When I spotted them at the Ojai Farmers’ Market, all but hiding in the corner of a table covered with fresh vegetables, I grabbed them: a small pile of rhubarb stalks ignored by the throng of shoppers. I assume they had been overlooked because they were mostly pale green, not the deep rosy red of rhubarb that has been grown in a hothouse, which most customers prefer. The truth is, color does not matter when it comes to cooking rhubarb.
Another truth: I have not cooked with rhubarb for years. When I lived in Maine, I had an ancient rhubarb plant in my garden that yielded tough and stringy stalks that I couldn’t convince myself were suitable for the cooking pot. Somehow, it survived winter after winter of brutal cold to spring back to life every May and spread wider than ever, taking up valuable garden space. I finally pulled the entire thing out with a little help from my friend with the pick ax. Throughout New England, rhubarb is enormously popular; rhubarb-strawberry pie competes with blueberry pie and Boston cream pie for top billing on dessert menus. So rhubarb pies became my default for indulging my love for this tart fruit.
Back in my Ojai kitchen, I decided to replicate the simple way my mother used to make stewed rhubarb. Several times every spring she used to boil up a pot of rhubarb, adding nothing but a little water and tons of sugar. This was our favorite early season dessert and I can see in my mind’s eye the red chunks of rhubarb piled into individual bright yellow Fiesta Ware cereal bowls (this was the fifties, remember). We kids liked to pour a little milk over the fruit and watch with fascination as the milk started to ooze through the threads of rhubarb.
If my grandmother had lived with us, I’m sure she would have found a variety of ways to use rhubarb other than eaten out of a bowl. Stewed rhubarb is delicious baked into cakes and muffins, breads and tarts, cheesecake and coffee cake, fools and puddings, jams and marmalade. If you leave out most of the water and let the rhubarb cook slowly in its own juices, the result is a thicker sauce that is marvelous with pork tenderloin and other meats as well as fish.
Here’s my take on humble stewed rhubarb, kicked up a notch for a more complex flavor.
Stewed Rhubarb, Only Better
12 medium small rhubarb stalks, chopped (about 2 cups). Remove any leaves; they’re toxic.
1 Cup granulated sugar. Use more or less according to taste.
2 Cups fresh strawberries, chopped
½ Teaspoon vanilla
¼ Teaspoon each ground cinnamon and nutmeg
1 Tablespoon cornstarch (optional)
The rhubarb I bought at the farmers’ market was field cultivated, not grown in a hothouse, so the size of the stalks varied a lot. Use as many stalks as it takes to get about 2 cups, chopped into 1-inch pieces. Place the chopped rhubarb in a heavy pot and barely cover with water. Stir in the sugar. Bring to a boil then turn the heat down and simmer 6-7 minutes before you add the chopped strawberries. Continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until all the fruit is soft but not mushy, about 10-12 minutes total. Remove from the heat and stir in the vanilla and the spices. If you want to thicken the mixture, blend 1 tablespoon of cornstarch in a little water until smooth and stir into the hot rhubarb mixture. Serve warm or at room temperature, but store in the refrigerator. Wonderful over vanilla ice cream, or served with a generous dollop of either plain yogurt or creme fraiche.
Yield: 3½ cups
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