verb. It’s my blog and I’ll make up words if I want to.)
Throw it all into a great big pot with half a lemon, some sugar, and water.
Simmer it all for what feels like forever.
And it turns pink and marmalady.
(OK. Mea culpa. By the time it turned pink I was just ready to be done with it, so I canned it without taking pictures of the steps in between. I do this. Frequently. You know me by now. I shouldn’t have to explain myself. Love me or leave me. But please don’t leave me.)
Honest. No slight-of-hand switcheroo here. Those used to look like hashbrowns.
Now they just look delicious on my scone.
Quince marmalade. It’s a magical thing.