Quince

It kills me to actually pay for fruit we used to have growing in our front yard, yet I did just that-to the tune of two dollars each. I bought two-because that was how much change I had in my coin purse. Do you do that? Excuse a purchase as only pin-money because you didn't need to break a bill? Absurd, I know (particularly if you've loaded your little beaded coin-purse to bulging with twenty dollars worth of quarters) but I now have two perfect quince.

There isn't much you can do with two quince, so I peeled and cored them and as I type they are poaching away in wine, simple syrup, juniper berries and a mostly-scraped vanilla bean. Part of me wanted to toss in some black peppercorns, but I resisted.

I have some hard sheep's milk cheese in the fridge and some Phyllo dough defrosting. We all know I have clarified butter. I'll bake it tomorrow, though I still have only the vaguest idea what I'm aiming for.

You have no idea how delicious my kitchen smells right now, which is great because I'm microwaving leftovers for dinner. Maybe no one will notice in a fog of quince intoxication.