by Chef Walter Potenza, contributing writer Every autumn, when I smell quince being gently cooked, I am once more that young man in an Italian kitchen, observing how patience and tradition turn gold into something that feeds the soul. Friends: When I was a young man in Italy, I often stood in our kitchen and watched my mother turn hard, fragrant quinces into a deep amber paste. My grandparents grew quinces on several sections of the family land,…
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