Thursday, August 17, 2017

Rumbling Rhubarb returns to A Book of Cookrye

Guess what turned up at the supermarket!

No, it's not celery with red paint, it's fresh rhubarb! Living in a southern enough latitude that the walk from your air-conditioned car to the air-conditioned supermarket can cause heat stroke, seeing rhubarb casually stacked between the celery and the lettuce was quite the surprise. There must be a really big bumper crop in the regions where rhubarb grows, so much so that distributors have sent it down to parts of the country where most of the customers haven't heard of it. If you live further north than I and grow rhubarb plants, do tell-- have they done unusually well this year?
Every rhubarb recipe made on A Book of Cookrye has started with frozen rhubarb because that plant does not like spending its summer days roasting in over 100° days (that's over 40°ish for you Celsius folks) and has an unfortunate habit of dying.
Finding fresh rhubarb prompted the question: Is fresh better than frozen? Can one even tell the difference? More importantly, what really special recipe might one use for this rarity?
That last one is the reason why the rhubarb sat in the refrigerator for longer than it should have. I wanted to make something special because fresh rhubarb simply doesn't happen where I live.
Whenever I find something in stores that either they don't stock or I cannot let myself buy without a discount, I first come home really happy about what I got.and want to make something special to really savor this treat. I then tear through a bunch of cookbooks and a lot of recipes online, trying to find The Perfect One. None of them ever look good enough, so I keep searching while the food slowly expires in the refrigerator. Then, likely as not, I eventually find the perfect recipe and also that the special thing has rotted.
And so, after three weeks without The One Perfect Recipe falling from on high, I decided to make this before the rhubarb turned to compost.

I must note that "rumble" is an odd choice to put in a dessert name. It seems stranger the more I think about it. Usually desserts have dainty (or at least nonthreatening) names like "Lemon Loves," "Red Velvet," "Hummingbird Cake," "Divinity," etc. Yes, there are many exceptions like devil's food. But generally speaking, you're more likely to find rumbling and other ominous noises among the meats and casseroles than among the cakes and cookies.

Rhubarb Rumble
1 c flour
1 c brown sugar
½ c butter, melted
¾ c oatmeal
1 tsp cinnamon
4 c diced rhubarb
1 c sugar
2 tbsp cornstarch
1 c water
1 tsp vanilla

Heat oven to 350°-375°. Grease a rectangular baking dish.
Mix butter and brown sugar, stir in cinnamon. Mix in the flour, then the oatmeal. Press half of this into the pan. Cover with rhubarb.
Stir together the sugar, cornstarch, and water in a pot. Put over high heat and cook, stirring constantly, until it thickens. Remove from heat and stir in the vanilla.
Pour over the rhubarb*. Top with remaining crumbs.
Bake one hour. Serve warm, topped if you like with whipped cream.

*Be sure not to leave any big unsugared spots in the pan. It will mix a little as everything bubbles up in the oven, but any un-syruped spots will stay bitter and be rather unpleasant to find when you're eating it. It'd be easier to just stir the rhubarb into the pot just as you take it off the burner and then dump the whole mess into the pan. I'm not sure why the recipe writer didn't do that instead.

Mrs. Carol J. Domier; Mayville, ND; Favorite Recipes of America: Desserts, 1968

By the way, it turns out fresh rhubarb keeps extraordinarily well in the refrigerator. After three weeks of hoping I'd find a worthy recipe, this was all I had to cut off.

Anyway, you may also wonder what the heck this stuff looks like. Well, imagine someone bleached celery all the way to a pure white, then painted the skin red.

Not only does it look a lot like celery, it tastes like it, too. So much so that (this is no joke) I have every intention of using celery in a rhubarb recipe just to see what happens.
Anyway, this recipe says to serve it warm, which generally means you want to time things so you're pulling it out of the oven right before dinner if you're serving it for dessert. This can create a bit of a conflict of interest with regards to the use of the precious few square feet of kitchen. This brought forth two more questions: Can we get all the pieces of this ready so all we have to do is get it in a pan? If so, do we really want to have to wash a bowl?

