Quince Paste or Dulce de Membrillo

 

Today I’d like to share one of my favourite sweets: quince paste, or the Spanish Dulce de Membrillo. It’s the time to make it as Christmas is coming and the quinces are nicely ripened.

I don’t make it very often as you really need to have the right conditions for it to turn out well. First you take nicely ripened quince and scrub off the furry stuff on their skin. Below you can see cleaned quince in the tray with the darker, ‘furry’ ones at the side.

                                               
You place your fruit in a baking tray along with a little water and you bake them whole, skin on, until they have nicely softened.  Then, skin still on😊, you cut them into chunks, discarding the stone in the middle. At this point you weigh how much of the cleaned fruit you have. The chunks are then blitzed in a blender until you get a smooth creamy substance.  You may need to add a little water to the mix for it to blend freely.                                                     

Having weighed the fruit previously, you now place the pulp in a large pot along with roughly the same weight of sugar. Not liking things too sweet, I tend to add less sugar and add lemon juice to taste.

                                                            

It’s now that I add my secret ingredient, though this is optional. This is the leaf of a plant known in Greece as arbaroriza or scented geranium. Its proper botanical name is pelargonium graveolens. In the past we have made a surprisingly delicate liqueur simply by adding some leaves and sugar to retsina. Best tasting retsina ever, and with a beautiful fragrance.

So, the sugar, fruit and 3 or 4 leaves are boiled until the mixture comes together to form a thick mass, separating from the sides of the pan.                                                    

Let this cool down a little then spread it fairly thinly and evenly onto a tray lined with parchment paper. My four large quinces produced enough to spread over two 10 x13 inch trays. The surface is then brushed generously with any kind of alcohol which helps form a skin. I find brandy goes nicely with the fruit’s rich flavour.

Now comes the hard part - the trays should be set in a nice, sunny room for about 3 days to dry out. My quinces waited uncooked for over a week until we got 3 consecutive days with guaranteed sun!  I've another batch of fruit ready to be processed but it doesn’t look as if our weather will oblige soon. ☹

                                                          

Once the paste has dried out, you cut it into pieces – I like diamond shapes– and liberally coat with sugar and set out on plates to complete the drying out process.

                                                

If this is rigorously done, your paste will last for months  - this produced over 100 pieces.

                                                   
They look like beautiful, gleaming gems which can make for sweet Christmas presents.  I love serving them at the end of a meal with cheese, oatcakes and port.

                                          

 There you go!

Olive harvesting.

 

All other chores and obligations are cast aside – our olives must be harvested! Some of the black olives are already soft and falling to the ground, while the green olives – a different type- are swollen but could do with a couple of weeks more to flesh out and produce more oil.

                                                

We have to find the middle ground and harvest now before the black ones begin to spoil. First we walk round the trees and pick up any windfall berries that are in good condition.

                                                          

Then we lay the nets which are doubled so we can catch the fruit there and avoid it falling through the mesh. The nets are a real attraction for Prunella who loves to tunnel in between the two layers. She also loves playing with the olives - rolling them with her paws, then chasing after them. Keeps her happy for a wee while!                                                   

 From the branches we can easily reach, we comb the off olives and let them fall on the net – being careful not to tread on them.                                           

Those higher up get felled either by Z climbing up and picking them off or by him wielding a big stick and bashing them off – hi-tech stuff (staff?)  this!

                                            

Mr Mao is, of course, also present but is not nearly as active as Prunella.He finds the most comfortble, sunny spot where he can stretch out or curl up and relax. Now, if this happens to be on top of the nice, warm berries in a half-filled crate- so be it!                                         

Here we are proudly displaying the 260 kilos we collected – just the two of us.

                                        

And below are the plastic drums containing our golden harvest. All in all, our trees produced 36 kilos of oil which should keep us going for a couple of years.                                       

                                                                   Our liquid gold!

   

Autumn.

 

Autumn has come and with it come seasonal tasks – like raking up leaves in their thousands.  Still, it’s good exercise for us before the cold keeps us indoors for days on end and it makes for great mulch for feeding the soil. As you can see, this tree has shed most of its leaves now so the end of such chores is in sight.

                                                     

Our pampas grass is full of seeds, the graceful fronds languorously swaying in the breeze.              I love the shape they make and how this is framed by the nearby apple tree.

                                             

This is a plant from our neighbours’ garden which has draped itself among the branches of our fig and pine trees. The russets and greens make a marvellous match!

                                             

   The russets are repeated in our rose-tree-gone-wild. We leave its sprawling shoots unclipped as sparrow swings and it provides a food supply as well.

                                                    

This shot I love. It really does express Keats’ ‘Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness’. Our magnolia tree (grande flora) has swollen seed pods and some now disperse their seeds. Though I knew we could see the misty effects on the trees in the background, it was only after that I noticed the intricate spider’s wed glistening in the dampness. 

