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Poetry, quince & marmalade
As was foretold, I attended Poetry in the Crypt on Saturday, which expedition yielded these three treasures: a bilingual book of poetry by Stephen Watts & Cristina Viti, fresh off the press; a giant quince, fresh off the greengrocer’s stand; and a jar of lime and lemon marmalade, fresh from Liz Salmon’s jam kettle. The readings were good, the company full of fond familiars, and the tea and cakes most welcome. I had made a sticky ginger cake which I brought along to help with the offerings.On Sunday we went to see the Group of Seven exhibition in Dulwich. And my goodness what a lot of people came likewise, and what a LOT of paintings were on show. “Can there be any left in Canada?” wondered Meli. Ironies not lost on me that I should travel half a world to come and see paintings by my countrymen that once inspired in me only gloomy associations with gloomy reproductions on the classroom walls of my youth. I liked many of them better in their current settings, but I find it can be harder to love what one has rubbed up against all one’s life than what might be new and exciting and from away. And I haven’t the distance to view it with new eyes. But I’m glad to have gone, and seen more of these paintings than I had, and learned a bit about them, and walked the still-leafy streets of Dulwich where once walked the schoolboy Ondaatje.
It was nigh on teatime by the time we finished, and so we stood around on the platform at South Dulwich admiring the view until the train arrived and then once back in Cen
tral London ambled across the footbridge from the Embankment to the Southbank Centre which is hosting a Christmas market, which was thronged. It had a lot of stalls selling everything from churros and sausages and ostrich burgers to Peruvian knitting, wooden knick-knacks and jewellery that, luckily for my finances, I found of little interest. Though luckily for the traders, not a view that everyone shared as many were very busy – notably the ones selling a fairly foul-smelling Glühwein.We stopped for a bite at an Italian chain outlet, where I twice sent back my pasta with melanzane which was, twice, badly undercooked (this is why eggplant/aubergine has had such a bad rap, imho: I’ve found only Indian restaurants seem to reliably understand how to prepare to the correct texture this most delicious vegetable)(–tho botanically a fruit, of course). The manager was most understanding and said he agreed with me and would have a word with the chef and offered us a drink and dessert in compensation. But right at the next table I watched someone chew his way through a bowl of the stuff without a whimper. If he’d had a shred of awareness about what he’d been eating and didn’t realize how foully abused it had been he should have gone home grumbling about how he doesn’t really like aubergine and vowing not to order it again.
After a soothing inspection of the offerings at Foyle‘s we wended our way back across the footbridge and into the underground and home to our beds.
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More quince, more poetry
There’s a very nice greengrocer on Turnham Green Terrace, whither my yellow friends have followed me. These quince are enormous and flawless, the size of grapefruits, a world away from the lumpy lemon to orange-sized treasures I was working with in Victoria.
I’ve been in London a bit less than a week and have so far had one lunch at Carluccio‘s, taken in one reading (Tamar Yoseloff and Katy Evans-Bush, at CB-1 in Cambridge) and made one visit to the British Library. Tonight I’ll be in Islington attending a great big reading at Poetry in the Crypt (Stephen Watts, Cristina Viti, Ales Machack, Jane Kirwan and Jane Duran).
When in Cambridge, I supped with the poets at The Punter, where we passed on the Movember blackboard special: lamb fries. Instead, I had gnocchi with roasted pumpkin and “frazzled sage,” which came in a creamy pumpkin sauce and was rather good. My second such dish in a few weeks, as I’d had a similar one (without the creamy sauce – instead pan-fried in clarified butter I’d guess) at La Piola before I left Victoria.
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Quinceaholic
Quince, coing, membrillo, mela cotogna, safarjal Those who have been tiring of my obsessive ravings about quince recipes will be pleased to know I have not touched a paring knife for about a week now. I had been blessed this year with a large quantity of quince– which I did my best to whittle my way through before abandoning a last box to others and disappearing off to England.
Before I left I tested just about every recipe I had time to try, both sweet and savoury. Here’s a recap of some of the ideas I checked out, including those already mentioned in an earlier post.
Quince jelly is, of course, just about the best thing to do with quince. Beautiful, aromatic and delicious.
But I didn’t make any this year, at least none that set properly. Instead I used some of the unset jelly (or quince syrup, we’re calling it) as the base for oven-poached quince, which was gorgeous. Three hours in a slow oven turned the fruit and its syrup (flavoured with orange and vanilla, or lemon) ruby red. It also helped the fruit remain firm enough to can for future use, in a quince sticky cake, for example.
I know that many people faced with a quantity of this fruit immediately think of quince paste (membrillo). I have made my share of this tangy sweet which takes a cheese plate to new heights. But not this year. I have learned that there is only so much quince paste one really needs in one’s life, and it can be tricky to hand off to others as it can’t just be stuck in a gift box, but needs to be refrigerated and dusted with sugar before serving. When it’s been stored for a while, it has a tendency to drool a glorious puddle into its dish, as messy as it is delicious. And sadly, it does not keep forever, though it can last several months in the fridge.This year, I’ve been browsing some savoury dishes. Lamb tagine with quince is a popular one, as quince has a subtle flavour that pairs well with lamb and is popular in Middle Eastern cooking. Quince soup comes in many varieties: with sweet apple cider and dates; with kabocha squash and Thai spices; with celeriac; and with plum wine and chocolate crème. Pumpkin chestnut risotto with quince sounded wonderful – but also like rather a lot of ingredients competing for attention.
Quince dessert recipes are quite numerous (particularly in French) but quince clafoutis seemed to be one of the most popular. A quince and apple pie that I was lucky enough to sample at La Piola was wonderful. Cakes include an upside-down, one with almond, a pudding cake and a sticky quince & ginger cake.
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In her latest collection, Rhona McAdam navigates the dark places of human movement through the earth and the exquisite intricacies lingering in backyard gardens and farmlands populated by insects and pollinators, all the while returning to the body, to the tune of staccato beats and the newly discovered symmetries within the human heart.
“…A beautiful, filling collection, Larder is a set of poems to read at the change of the seasons, to appreciate alongside a good meal, and to remind yourself of the beauty in everything, even the things you may not appreciate before opening McAdam’s collection….”
Rhona McAdam is a writer, poet, editor, and Registered Holistic Nutritionist with a Master’s in Food Culture from Italy and a deep-rooted passion for ecology and urban agriculture. Her work spans corporate and technical writing to poetry and creative nonfiction, often exploring the vital links between what we eat and how we live. Based in Victoria, BC, and available via Zoom, Rhona is always open to new writing commissions, readings, or workshops on nutrition and the culinary arts.
