Rhubarb Compote

Both of my grandfathers were avid gardeners who tended efficient kitchen gardens just beyond the back door.  Always close at hand were traditional English staples like runner beans, carrots, cauliflower, cabbage, potatoes, beets, parsnips, peas and of course, rhubarb.

As I child I was especially taken with rhubarb. There was something otherworldly about it – from the outsized leaves and scarlet stalks, to the repeated warnings that the leaves are poisonous. I don’t think anyone thought I’d nibble the leaves, but it was oft-repeated and added to the allure.

One of my favorite ways to eat rhubarb is as a compote mixed with strawberries. While I enjoy the tart, astringent flavor of rhubarb, adding strawberries to the mix tempers the flavor and makes it more appealing to the pickier palates in my household.  Making up a batch of this compote only takes a few minutes and it’s great on vanilla ice cream, or as pictured here, spooned over a simple cake (or a scone) with a dollop of whipping cream. It’s also a quick way to gussy up a store-bought pound cake, and even tastes good on a piece of toast.  It will keep in a jar in the fridge for up to a week, though I doubt it will last that long.

Rhubarb Compote with Strawberries & Ginger

Coarsely chop 4 or 5 stalks of rhubarb. Quarter enough hulled strawberries to produce about 1 cup of fruit. Combine in a heavy sauce pan along with a teaspoon of fresh grated ginger and 3 tablespoons of sugar. Cook over medium-low heat until the rhubarb and strawberries are cooked to the desired consistency – this is largely a matter of taste – but takes about 15 minutes, give or take.

Preserved Lemons

Last week my neighborhood Safeway was offering Meyer lemons for $1.99/lb, so I rushed in and picked up three pounds. I was thinking about making this lemon tart, but thought better of it when I noticed the filling included one stick of butter. Yikes! (Maybe one day when I’m feeling carefree, I’ll give that a whirl.) In the meantime, I decided to sacrifice my lemon bounty to a batch of preserved lemons.

Lemons preserved in salt show up as an ingredient in many Middle Eastern and Moroccan recipes, most notably tagines, a North African braised stew.  However, the salty, pickled charms of preserved lemons lend themselves to many uses — from perking up rice and couscous dishes, to soups, vegetable dishes and salad dressings. And, don’t they look gorgeous?

Preserved Meyer Lemons (from Gourmet by way of Epicurious)
12 Meyer lemons (you may need a few more than this)
2/3 c coarse salt (do not use table salt – kosher or coarse sea salt are needed)
1/4 c olive oil
1 quart jar with tight-fitting lid, sterilized

Wash all of the lemons well. Bring large pot of water to boil. Blanch 6 of the lemons for 5 minutes and then plunge them into bowl of cold water.  When the lemons are cool enough to handle, use a sharp knife to cut each one into eighths. Gently coax out any seeds and discard them. Toss the lemons with the salt in a large bowl. Gently rub the salt onto all sides of the lemons. Meanwhile, juice the other 6 lemons. Pack the sliced and salted lemons into the quart jar and then cover with the lemon juice. If the lemons are not completely covered, make more juice to add to the jar.  (This is important so that the lemons don’t spoil.) Put the lid on the jar and let it sit at room temperature for five days, gently shaking the jar once a day. After five days, add the olive oil into the jar and refrigerate. When you use the lemons, rinse each one well to remove excess salt before adding it to your recipe.

Ruby Red Grapefruit Marmalade

If summer is defined by the berry, then I’d argue that citrus is the essence of winter. I know, I know, there’s the eat local thing. But really, winter without citrus? I just can’t do it.

Juicy grapefruit, lemons, key limes, oranges, Meyer lemons, and kumquats are so versatile and enliven a multitude of dishes, from simple pound cake to marinades and salads, and everything in between.

When I ran across this recipe for grapefruit marmalade I had to make it. Immediately. The process was so simple – no zesting required – and I could see using it in so many ways. Slathered on toast, added to a salad dressing, or even as a glaze for meat or baked goods.

