strawberry rhubarb crisp

In the 4th grade my teacher asked the class how many of us had grandparents living. I was one of the few in the class to raise my hand for having all four living. (Yes, I know, many people now in the age of blended or redefined families have 16 or so people they call grandparents, but back then, 4 was the normal maximum.) Many of my friends had only 1 or 2 grandparents living and this made gave me a strange impression that grandparents were ephemeral creatures who might at any time disappear without warning.

I decided that since time with the grandparents was obviously fleeting, I'd better invest in the relationships as much as was possible. Given that we all lived in different states, I started a letter writing campaign. I strove to write to my grandparents at least once a week, although it ended up being probably closer to once a month.

I would write long, chatty notes about what I was doing in school, my tough homework assignments, my dance classes, the boys I thought were cute, the onerous camping trips we went on, my bouts of stomach flu, and the funny things the dog did. In return I'd get nice, fulsome letters detailing their gardens.

Their letters would give status updates on the runner beans, how the tomatoes were coming along, and the awful things that late spring cold snap had done to the apricot blossoms. I decided that being an old person meant your life was extremely boring and you had nothing to live for except your garden.

My sister and I shared this view of gardening obsession and nodded knowingly to each other when our father's letters started being mainly garden-related. Yes, he was turning into an old person. Sure he can grow beans, carrots, and tomatoes like nobody's business, but it's kind of sad when you have nothing else to write about.

Then my sister and I were exchanging emails this past week, catching up on our schedules, the weather in our respective states, and how said weather was affecting our....gardens. Yes, it's true. We're old people now, too.

Luckily, I still have challenging, bewildering, frustrating, amazing, frustrating, and wonderful children to give me things to think about besides my garden. I say luckily because I'm a lousy gardener. Anything that goes into the ground is on its own out there. It had better be tough, hardy, and able to withstand unarmed assaults by armies of slugs. (Well, they don't have arms, do they? Just nasty, slimy feet and voracious, munching jaws.)

When my grandchildren write to me, I'm sure they'll be thrilled to hear back from me the details of how the blueberries, oregano, and rhubarb are doing, because that's all that survive my harsh gardening techniques (plant it and ignore it). Hopefully, they won't even have to have me write about it. If they live close enough, they can come over and pick blueberries to munch, oregano to put on a pizza, and rhubarb to put into a crisp. Because, really, wouldn't you rather eat from a garden than hear about it?

Strawberry Rhubarb Crisp

4 cups fresh rhubarb, 1-inch diced (4 to 5 stalks)
4 cups fresh strawberries, hulled and halved
1 cups granulated sugar, divided
1 Tbsp Stevia Extract (not pure Stevia)*
1-1/2 tsp grated orange zest
1 Tbsp cornstarch
1/2 cup freshly squeezed orange juice
1 cup all-purpose flour (you can substitute 1/2 with white whole wheat flour)
1/2 cup light brown sugar, lightly packed
1/2 tsp kosher salt
1 cup quick-cooking (not instant) oats
12 Tbsp (1-1/2 sticks) cold unsalted butter, diced

*I buy the kind that's cut with lactose for table use. It's available at Trader Joe's. If you can only find pure Stevia, use about 1/4 tsp.

1- Preheat the oven to 350 degrees with rack in the center of the oven.

2- Toss together the rhubarb, strawberries, 1/2 cup granulated sugar, stevia, and the orange zest in a large bowl. In a measuring cup, dissolve the cornstarch in the orange juice and then mix it into the fruit. Pour the mixture into an 8 x 11-inch baking dish and place it on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper to catch drips, in case the crisp bubbles over.

3- In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, combine the flour, the remaining 1/2 cup granulated sugar, the brown sugar, salt, and oatmeal. With the mixer on low speed, add the butter and mix until the dry ingredients are moist and the mixture is in crumbles.

4- Sprinkle the topping over the fruit, covering it completely, and bake for 1 hour, until the fruit is bubbling and the topping is golden brown. Serve warm with vanilla ice cream.

She Who Kills Plants

When I went to summer camp, everyone got cool "camp names." The counselors would bestow a moniker based on a preference, an attribute, or just something weird. Then when you got home you could drive your family nuts going on and on about the great times you had with Poncho, Slipknot, Flames and Bubbles.

