Let’s hear it for... RHUBARB

By RUSS PARSONS

Let’s face it. This spring treat has chemistry with certain seasonal fruits.

We put in a new front yard a couple of weeks ago, complete with drought-tolerant plantings, decomposed granite walkways and a “water feature” (apparently, nobody says “fountain” anymore). Of course, there’s an edible component: four raised beds for growing tomatoes, squash, melons and greens, as well as two trees — a Fuyu persimmon and a Panachee fig.

But the thing I might be most excited about is that with any luck, by this time next year I’ll be cooking from my own rhubarb plants.

My excitement will perplex some people. Rhubarb seems to have a large and very vocal collection of detractors. For lots of folks, the idea of intentionally planting rhubarb, of actually wanting to have more of it, is insanity.

Rhubarb is tart in the extreme, to the point of astringency. Chew on a chunk of raw rhubarb stalk and you might come away gasping (I actually like to do this occasionally — almost like a good wake-up jolt to the palate).

But cook rhubarb with sugar and that sourness balances the sweetness in a compelling way. At the same time, the plant’s tough, fibrous texture melts into silkiness.

In fact, so fragile does rhubarb become that you should be very careful when cooking it to keep from tearing the stalks to shreds. Shake the pan, don’t stir it.

Because rhubarb needs to be cooked to become palatable, it traditionally has been called the “pie plant.” Indeed, rhubarb is spectacular in pies. But it is also grand in cobblers, crisps and compotes, either by itself or in combination with other fruits.

Of course the classic pairing is rhubarb and strawberries. This works on a couple of levels. Strawberries by themselves can be sweet but a little insipid — particularly with the varieties most widely planted these days. The addition of rhubarb lends depth and balance.

As a food-geek side note, the pairing of rhubarb and strawberry also makes an interesting chemistry lesson — one with delicious overtones. Anthocyanin, the pigment that makes strawberries red, is not heat stable, so when the berries are cooked, they usually turn an ugly shade of purple, kind of like a bruise.

But the acidity that makes rhubarb so tart also stabilizes anthocyanin, so the berries’ color remains a bright, clear red after cooking.

Don’t feel restricted by the old pie-crisp-cobbler mold. Rhubarb and strawberry pureed together make a strikingly colored and perfectly balanced sorbet. Or twist the pairing in a slightly different way by serving a rhubarb crisp with a lovely, simple sauce made with uncooked strawberries.

Rhubarb and cherries make another nice combination. There’s no chemistry behind this; it just tastes good. And orange is a good flavor partner too. Whether added in the form of juice or zest (or both), it seems to round out the flavor of rhubarb in a way that lemon or other citrus fruits can’t.

Make a compote by gently stewing rhubarb in its own juices along with grated ginger. These are two big, very different flavors and it’s the gently sweet and sour taste of orange juice that bridges them.

This is wonderful when served as a balance to richly flavored duck breast. It would be equally good served with roast pork. And it would be absolutely grand with some sauteed foie gras.

When cooking rhubarb, remember that as assertive as the stalk is when raw, the flavor tames quickly. Poach it in a little simple syrup and in fewer than 10 minutes you’ll have a lovely pink fruit so delicate you might not recognize it.

Don’t use too much syrup or you’ll hardly taste the rhubarb. If you want it to retain more character, macerate your rhubarb in sugar to draw out some of its juice, and then cook it gently in that.

Rhubarb can be scarce. This is partly because there’s just not a lot of demand. After all, when you’re knee-deep in spring citrus and strawberries, it might be hard for some folks to get excited about rhubarb.

The other reason it’s hard to find is that unlike almost every other fruit or vegetable, there’s not a lot of it grown in warmer climates. Rhubarb does best where it gets cold; the plant needs occasional winter temperatures below 40 degrees to be reliably productive on a commercial scale. Almost all of the farming of rhubarb in the United States — all 1,500 acres of it — is done in Washington and Oregon.

There are two separate harvests. The first, which runs from mid-winter until early spring, comes from hothouses. Right about now, field-grown rhubarb starts to show up and will last for about a month. This rhubarb usually is more deeply colored and slightly denser in texture than the hothouse.