Essentially, you simmer two grapefruits, for what seems like ages, until they are soft; chop them finely and then simmer again with sugar until the set point is reached.

The result is a vivid, saffron-colored marmalade that’s bright and bursting with grapefruit flavor — the essence of winter, captured for your pleasure year-round.

Ruby Red Grapefruit Marmalade (adapted, barely, from Nigella Lawson’s How to be a Domestic Goddess)
makes 4 pints

2 large pink or red grapefruits
water
5 cups sugar
2 lemons

Place the grapefruit in a large pot with ample water, so they are bobbing about, and boil for 2 hours, until they’re soft. (You may have to top up the water here and there.) Drain and slice the grapefruits thinly, and roughly chop as well. Remove any large seeds.

Return everything to the pan, along with 5 cups of sugar and the juice of 2 lemons. Boil for a good 15 minutes or so (it may well take longer, be patient!) and then test to see if the setting point is reached. This is done by placing a teaspoon of the jam on a small plate and cooling it in the refrigerator. If the mixture thickens and creases when you press on it, it’s ready. If not, keep cooking and test again in a few minutes.  When you are testing, take the marmalade off the heat so it doesn’t overcook. Also, skim the marmalade as you cook – this will keep the finished product from becoming cloudy.  You can jar and process the marmalade at this point.  If not, use within one month.

Paradise Chutney

Earlier in the fall I picked up several pounds of quince at a local farm. Since then I’ve made several quince crumbles and have been scouring cookbooks for other recipes. Many looked promising but I couldn’t settle on how to use the last few quince.

Last week while poking around Value Village, one of my favorite haunts, I stumbled on a copy of Nigella Lawson’s How to be a Domestic Goddess. She’s one of my favorite cookbook authors, so I bought it on the spot. I really love her voice. When I read I can distinctly hear the same cadence and phrasing used by my mother, aunts, grandmother and other English women I know, plus I love how enthusiastic she is about making food that is unabashedly delicious and always slightly decadent. She’s someone who clearly loves to tinker in the kitchen and bring friends and family together for a great meal. Her cookbooks are the kind that you can curl up with and read like a good novel. Every recipe has a story.

Reading through How to be a Domestic Goddess, I found a few quince recipes:  quince brandy, quince glaze, quincemeat, and an intriguing concoction called Paradise Chutney.  I settled on Paradise Chutney because it means we can enjoy the quince for months to come, and it’s also versatile. It will be wonderful on sandwiches, or alongside meats, curries, and cheeses.

Of course, I couldn’t resist a bit of my own tinkering. Instead of Nigella’s apples, I used pears, as that was what I had on hand. I sampled a bit of the chutney before canning it and it was a nice balance of sweet (pears) and tart (cranberries), with the ambrosial floral notes of the quince. In a month or so, I’ll pop open a jar and give it a real try.

Paradise Chutney (adapted from Nigella Lawson’s How to be a Domestic Goddess)

1 lb quince, peeled, cored and cut into chunks
3 1/4 c water
1 lb pears (about 2 1/2 pears), peeled, cored and cut into chunks
1 medium onion, chopped
6 oz fresh cranberries
5 oz dried cranberries
2 1/4 c sugar
4 whole cloves
2 cinnamon sticks, slightly crumbled
1 T English mustard powder
juice and zest of 1 orange
juice and zest of 1 lemon
1 1/2 c cider vinegar
4 or 5 1-pint jars

Save the quince peelings and cores; place saucepan with water and boil for about 15 minutes, or until you have 1 1/c of liquid remaining. Strain and reserve liquid. Put all other ingredients, along with quince cooking liquid, into a large pot and let the sugar dissolve slowly over low heat. Then bring to the boil and cook for about 1 hour or until everything has cooked down and thickened. When it’s ready, most of the chutney will be soft and fairly pulpy; the quince will be visible. Ladle into sterilized jars and process. (This recipe yielded 5 pints for me.)