Paris and the Golden Apple

Rubens, "The Judgment of Paris," 1636. National Gallery, London.

A love letter, in part,  from Paris to Helen:

The beauty and vigour of my spirit, though I might have seemed
to have been low-born, were signs of my secret nobility.
There’s a place in the midst of the valleys of wooded Ida,
solitary, crowded with pines and holm-oaks,
where placid sheep, and she-goats that love the rocks,
and slow oxen, with open mouths, won’t graze:
There I was, leaning against a tree, gazing down
on the walls, and high roofs of Troy, and the sea –
behold, the earth seemed to me to shake, at the tread of many feet –
I speak the truth, scarcely having had faith it was true –
Mercury, the grandchild of mighty Atlas and Pleione,
appeared before my eyes, driven on his swift wings –
it was lawful to see it, let it be lawful to say what I saw –
and there was a rod of gold in the god’s fingers.
And at that same moment three goddesses, Venus, Athene,
and Hera, set down their tender feet on the grass.
I was stunned, and icy terror raised my hair on end,
when the winged messenger said to me: ‘Have no fear!:
you’re a judge of beauty: end the goddesses’ quarrel,
one beauty is worthy of conquering the other two.’
Lest I refuse, he commanded it in Jupiter’s name,
and took himself off right away, on the sky-path to the stars.
My spirits recovered, a sudden courage came to me,
and I wasn’t afraid to observe each one with a look.
They were all worthy of winning, and as judge I lamented
that all of their cases couldn’t succeed.
But even then one of them pleased me more,
she, as you might guess, is the one by whom love’s stirred.
They so much wanted to win: they were fired up
to tempt my judgement with powerful gifts.
Jupiter’s consort mentioned kingdoms: his daughter valour:
I might wish to think about power or being brave.
Sweet Venus laughed: ‘Don’t let either of their gifts fool you,
they’re filled with anxious fear,’ she said:
I’ll give you, what you should love, the lovelier daughter
of lovely Leda will indeed enter your embrace.’
She spoke, and, with her gift and her beauty both approved,
victorious, she retraced her steps to the sky.

Ovid, Heroides: XVI (translated by A.S. Kline)

The rest, as they say, is history. The golden apple that Paris awarded Venus was a quince! Yes, the golden apple of ancient Greece was a quince and though it was supposed to be the Apple of Discord, I choose to believe the opposite. The quince is a very agreeable fruit. When cooked it turns a beautiful deep pink, it is extremely aromatic, and has a rich deeply sweet flavor with a bit of a bite. Its flavor and aroma is distinctively complex and adds an incredible layer of depth to any dish, although it can stand on its own. The quince is related to the apple and pear but best eaten cooked for it is astringent and sour. I do have memories of eating slices of raw quinces as a child and, in fact, it is a flavor that my older sisters still crave. But today, I want to share the very simple recipe for cotognata, the Sicilian name for quince paste and how I first learned to make it.

Cotognata

• Quince, as many as you can find
• Sugar
• Lemon
• Cinnamon, finely ground
• As many molds, or bowls, in varying sizes that you can find in your kitchen
• Olive oil and a brush

1. Scrub the quince clean from their pubescence (the name for the grayish white fuzz on the fruit, really!)
2. Cut the quince into uniform pieces, about an inch across, being careful not to cut yourself, as they are quite hard.
3. Place the pieces in a stock pot and add a cup of water.
4. Simmer gently for about 20-30 minutes, or until they are soft. Set aside and let cool.
5. Once cool, remove from pot and pass through a food mill on the disk with the largest opening.
6. Weigh the fruit pulp. For quince paste, the proportion is one to one. One pound fruit, one pound sugar.
7. For every 2 pounds of quince pulp, add the zest of one lemon.
8. Place the pulp, sugar, and lemon zest in a heavy enameled pot and cook on low, being attentive to stirring.
9. This paste should cook for at least 1 1/2 – 3 hours, depending on how much you are cooking.
10. The paste will turn a deep pink, and when a bit is dropped onto a plate, it will quickly set up.
11. Prepare your molds (I use ramekins, madeleine cookie molds, silicone molds, small dome like bowls, AND my special Sicilian cotognata molds) by lightly brushing with olive oil.
12. When your molds have all been set out, lightly sprinkle each mold with the merest dusting of cinnamon.
13. Once your quince paste has reached the setting stage, start filling all your molds. Be very careful not to burn yourself as you fill each mold to the top.
14. Set on your counter, or kitchen table, or any place they can sit for a day. This resting allows the paste to properly cool and set.
15. Depending on the kind of mold you are using, and the frequency in which you use that certain vessel. the quince paste can be stored in the mold.
16. NB I never leave the paste in metal or old ceramic vessels for more than a day. The metal can impart a flavor, and old ceramic often has lead in it.
17. After a day, unmold the paste. Place carefully on parchment lined cookie sheets, and leave out for another day. The air will further dry it, ensuring longevity in your cupboard.
18. I pack the quince paste in large tupperware that has been lined with parchment paper. Especially between layers.
19. If allowed to dry properly, and then stored well, the quince paste will easily last a year.

This recipe really is simple and worth the effort. And I do think it is useful, and beautiful, to use molds of varying sizes. You can determine how much to present to guest, or quite easily enjoy a madeleine size portion with your tea and snack. Traditionally it is served with a hard cheese, like the Spanish Manchego, but I also like it on toast, scones, slightly sweet crackers…