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Demystifying The Quince
by Laura McCandlish
Quinces
Enlarge Laura McCandlish for NPR
Quinces
Laura McCandlish for NPR
Get recipes for Quince Paste, Vegetarian Quince And Parsnip Medley,
Quince Pip Tea For A Sore Throat, and Quince Tarte Tatin.
November 10, 2009
Until recently, I had never seen a fresh quince. I knew quince paste,
or membrillo, from Spanish cheese plates. I knew that Korean friends
boiled down quince juice into a tea.
However, since moving to Oregon I've found quinces at the local
farmers market and even growing on trees in my neighborhood. In fact,
it turns out that the most diverse quince grove in North America, if
not the world, thrives at a U.S. Department of Agriculture gene bank
just down the road.
Still, close proximity to quinces doesn't necessarily give you the
nerve to try the rock-hard, acerbic fruit. But last spring, I had my
quince revelation. Just one bite of the tangy, poached morsel on a
charcuterie plate had me counting the days until this fall's season.
In late September, I huddled beside our market director, staking my
claim on her orchard's first-to-ripen crop. She even spikes her apple
cider with quince.
I began more humbly, slipping the peeled fruit into a pie. With their
beguiling fragrance and subtle flavor, quinces naturally partner with
their more universally beloved pome sisters, apple and pear.
Revered since antiquity, quinces are still treasured all over the
globe. With their high pectin content, quinces lend themselves to
jellies, pastes and preserves. ... Now, underground enthusiasts are
reviving the nostalgic fruit, hoping it can resurge.
A quince is a fruit of contradictions. It's generally too astringent
to eat raw, yet it smells so guava-sweet. Its white, dry, hard flesh
blushes and softens, without turning mushy, when cooked. It has tough,
waxy skin that bruises more easily than you'd think.
Revered since antiquity, quinces are still treasured all over the
globe. With their high pectin content, quinces lend themselves to
jellies, pastes and preserves. The word marmalade, after all, derives
from the Portuguese name for quince.
In the United States, quinces were common in the garden and in the
kitchen from colonial days through the 19th century, until the advent
of commercial gelatin and pectin. Americans instead turned to sweeter,
eat-out-of-hand fruits. About The Author
Laura McCandlish is an Oregon-based freelance writer. She contributes
to The Oregonian's FOODday section and hosts a monthly food show on
Portland radio station KBOO. She blogs at baltimoregon.com.
Now, underground enthusiasts are reviving the nostalgic fruit, hoping
quince can resurge just like once-forgotten rhubarb. A motley tribe
recently gathered here in Corvallis for an "unappreciated fruits"
event. Home orchardists and horticulturalists, members of Slow Food
USA's endangered foods board, and Lebanese and Iranian natives longing
for quince, their grandmother's stewing staple, rounded out the crowd.
One key question divided the devotees: Can a quince be eaten raw? Yes,
evidently - depending on the variety. That weekend, we walked among
the hundred or so clones at the USDA orchard, sampling some quite
palatable ones from their native Caucasus region. They tasted juicy
and crisp, with notes of raspberry and star fruit. No chalkiness. On
hand was famed fruit sleuth and food writer David Karp, who advocates
biting right into the sometimes elusive, sweeter-fleshed quince. He
hopes an apple-like variety brought here from Peru will soon be tested
and rolled out for commercial cultivation.
Many fans agree with cookbook author Barbara Ghazarian that the quince
is "the quintessential slow food," whose magic is only revealed
through cooking. She just published a culinary tome devoted to the
forbidden fruit (botanists believe the quince, not an apple, was Eve's
true Garden of Eden temptation). Drawing on the recipes of her
Armenian ancestors, Ghazarian includes savory preparations, such as
lamb-stuffed quince dolmas and a sweet-tart quince and parsnip stew.
She, like many chefs, recommends poaching quinces over a low flame for
several hours. Try simmering slices of them in a sweetened white wine
syrup (think Riesling), with a touch of vanilla bean and citrus
zest. Reusing the poaching liquid for subsequent batches only
intensifies the sections' ruby color. Cooking the quince coaxes out
the anticarcinogen anthocyanins, those purple pigments also found in
berries. These jewels then caramelize when baked into a tart.
By now you're thinking, great, you live in the Mediterranean-like
Willamette Valley, where quinces flourish. Where can I buy them? Try
upscale grocers and ethnic markets, which ship them in from
California. The San Joaquin Valley grows most of the country's
quinces, primarily the most common Pineapple variety, on a scant
couple of hundred acres. That's all we demand.
