Love with the Perfect Stranger

What’s cooking? Rhubarb Compote

Among the strange-looking products that pop up here and there in a farmers’ market, rhubarb is more likely than most to cause people scratch their heads and say, “But what do you do with it?” Which is an interesting thing to say about a plant that’s been in use for some 3000 years.

As with many off-beat foods, rhubarb was first used in China, as a medicinal plant. The roots were considered effective as a laxative. (Keep in mind that we’re going to cook with the stems.) In the 14th century, it was imported to Europe via the Silk Road and the ports of Aleppo and Smyrna. But in European soil, they had no luck getting roots with the medicinal effect, and as sugar became more available, rhubarb migrated into culinary uses. The earliest record of it in the Americas comes from botanist John Bartram, who grew both medicinal and culinary rhubarbs in Philadelphia in the 1730s.

I first came across rhubarb in my early married days, when a friend in Massachusetts cut some out of her backyard garden to go in a pie with her homegrown raspberries. Smitten as I was with the pie, it was many years before I found the rhubarb again – in my New Jersey farmers’ market. It starts showing up in early spring and is intermittently available throughout the summer.

Then at a reunion of college friends in California early last month, I was in charge of dinner. But of course. I needed something easy for dessert, and I’d settled on Eton Mess, that strawberry/meringue/ fruit sauce/whipped cream concoction I wrote about a year ago. The only challenge was finding a fruit – preferably red – with which to make the sauce. And there on a table at a farmstand near San Luis Obispo, I saw... rhubarb, which I knew would be just the thing. Rhubarb sauce could not be simpler to make: a little water, some sugar, and lemon juice will turn the stems into a yummy compote in less than 15 minutes. But the most fun was when, at dinner that night, one of the women said, “Wow – where did you find rhubarb sauce?” I smiled and tried to look angelic as I said, “I didn’t buy it. I made it. This afternoon.” The Kitchen Goddess strikes again.

So on my first trip back to the New Jersey market this summer, I was heading to the car with my bounty when I saw... a bunch of rhubarb. I already had more fruits and veggies than I knew what to cook with, but the rhubarb looked lonely there at the side of a table. I snapped it up.

I had no particular plan, but knew I had to make that sauce again. This time, with my full larder available, I tweaked it a bit, adding ginger liqueur, lemon zest, and a pinch of salt to cut the sweetness. Even more yummy than before.

Only days later, the women of my old New Jersey writing group decided to reunite for lunch this week. “I don’t have time to make anything,” I said. “But I can stop at a bakery on my way.”

“Don’t buy anything,” said one of the hostesses. “You always have something you’ve made. What’s in your fridge?”

“Hmmm,” said the Kitchen Goddess. “I do have this tasty rhubarb compote. And a couple of ripe New Jersey peaches. If we put it all on some good Greek yogurt, it’ll be great for dessert.” And so it was.

Kitchen Goddess note on buying and storing rhubarb: Rhubarb is a vegetable, so no surprise that in its plain, raw state, it’s very tart. But if you throw it into a pot with sugar, it seems very much like a fruit. Because of its high water content, it cooks down quickly, so it’s often used in pies, ice cream/sorbets, and sweet sauces. Though the stalks look like smooth celery, the plants aren’t related; but you should look for the same qualities – firm, crisp stalks – to determine freshness. The cut ends of the stalks should not look withered. The fresher stalks will also have a bit of sheen. They range in color from green to deep red, and while the red ones are younger, thinner, more tender, and slightly sweeter, it doesn’t make much difference if you’re cooking them in a pot with sugar. The leaves, which are toxic, are often cut off before the stalks are sold. Do not eat any leaves that remain on your stalks.

According to the clever Cook’s Illustrated people, the best way to store fresh rhubarb (and apparently celery as well – who knew?) is to wrap the stalks tightly in aluminum foil, leaving the ends of the package open, thus allowing the ripening hormone, ethylene, to escape. Wrapped thusly – or so they say – stalks will keep almost two weeks. If you need to keep it longer, cut the stalks into pieces ½-1 inch long, and freeze them in an airtight container. They’ll keep that way for a year.

By the way, it’s often easy to find rhubarb – chopped and frozen – in the frozen foods aisle of your supermarket.

Rhubarb Compote

Adapted from Mary Cech in Bon Appétit, April 2006.

Yield: Makes about 3 cups

Ingredients
1½ pounds fresh rhubarb, cut into ½-inch pieces (about 4 cups)
1 cup sugar
¼ cup water
½ teaspoon kosher salt
zest of ½ lemon
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (about ½ fresh lemon)
2 tablespoons ginger liqueur, or a 1-inch piece of ginger, or use Cointreau

Directions
Combine the first six ingredients – all but the ginger or liqueur – in a large saucepan over medium heat. Stir the mix constantly until the sugar is well dissolved. Once the mixture begins to bubble, reduce the heat to let the rhubarb simmer. Cover the saucepan and let the simmer continue for 8-10 minutes, then check the consistency of the compote. (Some people like it chunkier than others.) If you want the consistency to be more like applesauce, continue cooking for a few more minutes.

Remove the compote from the heat and stir in the ginger liqueur. If you are using raw ginger instead, grate the ginger into a small bowl, then transfer the grated ginger to a fine seive and press down on the ginger to release the juice. OR... Use a garlic press to squeeze the grated ginger into the compote. Stir well.

Let the compote cool, then store it in the refrigerator.

What to do with it now that you have rhubarb compote:

– Stirred into plain yogurt, for breakfast or dessert;
– Over vanilla ice cream;
– On pancakes or waffles, in lieu of syrup;
– Wrapped in crepes;
– With ice cream or whipped cream, in a parfait;
– If it’s still chunky, in Rhubarb Shortcake (instead of the strawberry variety);
– As the fruit sauce in Eton Mess (click here for recipe).

Love that rhubarb!