You may have noticed that, having just a little blob of butter, we ended up substituting some margarine and also some of the shortening left over from all the practice pies in baking class. Which brings us to a fun science lesson: Did you know butter and shortening melt at different temperatures?
Note the choice of mixing this in a storage container. It will be relevant later.
Seeing a completely intact blob of shortening sitting in the melted butter is definitely not unnerving at all. But enough of that-- on with the sugar!

As you can see, there was too much butter for that sugar and it floated on top in a greasy fat slick.  This could only mean one thing: The oatmeal and flour would absorb the butter and become a heart-stoppingly delicious carbohydrate paste!
You can still see the odd shiny spot.

And so, with a stir of oatmeal, we had the top and bottom of this thing done! For such buttery beginnings, this was really dry and almost sandy.

And so, we got on with.... well, the rhubarb was not going near the oven or even a vacant pan yet. For you see, I wanted to start this baking right after dinner for a late-night gathering with friends. However, it seems that around dinnertime, people want to use the kitchen to make dinner which can create a clash of space. And so, I got all the components ready to assemble. The rhubarb went into the refrigerator, as did the tub of oatmeal stuff. Heck, I even measured out the sugar and cornstarch because I am just that good at preparing ahead of time, guys.
Maybe the cooking classes are paying off in preparedness (and a new stash of overpriced French terms for everything).

And so, as dinner was wrapping up, no one could possibly be annoyed at me for pushing food out of the way to cut up rhubarb, mix things, or have various ingredients slowly conquer the counterspace. That was already done ahead of time. All I had to do was first get the half of the brown stuff into the pan, which proved more difficult than expected because it had turned into butter-sugar sandstone in the refrigerator.

When trying to make half of the oatmeal cover a whole 9x13 pan, I wondered briefly if I might use something smaller. However, I like to have lots of crusty stuff on top of fruit whenever making cobblers (or rumbles, apparently). Were you to make your cobbler (or rumble) in a deep pan, then everyone would get a puny ration of crust on top. But if you make it thinner, there's a lot more of the crusty stuff (with baked-in fruit juice) per serving.

You may notice strawberries in this. That's because a bag of frozen strawberries appeared in the freezer seemingly from nowhere. Since there were only 3 cups of rhubarb whereas the recipe calls for 4, it seemed like a good time to both make up for insufficient fruit and to try this rhubarb-and-strawberry combination so many people rhapsodize about.

While that sat out, the pre-measured sugar and starch turned into syrup. It's basically lemon meringue pie if you left out the lemons, I guess. If you were one of those weird kids who tried to steal from hummingbird feeders, you would love it.

What seemed like a huge mass of sugar slime while in the pot now seemed hopelessly inadequate for dribbling over everything in the pan.

Actually, everything about this recipe seemed promising. We've already discovered how much we like rhubarb, and the last time we dumped syrup over strawberries, the resulting pie had a shelf life of about 2 hours after cutting.
I really should offer to do an advertisement for foil in which I pose under the slogan "I haven't washed my cake pans in five years!"

I must admit I was near-certain that I had wasted the fresh rhubarb that one so rarely finds in my climate region. This was the driest-looking thing I've ever tried to pass off as a cobbler. The oatmeal stuff was like dry sand, and there was barely enough syrup on the fruit to make it visibly wet.After an hour in the oven, this would surely have turned into a desiccated mess and possibly burned onto the pan, right?

Wrong! About halfway into the baking time, the various fruits started oozing out juice. Before the hour elapsed, the pan was merrily boiling under its crispy crust.

As anyone looking at this may surmise, it was in fact really fricken delicious. For those who doubt, this is how much remained after about 45 minutes.