But first, search for ones from your local apple or pear
vendor. They're readily available at farmers markets in the
East. Unfortunately, quinces fall prey to fire blight in humid parts
of the country. More ubiquitous are flowering quince shrubs, a
different genus from the fruit-bearing Cydonia oblonga. They do,
however, produce small pomes that can be substituted in some recipes.
With a season that runs through December, quinces make an aromatic
holiday centerpiece. How can you tell they're ripe? Rubbing off their
fuzz should reveal a bright, yellow peel. Better yet, just follow your
nose. A quince's perfume should fill a room. Quince Paste
This recipe comes from canning maven Linda Ziedrich, author of The Joy
of Jams, Jellies and Other Sweet Preserves (Harvard Common Press
2009). The fruit leather-like texture and taste is similar to Mexican
guava paste. Go Middle Eastern by adding a whisper of cardamom and
rose water. Serve it with blanched almonds on a cheese plate. Pair it
with salty Stilton or manchego cheese for a tangy grilled panini. I
even topped pizza with the paste and fresh figs.
Quince Paste
Enlarge Laura McCandlish for NPR
Quince Paste
Laura McCandlish for NPR
Makes about 1 3/4 pounds
2 pounds quinces (about 3 cups), quartered but not seeded or peeled
1 cup water
2 cups sugar
Crushed seeds from 7 cardamom pods (less than 1/4 teaspoon), optional
1/2 teaspoon rose water, optional
Combine the quinces and water in a pot. Over low heat, simmer the
quinces, covered, until they are tender, about 20 minutes. Remove the
pot from the heat and let the quinces cool a bit. For a redder paste,
let the quinces stand at room temperature for 8 to 12 hours.
Scoop out the seeds from each quince piece and discard them. Pass the
fruit and any juice through the medium screen of a food mill. (If you
don't have a food mill, peel and core before cooking. Then puree in a
food processor, to an applesauce-like consistency at this stage.)
Put the puree into the pot along with the sugar (and the crushed
cardamom, if desired). Heat the mixture over low heat, stirring, until
the sugar is completely dissolved. Simmer the mixture, stirring often
at first and almost constantly toward the end, for 40 minutes or
more. When the paste is ready, you'll have to hold onto the pot to
keep it from sliding around as your spoon leaves a clear path across
the bottom. Stir the rose water into the paste, if desired.
Pour the paste about 3/4-inch thick into lightly oiled ceramic
ramekins or an 8-inch square cake pan with vertical sides. Let the
paste cool and then turn it out to dry in a warm place, perhaps in
your oven on its lowest setting, or in the sun.
When the paste is dry to the touch, after about 2 hours, cut it into
smaller pieces if you like, and wrap the pieces in plastic or waxed
paper. Unless you'll be eating the paste soon or you're sure it's
thoroughly dry, store it in a heavy-duty plastic bag in the
refrigerator, where it should keep for several months. Vegetarian
Quince And Parsnip Medley
"Queen of Quince" Barbara Ghazarian includes this "curiously sweet"
recipe in her new cookbook Simply Quince (Mayreni Publishing
2009). These two "ugly duckling" foods blend together into a beautiful
stew. The aromatic dish would grace any Thanksgiving table. Serve it
over rice, bulgur pilaf, couscous or even, as I did, polenta.
Vegetarian Quince And Parsnip Medley
Enlarge Laura McCandlish for NPR
Vegetarian Quince And Parsnip Medley
Laura McCandlish for NPR
Makes 8 servings
1 large yellow onion, coarsely chopped
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
Two 14 1/2-ounce cans diced tomatoes
1 teaspoon curry powder
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 teaspoons coarse salt
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1 pound parsnips, cut into bite-size pieces (about 2 cups)
1/2 to 3/4 pound fresh quinces, peel left on, cored and cut into
bite-size pieces (1 1/2 to 2 cups)
One 15-ounce can garbanzo beans, drained
1/2 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley (about 1 bunch)
1/2 cup currants
1 cup vegetable broth
3 tablespoons shelled pistachio nuts, optional
Saute the onion in the olive oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot over
medium heat until the onion begins to brown, 8 to 10 minutes. Add the
tomatoes, curry, cinnamon, salt, black pepper and red pepper
flakes. Simmer, stirring occasionally, for about 5 minutes. Add the
parsnips, quince, garbanzos, parsley, currants and broth.
