The last seasonal fruit

Extoling the virtues of rhubarb

By Joan Lang

FRUIT PARADOX: stalks good. Leaves not-so-good.

One of the great things about living in a place like Maine is how wonderful the world seems when winter’s finally over — kind of like bashing yourself over the head with a hammer because it feels so good when you stop. Along with that comes a heaven’s blessing of fabulous things to eat, heralding the approach at last of warm weather: shad and soft shell crabs, fiddleheads and fresh young peas. And rhubarb, of course.

As bad as things are for us in winter, we can only imagine how early New Englanders must have felt to see the first tender shoots poking up through the soil after all those long, dark months of root-cellar vegetables and salt pork. No wonder the first furls of rhubarb — with their brilliant, ruby-red stalks and gorgeously crinkly green leaves — were such cause for celebration, a symbol of another winter survived.

In this era of jet travel and year-round agribusiness, rhubarb is one of the last foods that is truly seasonal. It grows fast and furiously with spring’s first warmth, lasts for about a month and then, poof!, it’s gone until next year. The plants themselves can lie essentially fallow for decades, and in fact many of the old houses in these here parts have what amounts to antique rhubarb beds in the yard, testament to the days when many New Englanders grew most of their own food.

That was typical ingenuity. Rhubarb is native to Asia, where it’s been used for nearly 3,000 years for medicinal purposes; only in the 1700s did the Europeans think to eat it. A Maine farmer — his name now lost to history — is believed to have introduced rhubarb to the Colonies, where it soon became loved as much for its distinctively tart flavor as for its early arrival.

Not surprisingly, old cookbooks offer up a trove of recipes for rhubarb, not just the familiar strawberry-rhubarb pie (odd, since rhubarb and strawberry season don’t even coincide in the natural world), but all kinds of sauces, conserves, syllabubs, and even wine. Rhubarb is wonderful in baked goods like muffins and cookies, and delicious in sauces, chutneys, and compotes. Stewed with plenty of sugar and a little citrus juice, it also makes a tasty side dish for roast pork. Or serve it with whipped cream or ice cream for a refreshing dessert. Rhubarb also marries up with flavors like ginger and shallots for savory preparations. (But, hey, be careful. With rhubarb, only the stalks are used; the leaves contain high levels of oxalates, which may be toxic.)

Though the beginning of rhubarb season is still a few weeks away, many chefs are starting to dream up uses for it. Larry Matthews of Portland’s Back Bay Grill thinks rhubarb is pretty fun stuff — ever since he uncovered an old bed in his own backyard. “It’s one of the only things that’s still truly native and seasonal.” He might try a rhubarb shortcake again (it sold like the proverbial hotcakes last year), which features the vegetable in four different guises: sorbet, rhubarb chip and candied rhubarb garnishes, and a kind of rhubarb consommé that the shortcake itself sits in.

Rob Evans of Hugo’s favors some savory uses, perhaps a spicy-sweet chutney or relish to offset the richness of something like duck or pork. No doubt he’ll also do a few tarts and other desserts showcasing rhubarb. “It’s only around for such a short time, so we want to take advantage of it.”

Sam Hayward at Fore Street also grows his own. “It’s wonderful as a sauce with Port, shallots, and cracked green peppercorns for grilled foie gras or a chilled pate,” he says. Or, try this dessert sauce: Simmer the juice of two or three fresh limes with 1/4 tsp. of finely diced zest, half a cup of sugar, and a quarter-cup of water until syrupy. Add finely diced rhubarb stalks and immediately whisk in several spoonfuls of unsalted butter that’s been mixed in a blender with vanilla (1 lb. of butter to the scrapings of two vanilla beans; save the pods to perfume sugar) — this last step is called “mounting” the sauce with butter, to make it rich and silken. Serve with warm pound cake and fresh berries.

Feeling inspired? By the time it opens around May 17, Maxwell’s Farm in Cape Elizabeth will have its own fresh rhubarb to sell. “Not that many people grow rhubarb commercially any more, but we like it because it’s one of the first vegetables to come up,” says Nate Maxwell, whose father started the 100-acre farm. “It’s a real old-fashioned thing, but boy is it tasty.” n

Joan Lang can be reached at joanmlang@aol.com.