A Harvest of Quince and The Best Recipe for Quince Jelly. Now where's my runcible spoon?

I'm feeling rather pleased with myself and slightly uneasy at the same time. Why, you may ask. Let me tell you.

Having wanted to grow proper quinces for several years, this year my tree has produced the goods. I counted 40 this year, a thrilling effort from this four year old tree. To have forty quinces gives plenty of scope for trying out new ways of cooking and preserving. But if there's this many this year, what of the future?  I've read of massive gluts and that's when I start to get jittery. Forty I can cope with; eighty or more might start to feel like overwhelm. Do we really know what we want to do with a wealth of quinces? It's one of those 'Be careful what you wish for' moments.

My desire for a quince tree started in 2012 when I noticed the round fruits of Chaenomeles x superba growing in the gardens at Capel Manor where I was studying. I was told that they were edible, like quince. Seems reasonable as the plant's common name is Japanese Quince. I snaffled a few from the ground and made membrillo.  It was jolly good.

I also used some to make a tea infusion.  I'd heard that Lithuanians traditionally steep slices of raw quince in hot water and honey to make a soothing winter drink. Apparently the fruit is a good source of vitamin C, as well as copper, magnesium and other very useful minerals. I made some with Japanese Quince and was singularly unimpressed; it didn't taste of much.  Obviously I needed proper quinces for this.  (Perhaps I should try again with one of this season's Cydonia quinces.)

So why bother with Cydonia (real) quince when you can use Chaenomeles? Both have an aroma, although quince will perfume an entire room, and both have fruit that goes pink when cooked.  I remember Japanese Quince (Chaenomeles) being quite sharp flavoured, a bit like having lemon in tea so I'm going to guess that Cydonia quinces are slightly sweeter, possibly with more depth of flavour. (Or maybe it's the other way round? Foraging might be in order when the rain stops. If anyone reading this knows, please tell!)

I'm having a bit of fun trying out various ways of using my quinces.  After a weekend of rain, several of the fruit had split so were quickly picked and turned into a quince crumble using a Nigel Slater recipe from his fruit book 'Tender, vol II'.  It was nice, in fact the topping was delicious, but it's not a patch on plum crumble!

(The online link to the Slater recipe is here; make a note of the topping ingredients and enjoy Nigel's writing!)

After that, I was rooted in indecision for a while - there's more choice than just membrillo - but rediscovered this recipe for Old Fashioned Quince Jelly in my National Trust Preserves book. I had more split quinces that needed to be used quickly before they went brown and this recipe is one you just get on with. No peeling, coring or boring stuff. Just chop the quinces up, chuck into a pan, cover with water, cook, strain overnight, add sugar to the juice and boil.

The result is a beautiful clear jelly, sweet with a definite quince taste and scent. I had a enough left over for another half jar so have tried it out today on bread and butter; it's delicious. I like that its recommended uses are either for savoury (to go with lamb, cold meats, cheese, etc, like a redcurrant jelly) or topped with cream in a cake or, even better, spread on toasted muffins or scones! Now you're talking. Here's the finished result - four (and a half) little jars of deliciousness.  Now where's my runcible spoon?

And I still have a bowl of quinces in the kitchen ... possibly for pickling.

Old Fashioned Quince Jelly

1.35kg (3lb) ripe quinces
Water to cover
Thinly pared rind and juice of 1 large lemon (unwaxed)
Granulated sugar

Wash the quinces, rub off any down. Don't peel or core them but chop roughly into a large pan and just cover with water. Add the lemon rind then simmer gently until the fruit is soft and pulpy (about an hour). Stir in the lemon juice and strain through a jelly bag overnight.

Next day, measure the juice and pour into a clean pan. Add warmed sugar (I put mine in the oven at 140°C for 10 minutes) allowing 450g to each 600ml juice. (I had 900ml juice so used 675g sugar - and, yes, I did very gently squeeze the jelly bag to get the last of the juice from the pulp.)

Heat gently, stirring to completely dissolve the sugar, then bring to boil and boil rapidly until setting point is reached. 104°C if you have a sugar thermometer, or wrinkly spoonful on a cold plate if not.

Skim, then pot into hot/warm clean, sterilised jars, cover and seal.  (I washed my jars, rinsed well and dried them in the oven after the sugar was warmed.)

Making the most of a perfect autumn In the October garden

October can be a time of harvests and preserving the year's bounty. But it's also a good time to think about gardening for winter and next spring.

So often in the UK summer weather can disappear overnight and we're thrown straight into a precursor to winter. Not this year though. Mother Nature is letting us down so gently after a summer of extreme  heat. (Although today it's wet and windy so it would seem that the best of autumn might be behind us.)

The autumn sun, when it shone, has been genuinely warm, perfect for letting the last of the summer crops ripen and very pleasant for working in the garden. I still have a few tomatoes slowly ripening in the veg patch and more in pots on my balcony, giving the occasional treat before I have to revert to buying them. It's the most perfect October  - so far! but I'm expecting a huge reality check in a couple of weeks when the clocks go back. Here's what I'm doing to make the most of autumn.

The artist's palette - An autumn garden of self seeders

Late September in the veg patch: Verbana hastata and Cerinthe 

Move aside neat and tidy - autumn's here! I love this time of year, not least because the garden looks so pretty, warmed up by the last of the summer sunshine; all the self seeded flowers reach peak autumn vigour and interwine in a riot of colour around the winter veg.  A couple of years ago, an artist friend gazed at the mix of geums, nasturtiums and calendula growing under the last of the sweet peas, a few stems of purple Verbena bonariensis and Honeywort poking through above white Feverfew and remarked that he wished he could sit and paint the scene. I had to agree; it looked beautiful.

