'There is only a handful of fruit trees I’d grow for their non-edible charms — quince is one'

I planted my first quince (Cydonia oblonga) a quarter of a century ago and I wouldn’t be without a tree nearby. There is only a handful of fruit trees I’d grow for their non-edible charms and quince is one.

As with medlars, quince grow in a nicely irregular, lightly twisting manner, full of character and individuality. Their blossom comes in spring, usually soon after the last frost; at first, they appear as tall, soft pink-white spirals, before opening out into loose dog rose-alikes. They have a light Chanel-crossed-with-daffodils fragrance that reaches the nose best when the wind and the sniffer are still and the sun is warm; you can plunge your face into the flowers and smell next to nothing, yet be enveloped in a cloud of scent as you walk away.

Fruit appear quickly and require patience in the grower, as they tend to grow little through the warm months, but as autumn nears they make up for it, becoming plumper seemingly by the day. In the sunniest of climates, quince will ripen fully on the tree. Here in the UK, you pick them early as the season is too short, but this brings its own reward. You’ll notice their skin colour shift from green to a little yellower: leave them on the tree as long as possible to develop, but get them indoors before the frosts arrive. When they are ready to pick, quince will part from the tree with a soft twist. Don’t pull: cut free any stubborn fruit using secateurs. Handle quinces with care — as unforgivingly hard as they seem, they bruise easily.

In the warmth of your home, those fruit will ripen over the coming days and weeks, releasing their sweet, spicy perfume as they do. Once in this state, you can expect them to store for a month or two, perhaps longer if transferred to somewhere cool, such as an unheated garage.

Although they are sweetly scented, quince need the company of booze or heat to give their best. It is quite the transformation: the hard, astringent quince becomes pink, sweet and fragrant and even a little added to an apple crumble uplifts it beautifully.

That is not to say they aren’t worthy of enjoying on their own: poached in lightly sweetened white wine or cider, they are extremely good. Famously wonderful for preserves, including jelly, jam and the Spanish paste membrillo, the preparation hassle was always a drawback, at least until inspirational queen of preserves Pam Corbin (I recommend her Pam the Jam: The Book of Preserves) told me how she prepares them.

Rather than peeling and coring the rock-hard fruit, she simmers them — in just enough water to cover — until the peel splits and the flesh is tender, but holding its shape. Once cooled, she pulls them apart — flesh from skin and stone — to use as she likes. This is how I’ve done it ever since and, honestly, if you’ve ever peeled and prepared a quince in the usual way, you’ll know how much it’s like preparing a baseball.

Quince trees don’t make you work hard for all this pleasure. A deep fertile loam, on the neutral to slightly acidic side, is ideal, where they’ll grow slowly to about 15ft in height and spread. Pruning is limited to the usual dead, diseased or crossing branches. Quince are tip-bearing trees, so keep that in mind if tempted to trim the branches. Quinces are hardy to about -4˚F/-20˚C, and thrive in a sunny spot with a fair degree of shelter, but will tolerate a little imperfection.

Quince leaf blight can speckle the leaves and fruit with dark-brown dots: damage is usually only cosmetic, but, if especially severe, rake up fallen leaves, remove any affected fruit and incinerate. Although I’ve never experienced it, brown rot can be an issue: pick and burn any affected fruit. Quince really benefit from feeding: I give them a monthly feed, sprayed on the leaves through the growing season, and/or a good liquid feed around the roots.

Of the numerous varieties I’ve grown, I’ve never noticed any variation in flavour: ‘Meech’s Prolific’ and ‘Vranja’ ripen a little earlier than some and reliably produce plump fruit in good numbers, as does the newer ‘Leskovac’.

Mark Diacono grows edibles, both usual and unusual, at Otter Farm in Devon. His book Abundance: Eating and Living with the Seasons (Quadrille, £30) is out now

This article first appeared in the October 1 issue of Country Life. For more information on how to subscribe, click here.