This is a really good cobbler recipe. But I honestly would skip the bottom crust- it went hard and gummy, and got stuck in your teeth the way a Butterfinger does. It'd be better if you just sprinkled all of the crusty stuff on top. But as you can see, made exactly as written, it's pretty good.
And so, to close, let's get back to the question: Is fresh rhubarb better than frozen? Honestly, by the time you've sugared the heck out of it and baked it an hour, you can't tell the difference. Some things may lose flavor if you freeze them, but rhubarb is good either way. That said, rhubarb is really good. So if you've never had it and find it either fresh or frozen, do treat yourself!

6 comments:

  1. Rhubarb both does and doesn't grow where I'm from. I'm from Arizona, which is half roasting desert and half frigid forest. So if you're in the southern half, of course it doesn't grow. But in the North, well, my sort-of inlaws grow it in their garden every year for the fresh rhubarb pies. I mostly grew up in the southern half, so haven't had it, but they promised to introduce me to it. Except... their dog apparently got a taste for it too. She's been digging up SPECIFICALLY their rhubarb plants. They surrounded it with chicken wire and she still wormed her way in to dig it up!

    My rhubarb discovery will have to wait another year unless it miraculously shows up in my supermarkets as well...

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    1. I've seen conflicting arguments about whether it grows where I live. Some sites claim you can grow it as a winter annual. But check out the frozen fruits in your supermarket! Rhubarb sometimes appears, especially near the frozen pie crusts.
      And aren't dogs weird that way! We had a dog that loved eating rose bushes. You'd think it would be painful, but every time we planted a rose it would be uprooted and mangled within a week.

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  2. I LOVE rhubarb. Don't have it anymore, unless I can find it in a grocery down here, which doesn't happen often (transplant from WNY - to lowcountry SC). Tried growing it, nope. I felt bad about it too, as it must have known I was about to murder its little self. Anyway, growing up my grandma had clumps of it growing on the shade side of a small garage up against a neighbors fence. the space was about 4 feet wide and the plants filled it. To a small kid it was like wading thru a jungle - they looked like elephant ear plants. we (my younger brothers, a cousin, and me) would hike in, each pick the longest stalk we could find, sit on the side porch steps and very patiently peel off the skin (we had to - we were told we could poison ourselves if we ate that red skin), which sort of comes off like curling ribbon. Then my grandmother would bring out a soup dish of white sugar and we took turns dipping our stalks in sugar and making sour faces! Rhubarb is quite sour to me, at least the stuff we had - it may be hybridized now. I also love rhubarb in cobblers, as a sauce, and esp strawberry rhubarb pie. I bet greek yogurt, vanilla nut milk, rhubarb pieces, honey, and chia seed would be great too

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    1. I gotta admit, I love rhubarb too ever since I first tried it. I'm not as far south as you, but I am south enough that I've never seen it growing here. I did order a seed packet and am going to use about half of them to try growing it over the winter like some articles have claimed one can do. The other half will go in one the shadier parts of the yard come spring, and maybe the trees will protect it from the summer. And I looked up what a rhubarb plant looks like since I've never seen one, and they look surprisingly jungle-like indeed! If the plants take, eating them fresh-cut and dipped in sugar sounds really good and totally worth it.
      PS re. strawberry-rhubarb: The strawberry half of the cobbler disappeared first, and a lot faster.

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  3. Rhubarb custard pie is amazing! The fresh on the plant doesn't taste like celery to me - I'm echoing arimuse above.

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    1. Maybe it lost some of its flavor since I took so long to get it out of the refrigerator and do something with it. Weird thing was, it tastes like celery when it was raw, and the rhubarb flavor returned after it baked.
      And yes, rhubarb custard pie is amazing!
      A lot of people in my family have never heard of rhubarb since it so rarely appears in our latitude (heck, I hadn't heard of it til I had to track some down for a Pieathlon). It's almost like a shared secret whenever I bring rhubarb pie.

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