                                                

Our apple trees have produced a great harvest this year. One was planted here when we arrived, the other a kind gift from Angeliki and Merkouris – thank you, guys!

                                                   

I’ve got loads of apple sauce frozen, made crumbles and Z’s all-time favourite, tarte tatin. Here it is, with one of my favourites, moussakas. I love the change-of-season foods. We have already attacked them, I’m afraid!

                                                   

Our almonds have made pesto sauces – with almonds, cheese, olive oil and basil leaves – as well as a paste base-layer over tart pastry, topped with a plum and apple sauce.

Mr Mao loves lying on the warmth of the almond shells as they dry out in the sun.

Cats always find the best places to chill. 😊

                                                   

Leaving Smyrni.

 

And so we come to the end of our stay in Smyrni. We have our final breakfast: the pastries were disappointingly dry but the scrambled eggs were the creamiest e.v.e.r.. Then, we head off. Note to Google Translate: that phrase does not bear the semantic force of ‘decapitation’. Just saying!

Fortunately, we managed to find the main exit road quite easily and joined the main route to the north. In this urban scene below, you can see how great swathes of the surrounding hills have sprouted multi-storey residence blocks - real carbuncles, but I’m sure they enjoy excellent views.

Impressive mosque and I do apologise for all the cables captured in the image. It takes good balance, patience and luck to get the entire building in frame as you go whizzing by in the car. But you get the idea!

Then we cross what is currently the longest suspension bridge in the world. Opened to traffic in March this year, the Canakkale Bridge has a span of 2,023 metres. It is in the area called Gelibolu, Gallipoli to us, which in turn derives from the Greek word Kalipoli, meaning ‘good city’.  We have not yet been able to establish whether that name is descriptive or euphemistic, in accordance with the ancient custom of giving a bad dog a good name in the hope of it becoming better. A case in point is the naming of the Pacific Ocean.

 

It is awesome to see it from a distance and even more so to actually cross it for it’s then you get a true sense of its dimensions. However, it does not strike confidence in you when you see cranes atop the bridge uprights and the span-side workmen assembling the barriers as you cross. So there you have it: evidence that though the bridge is in use, it is still under construction – argghh!

   We find a use for our last lira. Now I think I’d already mentioned they don’t really do foreign on Turk-side so there was a lot of pointing and digital reference going on. I strongly suspect we were done but, at the end of the transaction, both vendor and spender were smiling, so that’s all right then. 😊

With a wave of excitement we see this sign. We can now follow the lime-green road for Yunanistan/Hellas/Greece. It’s been a long journey so it’s reassuring to see. And we know the Ipsala area fairly well so confidently get our last petrol fill-up at the last petrol station before making for the border.

But our excitement was short-lived when we see a massive, long queue. It is the end of the leave period for Turks working in Europe and they are now travelling back. There is nothing else to do but queue. Fortunately, the rain has stayed off and the temperatures are comfortable so we chat with fellow-travellers and the time passes.

Eventually we get through, have a wee pit-stop, and get some refreshments for the rest of the road. All in all, from Ipsala to set foot on Greek soil, it took us all of eight hours, repeat eight hours! We got home at 5am. ☹

Gule, gule, Turkiye!!

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 [u1]

Tastes of Smyrni.

 In my last post I showed some of the buildings in Smyrni that interested us during our recent visit there. With our hotel being on the sea-front, we were in the tourist area, so we decided to take a wee stroll in the market area, the suq, if you like, to catch some local flavours.

This tea/coffee house was splendidly set out – the low seating and the vividly coloured drapes were redolent of the mufraj in the Arab world – the room for socializing, drinking tea/coffee together, perhaps smoking a nargileh or chewing qat, depending on which country you are in.

                                      

Smyrni is famous for its pastries. Our hotel offered a huge breakfast buffet and, on our first morning there, I enthusiastically selected a cheese pie and a spinach pie, only to be disappointed by how dry they were. Similarly, Z was not impressed by the cakes and tea-breads which did not seem particularly fresh. (To give credit where due, they made the creamiest scrambled eggs e.v.e.r!)                                          

I was delighted to see this display of sweet and savoury pastries in the market. Couldn’t let that shop window spread go to waste so I asked the owner’s permission. It was only as I was about to shoot that I released the vendor was posing nicely – bless! -  so he is included. :)

                                                  

Almost every street has at least one dress shop sporting extravagant bridal gowns and wedding outfits. Clearly, they take such ceremonies seriously here.                                   

