Turkish Origins of Tulips and Quinces
Cathy in Istanbul Jan. 2014.
In 2014 when the world was in a different place, I flew with a longtime friend to Istanbul. There is much about gardens that can be learned from a visit to Turkey. Why, one might ask, are tulips woven into a massive wool prayer rug in Istanbul’s Blue Mosque and so frequently depicted in handmade tiles sold in this historic city’s Grand Bazaar? What’s the source of the delicious quince marmalade served for breakfast at Istanbul’s elegant Pera Palace Hotel—built in 1892 for passengers arriving from Europe aboard the Orient Express Railway?
Tulip in carpet at the Blue Mosque in Istanbul.
Searching for answers, I begin leafing through botanical volumes in my library. In The Gardener’s Atlas, I learned that Ogier Ghiselin dee Busbecq, Ambassador from the Holy Roman Empire to the Ottoman Empire, noticed some fine flowers growing in Turkish gardens in Constantinople in the early spring of 1554. Among them were “those which the Turks call tulipam…admired for their beauty and variety of their colors.”
Busbecq sent bulbs to the famous French horticulturalist Carolus Clusius, Imperial Gardner in Vienna. Clusius then distributed bulbs to friends throughout Europe, marking the beginning of the Dutch tulip bulb industry. Dutch horticulturalists in Amsterdam supplied London and the world with tulips, daffodils and hyacinths, while Dutch artists portrayed tulips in masterworks of art.
That mystery solved, I’m now on the trail of quince—a fruit commonly grown in America in colonial times but rarely found in contemporary backyard gardens. While in Istanbul, I was so taken with the delightful flavor of the fruit that I brought home a small jar of Quince (Ayva) Marmalade, produced by Soteks, Ltd, Türkiye. The label illustration is of a yellow, pear-shaped fruit and pinkish coral-colored blossoms.
Enjoying quince jam at breakfast at the Pera Palace Hotel with my friend Chomsri.
Easter week, Kit and I spotted several well-established flowering quince bushes while driving Route A to Hartsburg—each filled with electric orange, camellia-shaped blossoms. By afternoon, Kit had purchased one as an Easter surprise. It is now planted at the edge of the orchard near a dwarf pear.
But what about quince trees, still common in rural America’s backyards in the late 19th century? Perusing the Encyclopedia of Cooking, I learn that this hard, dry-textured fruit of a tree belonging to the apple family is native to temperate regions of Asia (Turkey being one location). The fruit ripens in September when quinces become golden yellow and resemble apples or pears.
After an online search of Stark Bro’s Nursery in Louisiana, MO, an order is placed for a dwarf Orange Quince tree, a semi-dwarf Montmorency Pie Cherry tree, and a Brown Turkey Fig tree. Established soon after James Hart Stark arrived from Kentucky in 1816 with apple scions from his family orchard, Stark Bro’s is still family-owned and has the largest online, direct-to-customer nursery in the country.
Anticipating their arrival, I pour through old cookbooks in search of quince recipes. In “The Shaker Cook Book”—from Pleasant Hill near Lexington, KY—I find a recipe for Amelia’s Quince Pudding. A beautifully illustrated copy of “Crabtree & Evelyn Cookbook” suggests a light menu of Tomato and Celery Soup, Glazed Pork Loin with Garlic Potatoes, and Brussels Sprouts in Brown Butter, followed by Apple-Quince Bread Pudding for dessert.
Having traced the quince fruit back to its Asian origins, I check Claudia Rodin’s “The New Book of Middle Eastern Food” and find numerous contemporary recipes for this ancient fruit—Quince(s) with fish; poached in syrup; preserves; with roast duck; stuffed; with tangine of lamb; and in couscous with tomatoes and fish.
Finally, I pull out James Beard’s 1972 classic tome, “American Cookery” and am delighted to read his take on this largely forgotten fruit, once common in America’s backyard gardens—
“Few people know the delicacy and flavor of cooked quince, and they are brilliant in bouquet both cooked and raw. When peeled, cut into sections and baked, they make a nice change from other fruit dishes. Cool the baked quince and serve with heavy cream or sour cream.”
What’s not to love about that old recipe?