Here’s the story of the quince and I: my parents dine out quite a bit and when I was in college, when I’d come home for the holidays, we’d often all go for dinner at my parents’ favourite local restaurant. Everything about it was old school: the decor, the grumpy-looking, yet surprisingly friendly staff, the customers (mostly bachelors in their 50s, journalists, artists and writers, wolfing down their dinner, while reading the paper or spying at other diners) and, mostly, the food: simple, old fashioned one pot meat dishes, casseroles and seasonal salads served with red and white house wine. For dessert, my parents almost always ordered the baked quince, cooked with a sweet wine sauce and flavoured with cinnamon and cloves- or at least that’s how I remember it. [READ MORE]