This intriguingly romantic shot of dervishes was hanging on the corridor wall just outside our room. Such dancers are members of the Sufi order, an order which dates back to the 13^th century as a mystic part of the Islamic world; in fact. Some regard the prophet, Mohammed, as the founder of Sufism.    The dance, known as Sufi whirling or turning, is a form of physically active meditation and through it they aspire to reach dharma – the source of all perfection. It involves lots of symbolism: their movement as that of the planets round the sun, the camel hair hat represents the tombstone of the ego, their wide skirts symbolize the ego shroud, but apparently produce a centrifugal force which reduces dizziness. I loved them – it was as if they were our private dancers, performing just for us each time we made a sortie outside our room.

                               

A little jaded at eating ‘tourist food’, while I was working, Z went on a reccie to suss out where the locals ate. Now not many people in the city spoke ‘foreign’ so Z came up with a gem. A young waiter did his utmost to explain that the meatballs – when in Smyrini …. – had no lamb in them (not our favourite meat) and explained what all their dishes were. We really enjoyed our meal, Z left our lad a nice wee tip and, with that, suddenly from the kitchen emerged mum, grandmum and grandpop. They appreciated our appreciation of the food and the mum was proud to say this was her son.  Quite right too!

The food was excellent and half the price of the tourist joints. Don’t we display satisfaction?

                                  

Scenes from Smyrni

 A hundred years ago, when Eleftherios Venizelos, the Greek Prime Minister, and Kamal Ataturk, the Turkish statesman, pushed for their conflicting, expansionist dreams for their respective countries in what is now Western and Northern Turkey, the Greek residents of Smyrni/ Izmir paid a grim price. Many lost their lives, families, homes and businesses. Some managed to escape and came to Greece as refugees – they were the lucky ones.  Having heard so much about its sad history, I was delighted to undertake a consultancy visit to Smyrni. I was even more delighted when Z agreed that he drive us there and extend the trip for a little tourism on the side.

We arrived there at night and on the sea-front we spied our hotel – a welcome sight after our 12-hour drive. That’s a statue of Ataturk in the background as this square is dedicated to him.

Our hotel is very central in the 5-star category, a posh affair- the entrance is be-decked with beautiful orchids, the furniture upholstered in a rich burgundy velvet. Feel quite regal, really! 😊

The next day, since it is not far off, we decided to go for a sea-front stroll to see the Greek Consulate. It is housed in a beautiful old building which has been renovated, as has the building next door to it, the French Consulate.

 On our last full day, we explore further and come across the university here. In Greece many of the state university buildings are in a deplorable state and are covered in grimy graffiti. It was a pleasure to see this clean, well-maintained institution – an alma mater to be proud of.

This is the pier building: very dear to the Smyrnaians and particularly noteworthy for being designed in 1890 by the architect/construction engineer, Gustave Eiffel who is well-known for having designed the famous Parisian tower – imagine!

Without even feeling obliged to identify this construct, I snapped it and include it here because it was a pretty building and because it was pink!

All that tourist traipsing has been fascinating but just a wee bit fatiguing. Definitely time to rest up and sink into the luxury of the burgundy velvet throne. :) That’s the living.

 

 

 

Post Office Services

 

Pre-hi-tech times, the Post Office offered services that were essential to everyone.  The cheery cherry red of the post boxes and the post vans were a pleasure to encounter.

                                                                    

And the arrival of the postman usually heralded a nice surprise. In our small Highland village, Iain and Charlie – the post-boys, as they were called – provided value-added services. As well as delivering the mail, they passed on snippets of news from the area, bringing out medication for those in need, maybe some delicacies sent out from family in the town. They also kept the elderly residents company, having a wee chat sometimes over a welcome cuppa with freshly made scones or pancakes. They were an integral part of community cohesion.                                                                

                                                          

Now, at least here in Greece, things seem to be suffering a sea change. For many years I have subscribed to the Sunday Times newspaper and magazines and enjoyed a regular delivery until Covid struck. With no regular flights coming in there was a backlog of issues which at one point amounted to a 3-month delay. Then Brexit reared its ugly head and further complicated things. With Britain now deemed a third country, the packages are subject to customs checks for which I now have to pay handling fees and VAT! :o My subscription is not cheap, but adding on a payment of over 2.5 euros for each belated newspaper pack really is rubbing salt in the wound.

                                                            

Gifts are also included in the checking procedure, despite being labelled as such and with a declaration of their being of limited value. Customs officers decide themselves what the value of the contents is and levy tax accordingly. My sister was delighted to find swimming gear for me at very reduced prices and kindly sent them out as a gift.  By the time I paid the customs dues the bargain margin was no more!

But the 20^th July definitely was for us a red-letter day; it was then we received five Christmas cards: two from GB, one from Sweden and two from Greece – from Evros in the north and the Peloponnese in the south.

                                                       

    You will fully understand my decision to reconsider sending cards!