Cover and simmer, stirring occasionally, for 1 1/4 hours, or until the
parsnips and quince are tender throughout. Adjust seasonings to
taste. Sprinkle with pistachio nuts, if desired, and serve.
Quince Pip Tea For A Sore Throat
Vegetarian chef Deborah Madison features several quince recipes in her
Local Flavors cookbook (Broadway Books 2002), including this
brew. Make up a batch just in time for cold season. The medicinal,
emollient-coated quince seeds are used to soothe sore throats the
world over, so why waste the cores?
Quince Pip Tea
Enlarge Laura McCandlish for NPR
Quince Pip Tea
Laura McCandlish for NPR
Makes 4 cups
Skins, cores and pips (seeds) of 4 quinces
2 quarts water
Honey
Put the skins, cores and pips in a saucepan with water. Bring to a
boil, then simmer until the liquid is syrupy and reduced to about 1
quart. While still warm, strain and sweeten to taste with honey.
Refrigerate in a clean jar. Sip warm or cold when you feel the need
for something soothing on your throat. The tea keeps in the
refrigerator for several months. Quince Tarte Tatin
Georgeanne Brennan resurrects this old recipe in her new cookbook
Gather (Sasquatch Books 2009). Using quince yields a rosy syrup and
zing that apples can't match. Garnish each piece with a dollop of
sweetened creme fraiche. I used whole wheat pastry flour for the
crust. My topping didn't adequately caramelize because I couldn't find
my Pyrex pie dish; use a glass one if you can, so you can watch as it
bakes.
Quince Tarte Tatin
Enlarge Laura McCandlish for NPR
Quince Tarte Tatin
Laura McCandlish for NPR
Makes 8 servings
Quince Filling
6 to 8 large, ripe quinces
2 cups red wine (merlot, syrah or a Rhone-style blend)
1/2 cup sugar
One 2-inch piece vanilla bean, slit
1 cup sultana raisins
Pastry
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon sea or kosher salt
1 stick plus 3 tablespoons (11 tablespoons total) unsalted butter,
chilled and cut into chunks
6 tablespoons ice water
Finishing
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
1/2 cup sugar, divided
Filling
Peel and core the quinces and cut them into slices about 3/8-inch
thick. In a large bowl, combine the wine, sugar and vanilla bean. Add
the quinces and raisins. Cover and let the quinces marinate overnight
at room temperature, turning them several times to ensure an even
color.
Pastry
Combine the flour and salt in a food processor and pulse once or
twice. Add the butter and pulse only until pea-sized bits form, about
45 seconds. Add the water 1 tablespoon at a time, pulsing just until a
ball of dough forms, about 1 minute. Gather the ball, cover it in
plastic wrap and chill in the refrigerator for 15 to 30 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.
Using 1 tablespoon of the butter, heavily grease a baking dish 9 or 10
inches in diameter and 2 to 2 1/2 inches deep. Sprinkle the bottom
with 1/4 cup of the sugar.
With a slotted spoon, remove the quince slices and raisins from the
wine marinade. Arrange the quince slices snugly, making concentric
circles in a single layer around the bottom of the dish. Sprinkle a
third of the raisins and a third of the remaining sugar over the
quince slices. Repeat this entire process twice, but since the second
and third layers of quince won't be visible once the tart is inverted,
they don't have to be arranged quite as carefully. Cut the remaining
butter into small pieces and dot the top of the quince.
On a lightly floured board, roll out the pastry dough 1/8-inch thick
and just a little bit larger than the diameter of the baking
dish. Drape the pastry over the rolling pin and transfer it to the
baking dish. Unfold it and gently place it over the quince, tucking
the dough inside the dish. Press the edge of the crust gently against
the sides of the dish. Lightly prick the pastry all over with a
fork. Bake the tart until the crust is golden and a thick,
garnet-colored syrup has formed in the bottom of the baking dish.
When the tart is done, remove it from the oven and let it stand just a
few minutes. Run a sharp knife between the pastry crust and the edge
of the baking dish to ensure that nothing is sticking. Invert a
serving platter on top of the baking dish, and, using a hot pad, hold
the platter and the dish firmly together and flip them over, so the
dish is upside-down on the platter. The tart will unmold itself onto
the platter. Should any slices of quince stick to the bottom of the
baking dish, simply replace them on the tart. Serve warm.
