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Just as the crisp chill in the air, the slow retreat of daylight hours and the subtle turn of the foliage all signal the arrival of autumn, there are flavors that also reflect the shift of the seasons.

While , pear, quince — and, yes, — will eventually fill out seasonal dessert menus for the months to come, the appearance of the Concord grape is a bit more fleeting.

It’s easy to argue that most of what we call ‘table’ grapes that are available year-round — whether red or green — don’t pack much of a punch in the flavor department. That’s why the late September arrival of plump purple Concords make for a sweet, tart and juicy welcome as summer berry season fades into memory. This is the essence of ‘grape’ flavor we associate with everything from jelly and juice to candy and soda.

This is the essence of ‘grape’ flavor we associate with everything from jelly and juice to candy and soda.

Pastry chefs tend stock up on these intense flavor bombs when in season and are often fashioned into desserts that draw from a subtle sense of nostalgia.

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The Concord grape is a unique variety bred from native North American grapes, notably the wild Vitis labrusca. Its origin dates to 1849, after an intensive trial led by Ephraim Wales Bull on his farm in Concord, Massachusetts. The new grape hit Northeastern markets in 1854, quickly gaining favor, winning awards and earning a reputation abroad. It is said that cuttings from Bull’s original vines fetched upwards of $1,000.

The Concord enjoyed increased popularity in the next decade, when Dr. Thomas Welch began producing an unfermented grape juice utilizing the recently developed concept of pasteurization. By 1900, Welch’s fledgling juice empire was processing 300 tons of grapes a year. The union of grape jelly and peanut butter that would become a school lunch staple began to gain traction in the 1920s.

Today, over 300,000 tons of Concord grapes are grown each year in the United States. New York is second in production, just behind Washington State.

Crafting Concords into components sweet or savory requires some degree of effort. Hidden under the thick “slip-skins” and juicy pulp are hard stubborn seeds that must be removed. Crushing the grapes or buzzing them in a blender is simple enough; the real chore ends up being the patient passing through a sieve or cheesecloth to produce a skin and seed-free pulp.

The reward is worth the rigor. One might stumble upon a seedless Concord now and then, but I almost see the requisite crush-and-strain exercise as a comforting ritual of the season. Beware, however, that the errant drops of juice instantly leave behind a dark purple (and near permanent) stain.

With this year’s crop, I’m seeking to rework and refine a classic dessert — cheesecake — with a seasonal punch-up of Concord grape.

A light cream cheese mousse spiked with a touch of lemon fills in for the rich and dense texture of traditional cheesecake. The pillow of mousse is set on a Graham cracker sablée and concealed in its center is a core of liquid Concord grape. The whole is sprayed with a thin, velvety layer of white chocolate and accompanied by a grape sorbet.