I realised in the early veg patch days that sowing flowers attractive to pollinators would help to create a healthy balance in the plot. Back then I cleared the beds over winter; the only plants remaining were a few woody herbs and fennel stems into which ladybirds nestled for their cozy winter home.  (This year my winter beds are hosting kale, chard, broccoli and oca, as well as herbs.)

Cerinthe growing up through Sweet Woodruff (Galium odoratum) under the fruit trees

Those early winter beds weren't empty for long though! The next spring I bought a honeywort (Cerinthe major) seedling during a visit to Sarah Raven's Perch Hill garden and a packet of borage seeds; I didn't know it then but they were the first of my self seeding army.

Some, like foxglove, feverfew, snapdragons and verbena, start to scatter their seed at the slightest puff of wind. I watch borage, calendula, honeywort and poppies for the right moment to collect the seed.  (Dried poppy seed heads are beautiful for a wreath or tiny vase indoors.) Nasturtiums will drop so many seed clusters that it's impossible to collect them all, even when harvesting the smallest ones to make Poor Man's Capers - or collecting flowers and seeds for nasturtium vinegar.   Ditto for sunflower seeds but first leaves of unwanted seedlings make very tasty additions to spring salad! Try it!

I've learned to identify the plants that I want to keep by the shape of the seedling leaves, removing any that are inappropriately placed.  No such thing as a weed? Believe me, these plants can find a tiny crack between bricks or pavers and settle in for the long haul.  Feverfew blocking the path? No thanks. Calendula appearing in a sea of spring Forget-me-nots? Yes please! Nasturtiums twining through courgette leaves? Very cheerful!

Peekaboo! 

At the moment I'm swamped with tiny Verbena bonariensis and V. hastata seedlings; calendula, Linaria, and all those Cerinthe seedlings are also putting in an appearance. A friend has the same with Euphorbia wulfenii seedlings. Another friend turned up with baby Hellebores. We're thinking a plant sale might be A Good Idea.

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And another thing ...

If growing self seeders takes your fancy, this is a list of plants I've grown that will self seed freely (or, more likely, prolifically) around the garden.  For those averse to surprise flowers, take this list as a warning!

Borage
Aquilegia (Columbine, Granny's Bonnet)
Hellebore
Feverfew
Calendula (Marigold)
Verbena bonariensis
Verbena hastata
California poppies (Eschscholzia)
Poppies (Papaver somniferum)
Snapdragons (Antirrhinum)
Verbascum, aka Mullein
Linaria purpurea (Purple toadflax)
Honesty (Lunaria annua)
Teasels (big but great for wildlife)
Nasturtiums
Foxgloves (Digitalis purpurea)
Forget-me-nots (Myosotis sylvatica)
Cowslips (Primula veris)
Violets

Food self seeders:
Orache (Atriplex hortensis rubra)
Physalis, aka Cape Gooseberry
Achocha (Cyclanthera)
Fennel, green and bronze
Wild garlic (ransoms, Allium ursum)
Kale (I leave the flowers for bees to harvest the nectar, then don't always catch all the seed pods)
Tomatoes, if the fruit drops and is left in the soil
Strawberries, via the runners.

Good luck!

Garden gathered soup: Raymond Blanc recipe

My son was feeling a bit peaky at the weekend so I made soup.  Not that I don't make soup at other times, it's just that soup with nutritious ingredients freshly gathered from the veg patch seems to be the perfect cure for autumn chills. (Of course the minute I typed those two words, the sun came out and it was really hot outdoors!)  I'm a big believer in the preventative power of good fresh food. (Beetroot seems to knock back the first signs of a cold for me. Works every time.)

It's a nurturing instinct isn't it, to provide good food to boost the immune system against seasonal change. My mum thought so, as did the mother of chef Raymond Blanc.  The influence of his mother's cooking, based on ingredients grown in the family garden, is well documented.  I was lucky enough to sample the soup inspired by 'Maman Blanc' when I attended a workshop at the RB Gardening School a few weeks ago. Admittedly, on that occasion it was made in a two Michelin star kitchen but it was so delicious that to say it was clean and fresh yet with complex flavours doesn't do it justice. For me, it captures the connection between the garden and kitchen and proves the reason I grow fruit, veg and herbs.

In September's sweet spot (End of month view)

If there's a month of the year that food growers need to be ready for, it's September. (Or August if you grow courgettes!) It's a month of plenty so hopefully we're all enjoying eating some of what we've grown and working out how to make the most of the rest. It's a busy time in the kitchen so, over the next few weeks, I'll be writing a few posts on how I'm using and storing what's ripe in my veg patch.

In among the asparagus ferns (square foot gardening)

I've had a bit of a square foot garden experiment going on in the asparagus bed this year.  Five years ago, when I decided I wanted to try growing fresh asparagus spears, I ordered just five little plug plants - it's all about tiny tastes here - and set them out in a five dice shape in a one metre square raised bed.  Two of my five crowns have died off in the years since(1) so allocating a whole bed to one small perennial crop has made me think a lot about the waste of good growing space.

Autumn sowing for winter leaves and spring flowers

Time to get organised with some lists!

Sow, Grow, Eat, Repeat is one of my favourite hashtags as it's a reminder that despite the changing seasons, it's possible to carry on growing food throughout the year.  Yes, really. (What? You thought it was all over as the weather turns autumnal?) There are plenty of hardy vegetables that provide me with a good excuse to get outside in the garden, even in the middle of winter.  And what could be better than freshly picked produce brought back into the kitchen with a clear head and rosy cheeks?