Demystifying The Quince
by Laura McCandlish
Quinces
Enlarge Laura McCandlish for NPR
Quinces
Laura McCandlish for NPR
Get recipes for Quince Paste, Vegetarian Quince And Parsnip Medley,
Quince Pip Tea For A Sore Throat, and Quince Tarte Tatin.
November 10, 2009
Until recently, I had never seen a fresh quince. I knew quince paste,
or membrillo, from Spanish cheese plates. I knew that Korean friends
boiled down quince juice into a tea.
However, since moving to Oregon I've found quinces at the local
farmers market and even growing on trees in my neighborhood. In fact,
it turns out that the most diverse quince grove in North America, if
not the world, thrives at a U.S. Department of Agriculture gene bank
just down the road.
Still, close proximity to quinces doesn't necessarily give you the
nerve to try the rock-hard, acerbic fruit. But last spring, I had my
quince revelation. Just one bite of the tangy, poached morsel on a
charcuterie plate had me counting the days until this fall's season.
In late September, I huddled beside our market director, staking my
claim on her orchard's first-to-ripen crop. She even spikes her apple
cider with quince.
I began more humbly, slipping the peeled fruit into a pie. With their
beguiling fragrance and subtle flavor, quinces naturally partner with
their more universally beloved pome sisters, apple and pear.
Revered since antiquity, quinces are still treasured all over the
globe. With their high pectin content, quinces lend themselves to
jellies, pastes and preserves. ... Now, underground enthusiasts are
reviving the nostalgic fruit, hoping it can resurge.
A quince is a fruit of contradictions. It's generally too astringent
to eat raw, yet it smells so guava-sweet. Its white, dry, hard flesh
blushes and softens, without turning mushy, when cooked. It has tough,
waxy skin that bruises more easily than you'd think.
Revered since antiquity, quinces are still treasured all over the
globe. With their high pectin content, quinces lend themselves to
jellies, pastes and preserves. The word marmalade, after all, derives
from the Portuguese name for quince.
In the United States, quinces were common in the garden and in the
kitchen from colonial days through the 19th century, until the advent
of commercial gelatin and pectin. Americans instead turned to sweeter,
eat-out-of-hand fruits. About The Author
Laura McCandlish is an Oregon-based freelance writer. She contributes
to The Oregonian's FOODday section and hosts a monthly food show on
Portland radio station KBOO. She blogs at baltimoregon.com.
Now, underground enthusiasts are reviving the nostalgic fruit, hoping
quince can resurge just like once-forgotten rhubarb. A motley tribe
recently gathered here in Corvallis for an "unappreciated fruits"
event. Home orchardists and horticulturalists, members of Slow Food
USA's endangered foods board, and Lebanese and Iranian natives longing
for quince, their grandmother's stewing staple, rounded out the crowd.
One key question divided the devotees: Can a quince be eaten raw? Yes,
evidently - depending on the variety. That weekend, we walked among
the hundred or so clones at the USDA orchard, sampling some quite
palatable ones from their native Caucasus region. They tasted juicy
and crisp, with notes of raspberry and star fruit. No chalkiness. On
hand was famed fruit sleuth and food writer David Karp, who advocates
biting right into the sometimes elusive, sweeter-fleshed quince. He
hopes an apple-like variety brought here from Peru will soon be tested
and rolled out for commercial cultivation.
Many fans agree with cookbook author Barbara Ghazarian that the quince
is "the quintessential slow food," whose magic is only revealed
through cooking. She just published a culinary tome devoted to the
forbidden fruit (botanists believe the quince, not an apple, was Eve's
true Garden of Eden temptation). Drawing on the recipes of her
Armenian ancestors, Ghazarian includes savory preparations, such as
lamb-stuffed quince dolmas and a sweet-tart quince and parsnip stew.
She, like many chefs, recommends poaching quinces over a low flame for
several hours. Try simmering slices of them in a sweetened white wine
syrup (think Riesling), with a touch of vanilla bean and citrus
zest. Reusing the poaching liquid for subsequent batches only
intensifies the sections' ruby color. Cooking the quince coaxes out
the anticarcinogen anthocyanins, those purple pigments also found in
berries. These jewels then caramelize when baked into a tart.
By now you're thinking, great, you live in the Mediterranean-like
Willamette Valley, where quinces flourish. Where can I buy them? Try
upscale grocers and ethnic markets, which ship them in from
California. The San Joaquin Valley grows most of the country's
quinces, primarily the most common Pineapple variety, on a scant
couple of hundred acres. That's all we demand.
