Knobby, misshapen, but lovely to eat

Along Chelmsford's Route 4, Jackie Dawson's quince tree draws curious glances from drivers. The tree came with the 17th-century farmhouse, which the Dawson family purchased during the Great Depression. Families who know the fruit -- it thrives in the Mediterranean -- would stop and ask Dawson's in-laws if they could pick some. "This year we know of three families enjoying them," says Dawson. The golden quince against a brilliant autumn sky pleases the eye, but once in hand, this knobby and misshapen botanical cousin to the apple and pear looks like a horticulture experiment gone awry. Ugly little fruits, yes, but a goldmine for the initiated.

Quince was popular with New England's early settlers, who planted seeds from cultivated European specimens and used the pectin-rich fruits in pies, jellies, and marmalades. (The word marmalade comes from the Portuguese word for quince jam, marmelada.) But as apples and pears captured American taste buds, the quince, too astringent to be eaten raw, fell from grace. Today a productive quince tree is a rare find in New England, given that it's susceptible to fire blight, a bacterial disease. Most of us must be satisfied with quinces from Argentina, which are in markets through January, although in some Middle Eastern markets, like Arax Market in Watertown, quinces can be purchased year-round. They can be expensive -- around $2 each -- but most dishes require only one or two fruits.

On her fall dessert menu, Oleana's Maura Kilpatrick features the fruit in nougat glace with quince marmalade and quince sorbet. And quince isn't just dessert's domain. At Casablanca in Cambridge, an antipasti of Serrano ham is served with black mission figs, cheeses, and quince paste. Called membrillo, quince paste is a Spanish specialty. The fruit is cooked down, shaped into a block, and typically served in small slices with manchego cheese (the paste is $15.95 per pound at Formaggio Kitchen in Cambridge ) .

Quince, when cooked, turns deep pink and imparts a honeyed, rose essence to a dish. When shopping, first use your nose, then your eyes. Ripe quince smells strongly of pineapple and roses with an underscore of honey; let unripened fruit sit out for a few days. Quinces should be bright yellow and firm; they bruise easily but a flaw here or there won't matter once cooked. When the sweet perfume of quinces overpowers your kitchen, it's time to put them to work or store them wrapped in paper in the refrigerator. Peel the quinces as you would an apple, then core them. Grate to use with apple in pie, or chop roughly and add to a batch of applesauce.

The late Jane Grigson, doyenne of British cookery, adored the underappreciated quince. Her quince tart offers new life to the holiday table weary of pumpkin. It requires only one fruit, and elements of this custard-based tart can be prepared ahead of time. Poach and puree the quince, make the sauce, and bake the shell. With those tasks completed, the tart comes together quickly.