A different kind of paradise

When Bakerina wrote about paradise jelly last year, I was intrigued. Cranberries and apples I knew and loved, both separately and in combination. But quinces? Although I’d heard of them, I’d never actually seen a quince. On my next trip to the local gourmet grocery store, I spotted a small basket of quinces tucked in among the red and gold fall pears. These California-grown quinces were green and odorless, not the perfumed golden delights about which Jen rhapsodizes. I didn’t know whether they would ripen completely from this state, and I already had several pounds of pears at home waiting to become jam. I decided that paradise jelly would have to wait.

Last week, I noticed the basket of quinces at the grocery store. Some of the fruits were yellow, rather than green, and had a detectable aroma. This time, I couldn’t resist. I bought three large quinces, and set them on our kitchen counter to continue ripening. As the days passed, and they became more fragrant, I puzzled over what to do with them.

Now, I love the sparkling stained-glass clarity of a fine jelly. However, my one attempt at jelly-making, during the first summer that I tried any sort of preserving, resulted in something akin to plum gummy bear guts in a jar. I now know that I overcooked that jelly substantially, but I was worried about not getting a set, and didn’t realized that too hard a set was also a possibility. What a horrible thing to do to lovely, ripe fruit! I know better now, but I still have scars.

Furthermore, I don’t have a good spot, safe from our cats, in which to set jelly bags to drip. While all of the cats notice the sound of dripping, Sergei is particularly interested in anything that drips. He has been observed sticking his paw into the path of water dripping from a faucet, and he might do likewise with juice dripping from a jelly bag. And we all know where that paw has been.

Looking through my preserving books, I noticed that one of them suggested making paradise butter from all of the cranberry-apple-quince pulp left over after the juice had dripped out for paradise jelly. Why not just make fruit butter? And that’s what I did. I used the fruit that I had on hand, the proportions of which were a bit different from any recipe I’ve seen for paradise jelly or butter.

Paradise Butter a la Kimberly

2 pounds apples
2 pounds quinces
12 oz. cranberries (one bag)
1 1/2 cups honey, or to taste

Peel, core and coarsely chop the apples and quinces. Wash and pick through the cranberries. Place fruit in a preserving pan; add water just to cover. Bring to a boil, and boil until cranberries have burst, apples are falling apart, and quince chunks are tender (which will happen in this order).

When I got to this point, it was too late at night – even for me – to cook the fruit butter, so I refrigerated the cooked fruit overnight.

Puree fruit mixture, and measure the amount of puree. Return puree to preserving pan, and mix in honey.

Fruit butters may be sweetened with honey or sugar. The recipes that I’ve read for fruit butters call for anywhere from 1/2 cup to 1 cup of sugar per cup of pureed fruit, or about half that amount of honey. I decided to try honey, as I have a favorite cranberry sauce recipe sweetened with honey. I didn’t want the butter to be extremely sweet, and I figured I could add more honey near the end of the cooking time, so I started by adding 1 1/2 cups of honey to my 7 1/2 cups of fruit puree. That turned out to be enough for my taste.

Bring sweetened fruit puree to a boil, then simmer until thickened, stirring frequently.

“Thickened” is also a matter of taste. I’ve tasted apples butters that were almost a paste; that’s too thick for me. After cooking for just over an hour, my fruit butter had become thicker and smoother than applesauce. It stuck to a spoon turned upside down, and seemed appropriately spreadable. Cooking it longer might have produced a more silky texture, but I decided it was done.

Spoon fruit butter into prepared canning jars, screw on lids, and process in boiling water.

I don’t know whether to be dismayed or pleased that two jars did not seal properly after processing. That’s two fewer jars that I can bestow upon friends or family members at Christmas. On the other hand, I now have in my refrigerator two jars of rose-colored paradise that must be eaten soon. Perhaps I’ll just be pleased.