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Quince Jelly
Rub the quinces with a cloth until perfectly smooth, cut in small pieces, pack tight in a kettle, pour on cold water until level with the fruit, boil until very soft; make a three-cornered flannel bag, pour in fruit and hang up to drain, occasionally pressing on the top and sides to make the juice run more freely, taking care not to press hard enough to expel the pulp. There is not much need of pressing a bag made in this shape, as the weight of the fruit in the larger part causes the juice to flow freely at the point. To a pint of juice add a pint of sugar and boil fifteen minutes, or until it is jelly; pour into tumblers, or bowls, and finish according to general directions. If quinces are scarce, the parings and cores of quinces with good tart apples, boiled and strained as above, make excellent jelly, and the quinces are saved for preserves. - Mrs. M. J. W.
A no-pectin jelly that works because quinces are among the most pectin-rich fruits in the kitchen. The instructions are sound; only the units, the doneness test and the sealing need translating.
- The hinge: do not squeeze the bagThe hinge: press only gently -- The recipe allows occasional pressing on the top and sides, but warns against pressing hard enough to expel the pulp, and notes that the bag's shape makes much pressing unnecessary anyway. Forcing pulp through the flannel puts fine solids into the juice, and no amount of later skimming will clear it. Let it drip, and expect several hours or overnight.
- "A pint of sugar"Sugar was measured by volume in this book: a pint is 2 cups, about 14 oz / 400 g. A pint of juice is 2 cups / 475 ml. So roughly equal volumes, which comes out slightly under equal weights — a normal proportion for a high-pectin fruit.
- Fifteen minutes is a guide, not a ruleBoiling time depends on your pan and how much water the juice carries. Go by temperature: 220F / 104C at sea level, or 8F above the boiling point of water where you are. The old sheet test — jelly falling from a cold spoon in a curtain rather than drops — works as well as it ever did.
- Rubbing the quincesRipe quinces carry a grey down that holds dust and can taint the juice. A dry cloth takes it off. Do not peel or core for jelly; the peel and core hold most of the pectin, which is exactly why the last sentence recommends saving them.
- Cooking the fruitQuinces are hard and reluctant. Small pieces packed tight with water level to the top will still take 45 minutes to an hour of steady simmering to go completely soft and turn pink. Rushing this stage costs you both juice and colour.
- The flannel bagA modern jelly bag on a stand, or a double layer of damp cheesecloth in a large sieve, does the same job. Wetting the cloth first keeps it from drinking your juice.
- "Finish according to general directions"Points the reader to the book's own jelly-sealing instructions; in this period that generally meant covering the tumblers with paper, or sealing with melted paraffin wax. Paraffin seals are no longer recommended — they can fail invisibly and mould grows underneath. Use canning jars with two-piece lids and process in a boiling-water bath per current guidance, or simply refrigerate and use within a month.
- YieldThe recipe gives no quantities; a few pounds of quinces will fill two or three half-pint jars. The apple-and-parings version gives a paler, milder jelly.
Quinces were a standard fixture of American kitchen gardens in the nineteenth century and had a use no other fruit matched: too astringent and woody to eat raw, they were prized precisely for the pectin and perfume they gave up when cooked. Commercial powdered pectin did not reach home cooks until the twentieth century, and until then a cook chose fruit for its setting power — quince, crab apple, currant — or blended a weak fruit with a strong one. That is what the closing note is about: parings and cores, the part a modern cook throws away, were the most valuable part for jelly, leaving the firm flesh free for the more prestigious preserves. Buckeye Cookery, first published in Ohio in 1877 and assembled from contributors credited by initials like Mrs. M. J. W., is full of this kind of double accounting, where nothing edible leaves the kitchen unused.