The Kitchen Diaries II. Nigel Slater

sultanas the colour of Sauternes.

      Today I come back with a small box of honey-soaked pistachio pastries, a bag of fudge-textured dates, some thick, snow-white Lebanese yoghurt and a polystyrene tray of lamb chops the size of a baby’s fist. They will be grilled and dipped into hummus. Almost absentmindedly, I also pick up a handful of golden, pear-shaped quinces.

      Despite its delicate fragrance, the quince is a harsh taskmaster. You need a strong wrist and a good knife to get through its hard flesh, and patience to see it cook through to tenderness. Your efforts will be rewarded though. Cooked slowly, this rock-hard fruit will be transformed into one of glowing colour and gently honeyed flavour. If you leave one to simmer with sugar and water, it will eventually turn a deep, translucent crimson.

      Just two quinces in an apple pie are enough to imbue the entire filling with their scent and flavour. The quince’s flesh is considerably drier and more grainy than the apple, and needs additional moisture and time in which to cook. I put them on first, adding the apples only once the quince is showing signs of softness. In Tender, I used them in a pickle, a crumble and to sweeten a dish of slow-cooked lamb, but I spent today working them into a pie. Instead of a pastry crust, I have enclosed them in a loose form of crumble, so that the amber fruit shows through.

      This tart needs a good hour or more of our time, but is really rather good. Serve it with a jug of cream or a scoop of crème fraîche.

      Quince and apple tart

      a lemon

      quinces: 500g

      caster sugar: 2 tablespoons

      maple syrup: 3 tablespoons

      sweet apples: 750g

      For the top:

      plain flour: 150g

      butter: 75g

      demerara sugar: 75g

      an egg, lightly beaten

      For the crust:

      butter: 100g, at room temperature

      caster sugar: 80g

      an egg, lightly beaten

      plain flour: 200g

      Make the pastry crust: dice the butter and put into a food mixer or processor with the sugar. Cream till light and fluffy, then add the egg and mix thoroughly. Spoon in the flour, bring the dough into a ball – it will be quite soft – then place on a generously floured work surface or board. Knead briefly; this will make it easier to work. Roll out the dough to fit a 22cm tart tin with a removable base, pushing it carefully into the corners and up the sides, patching any tears as you go. Refrigerate for twenty minutes.

      Put a baking sheet in the oven and set it at 200°C/Gas 6. To make the filling, squeeze the lemon into a mixing bowl. Peel and core the quinces, then chop them into small pieces, tossing them in the lemon juice as you go to stop them browning. Place them in a deep saucepan, add the sugar and maple syrup, cover with a lid and leave over a low heat for fifteen minutes, until tender enough for you to insert a metal skewer into them easily. Check regularly and lower the heat if necessary, particularly towards the end of cooking when the syrup has reduced.

      Meanwhile, core and dice the apples – there is no need to peel them. Stir them into the quinces as soon as the quinces are almost tender. Continue cooking, covered, for five to ten minutes or until the apples are just soft. Set aside.

      Make the topping: put the flour and butter into a food processor and blitz till they resemble fine breadcrumbs. Alternatively, rub the butter into the flour with your fingers. Add the sugar and the egg and mix briefly to a moist, crumbly texture.

      Fill the uncooked tart case with the apple and quince mixture, setting aside any juice, then scatter the crumble topping over. Some of the fruit will show through. Lift on to the hot baking sheet and bake for thirty minutes, till the crust and pastry are crisp and golden. Allow to settle a little before serving with a trickle of the reserved juices and some cream or crème fraîche.

      Enough for 6–8

      JANUARY 21

      Browning meat. More quinces

      Putting a piece of meat into a shallow layer of sizzling-hot fat, butter, duck fat, dripping or oil will do wonders for its flavour. Whilst it won’t actually ‘seal in’ the juices, as is often suggested, getting the cut surfaces of the meat to brown will enrich both the flavour of the meat and, rather importantly, the juices in the pan. It is worth doing. But here’s the rub. The meat must be given time to brown properly, and that means we need to leave it alone. I have lost count of the number of times I have seen meat, particularly beef, moved constantly round with a spoon or spatula. Hard as it is not to tinker, we must leave it alone long enough for the cut surfaces to colour appetisingly, otherwise the action is pointless.

      Quick, mildly spiced beef

      rapeseed oil

      cubed beef (e.g. chuck steak): 500g

      onions: 2 large

      garlic: 3 cloves

      ground cumin: 2 teaspoons

      ground coriander: 2 teaspoons

      garam masala: 1 tablespoon

      vegetable or beef stock: 500ml

      grain mustard: a tablespoon

      double cream: 200ml

      Warm a little oil in a heavy, shallow casserole. Season the beef with salt and black pepper, then colour on all sides in the oil, turning only occasionally. Remove from the pan with a draining spoon.

      Meanwhile, halve, peel and thinly slice the onions. Peel and thinly slice the garlic. Add the onions and garlic to the pan, letting them soften a little but not brown beyond pale honey colour. Stir in the ground cumin, coriander and garam masala, then continue cooking for five minutes before returning the meat and any juices to the pan. Pour in the stock, bring to the boil and simmer for ten minutes, till the liquid has reduced by half.

      Stir in the mustard, pour in the cream and bring to the boil. Check the seasoning and serve.

      Enough for 4

      Baked quince with orange and mascarpone ginger crunch

      The quince once seemed so impenetrable. Mentions of membrillo and quince liqueur did nothing to invite entry to the rock-hard, yellow fruit that resembled a dumpy papaya. Ten years on, I take a deep casserole from the oven, the five fruits split, their soft, almost fluffy, pink flesh peeping through, and marvel at their beauty. There is orange in there too, vanilla in its sticky pod and a single cinnamon stick. The steam beguiles and amuses with its notes of amber, orange blossom and spice. The quince has come a long way in this kitchen. I guess we all have.

      quinces: 4 large

      oranges: 3

      a cinnamon stick

      a vanilla pod

      For the mascarpone ginger crunch:

      ginger biscuits: 75g

      mascarpone: 200g

      Set the oven at 200°C/Gas 6. Put the quinces in a deep casserole, piercing them here and there with a small knife or skewer as you go.

      Halve and juice the oranges and pour into the casserole, add the cinnamon stick and vanilla pod and then cover with a lid. Bake for an hour or so, till the skins have wrinkled and the flesh is tender to the point of a knife.

      For