But first, search for ones from your local apple or pear
vendor. They're readily available at farmers markets in the
East. Unfortunately, quinces fall prey to fire blight in humid parts
of the country. More ubiquitous are flowering quince shrubs, a
different genus from the fruit-bearing Cydonia oblonga. They do,
however, produce small pomes that can be substituted in some recipes.
With a season that runs through December, quinces make an aromatic
holiday centerpiece. How can you tell they're ripe? Rubbing off their
fuzz should reveal a bright, yellow peel. Better yet, just follow your
nose. A quince's perfume should fill a room. Quince Paste
This recipe comes from canning maven Linda Ziedrich, author of The Joy
of Jams, Jellies and Other Sweet Preserves (Harvard Common Press
2009). The fruit leather-like texture and taste is similar to Mexican
guava paste. Go Middle Eastern by adding a whisper of cardamom and
rose water. Serve it with blanched almonds on a cheese plate. Pair it
with salty Stilton or manchego cheese for a tangy grilled panini. I
even topped pizza with the paste and fresh figs.
Quince Paste
Enlarge Laura McCandlish for NPR
Quince Paste
Laura McCandlish for NPR
Makes about 1 3/4 pounds
2 pounds quinces (about 3 cups), quartered but not seeded or peeled
1 cup water
2 cups sugar
Crushed seeds from 7 cardamom pods (less than 1/4 teaspoon), optional
1/2 teaspoon rose water, optional
Combine the quinces and water in a pot. Over low heat, simmer the
quinces, covered, until they are tender, about 20 minutes. Remove the
pot from the heat and let the quinces cool a bit. For a redder paste,
let the quinces stand at room temperature for 8 to 12 hours.
Scoop out the seeds from each quince piece and discard them. Pass the
fruit and any juice through the medium screen of a food mill. (If you
don't have a food mill, peel and core before cooking. Then puree in a
food processor, to an applesauce-like consistency at this stage.)
Put the puree into the pot along with the sugar (and the crushed
cardamom, if desired). Heat the mixture over low heat, stirring, until
the sugar is completely dissolved. Simmer the mixture, stirring often
at first and almost constantly toward the end, for 40 minutes or
more. When the paste is ready, you'll have to hold onto the pot to
keep it from sliding around as your spoon leaves a clear path across
the bottom. Stir the rose water into the paste, if desired.
Pour the paste about 3/4-inch thick into lightly oiled ceramic
ramekins or an 8-inch square cake pan with vertical sides. Let the
paste cool and then turn it out to dry in a warm place, perhaps in
your oven on its lowest setting, or in the sun.
When the paste is dry to the touch, after about 2 hours, cut it into
smaller pieces if you like, and wrap the pieces in plastic or waxed
paper. Unless you'll be eating the paste soon or you're sure it's
thoroughly dry, store it in a heavy-duty plastic bag in the
refrigerator, where it should keep for several months. Vegetarian
Quince And Parsnip Medley
"Queen of Quince" Barbara Ghazarian includes this "curiously sweet"
recipe in her new cookbook Simply Quince (Mayreni Publishing
2009). These two "ugly duckling" foods blend together into a beautiful
stew. The aromatic dish would grace any Thanksgiving table. Serve it
over rice, bulgur pilaf, couscous or even, as I did, polenta.
Vegetarian Quince And Parsnip Medley
Enlarge Laura McCandlish for NPR
Vegetarian Quince And Parsnip Medley
Laura McCandlish for NPR
Makes 8 servings
1 large yellow onion, coarsely chopped
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
Two 14 1/2-ounce cans diced tomatoes
1 teaspoon curry powder
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 teaspoons coarse salt
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1 pound parsnips, cut into bite-size pieces (about 2 cups)
1/2 to 3/4 pound fresh quinces, peel left on, cored and cut into
bite-size pieces (1 1/2 to 2 cups)
One 15-ounce can garbanzo beans, drained
1/2 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley (about 1 bunch)
1/2 cup currants
1 cup vegetable broth
3 tablespoons shelled pistachio nuts, optional
Saute the onion in the olive oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot over
medium heat until the onion begins to brown, 8 to 10 minutes. Add the
tomatoes, curry, cinnamon, salt, black pepper and red pepper
flakes. Simmer, stirring occasionally, for about 5 minutes. Add the
parsnips, quince, garbanzos, parsley, currants and broth.
Cover and simmer, stirring occasionally, for 1 1/4 hours, or until the
parsnips and quince are tender throughout. Adjust seasonings to
taste. Sprinkle with pistachio nuts, if desired, and serve.
Quince Pip Tea For A Sore Throat
Vegetarian chef Deborah Madison features several quince recipes in her
Local Flavors cookbook (Broadway Books 2002), including this
brew. Make up a batch just in time for cold season. The medicinal,
emollient-coated quince seeds are used to soothe sore throats the
world over, so why waste the cores?
Quince Pip Tea
Enlarge Laura McCandlish for NPR
Quince Pip Tea
Laura McCandlish for NPR
Makes 4 cups
Skins, cores and pips (seeds) of 4 quinces
2 quarts water
Honey
Put the skins, cores and pips in a saucepan with water. Bring to a
boil, then simmer until the liquid is syrupy and reduced to about 1
quart. While still warm, strain and sweeten to taste with honey.
Refrigerate in a clean jar. Sip warm or cold when you feel the need
for something soothing on your throat. The tea keeps in the
refrigerator for several months. Quince Tarte Tatin
Georgeanne Brennan resurrects this old recipe in her new cookbook
Gather (Sasquatch Books 2009). Using quince yields a rosy syrup and
zing that apples can't match. Garnish each piece with a dollop of
sweetened creme fraiche. I used whole wheat pastry flour for the
crust. My topping didn't adequately caramelize because I couldn't find
my Pyrex pie dish; use a glass one if you can, so you can watch as it
bakes.
Quince Tarte Tatin
Enlarge Laura McCandlish for NPR
Quince Tarte Tatin
Laura McCandlish for NPR
Makes 8 servings
Quince Filling
6 to 8 large, ripe quinces
2 cups red wine (merlot, syrah or a Rhone-style blend)
1/2 cup sugar
One 2-inch piece vanilla bean, slit
1 cup sultana raisins
Pastry
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon sea or kosher salt
1 stick plus 3 tablespoons (11 tablespoons total) unsalted butter,
chilled and cut into chunks
6 tablespoons ice water
Finishing
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
1/2 cup sugar, divided
Filling
Peel and core the quinces and cut them into slices about 3/8-inch
thick. In a large bowl, combine the wine, sugar and vanilla bean. Add
the quinces and raisins. Cover and let the quinces marinate overnight
at room temperature, turning them several times to ensure an even
color.
Pastry
Combine the flour and salt in a food processor and pulse once or
twice. Add the butter and pulse only until pea-sized bits form, about
45 seconds. Add the water 1 tablespoon at a time, pulsing just until a
ball of dough forms, about 1 minute. Gather the ball, cover it in
plastic wrap and chill in the refrigerator for 15 to 30 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.
Using 1 tablespoon of the butter, heavily grease a baking dish 9 or 10
inches in diameter and 2 to 2 1/2 inches deep. Sprinkle the bottom
with 1/4 cup of the sugar.
With a slotted spoon, remove the quince slices and raisins from the
wine marinade. Arrange the quince slices snugly, making concentric
circles in a single layer around the bottom of the dish. Sprinkle a
third of the raisins and a third of the remaining sugar over the
quince slices. Repeat this entire process twice, but since the second
and third layers of quince won't be visible once the tart is inverted,
they don't have to be arranged quite as carefully. Cut the remaining
butter into small pieces and dot the top of the quince.
On a lightly floured board, roll out the pastry dough 1/8-inch thick
and just a little bit larger than the diameter of the baking
dish. Drape the pastry over the rolling pin and transfer it to the
baking dish. Unfold it and gently place it over the quince, tucking
the dough inside the dish. Press the edge of the crust gently against
the sides of the dish. Lightly prick the pastry all over with a
fork. Bake the tart until the crust is golden and a thick,
garnet-colored syrup has formed in the bottom of the baking dish.
When the tart is done, remove it from the oven and let it stand just a
few minutes. Run a sharp knife between the pastry crust and the edge
of the baking dish to ensure that nothing is sticking. Invert a
serving platter on top of the baking dish, and, using a hot pad, hold
the platter and the dish firmly together and flip them over, so the
dish is upside-down on the platter. The tart will unmold itself onto
the platter. Should any slices of quince stick to the bottom of the
baking dish, simply replace them on the tart. Serve warm.