If I had a camp name today, it would probably be something like Black Thumb. I am one of the world's worst gardeners. Every winter the seed companies send catalogs which I thumb through imagining a beautiful, bountiful garden like those pictured. I think they must use some sort of hallucinogen-based ink, because I forget about my attempts at gardening that have ended in shriveled, withered, bug-infested pathetic bits of greenery and begin to think that this might be the year for me.

I've tried growing starts from seed, buying starts at the nursery, and have now graduated to buying and bringing home plants, which promptly die. Seriously, I just bought a lovely, big basil plant at Trader Joe's and in two days the leaves started turning black and curling up. It's now hanging on by a thread.

The only success I've experienced is with blueberries, my faithful friends that produce every year and require almost no maintenance. Also, a newcomer to my garden has surprised me. Rhubarb has come back two years running! I am so delighted to see the lovely, large fans of greenery waving to me from the back of the yard. They beckon to me, saying, "Hey, I'm here. I survived the winter and the weeds. Come pick me and enjoy a delicious treat!"

For my first rhubarb of the season I tried a new frozen dessert. Pairing rhubarb with strawberries is almost a cliche, but I can stand the sting of being unoriginal with a lovely bowl of strawberry-rhubarb sherbet in hand. Lighter than a custardy ice cream, it's lovely on its own, but also pairs beautifully with crispy sugar cookies, brownies, or a slice of strawberry rhubarb pie (just in case you can't get enough of the yummy flavor combo).



Strawberry-Rhubarb Sherbet
- adapted from Williams-Sonoma Ice Creams and Sorbets

2 Tbsp water
1 tsp unflavored gelatin
1 lb. (500 g) rhubarb, sliced
1 lb. (500 g) strawberries, sliced
1-1/2 cups (375 g) sugar
1-1/2 cups (375 g) whole milk
1/2 cup (125 ml) light corn syrup

1- In a small cup, sprinkle the gelatin over the water. Let stand for 10 minutes to soften.

2- Meanwhile, in a large heavy saucepan, combine the rhubarb and strawberries with the sugar. Place over low heat and stir until the strawberries release their juice. Turn up the heat to medium and stir until the sugar dissolves, about 3 minutes. Continue cooking, stirring occasionally, until the rhubarb is tender, about 5 minutes.

3- Add the gelatin mixture to the hot rhubarb mixture and stir until the gelatin dissolves, about 1 minute.

4- In a food processor fitted with the metal blade or in a blender, purée the rhubarb mixture until smooth. Pour the purée into a large bowl. Add the milk and corn syrup and stir to blend. Refrigerate until cold, about 1 hour.

5- Transfer the sherbet mixture to an ice cream maker and process according to the manufacturer's instructions. Transfer the sherbet to a container; cover and freeze until firm.

Makes about 5 cups (1.25 l)

If You Auto-translate, You Probably Won't Get It

If I told you a joke that began with "Two guys walked into a bar..." you'd know exactly what kind of bar I meant. Although they could have walked into a chin-up bar, clonked their foreheads and passed out, it's much more likely that they walked into an establishment that serves alcoholic beverages. Bar is a potentially confusing word because it has so many meanings. Bar the way into a room. A steel bar. A sand bar. A bar of light. Bar exams. A ballet bar. If you read music, you know what the bar lines are. A salad bar. Bar none. See what I mean?

When I found a recipe in a cookbook for Strawberry Rhubarb Bars, I felt I was on pretty firm footing. Obviously, a bar in a cookbook is going to be a cookie. That's a given. Even in a cookbook with no pictures. And since I'm all about cookies and I had some rhubarb gifted to me from a kind neighbor, I set about making them. Easy enough - a shorbready base, a fruit layer, and then crumbles on top. They smelled heavenly cooking, and I pulled them out of the oven and let them cool to room temperature.



But when I tried to slice my bars, what the hey? These are not cookies, people. This is a crumble. Or a slump, or a grunt, or a cobbler, or whatever you'd like to call it. But please do not call these bars! They just aren't. They're delicious, fruity, gooey, sloppy, oozy, but you would never mistake them for a bar cookie. You can't neatly slice and serve a bar of these. You just have to scoop some of the fragrant, tart-sweet fruity mess on a plate, preferably with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and dig in with a fork. Or a spoon. Just don't expect a cookie and you won't be disappointed.



Strawberry Rhubarb Bars
- adapted from Pure Flavor by Kurt Beecher Dammeier

1-1/2 cups plus 3 to 4 Tbsp all-purpose flour
1/4 cup plus 2 Tbsp powdered sugar
1/2 tsp table salt
12 Tbsp (1-1/2 sticks) cold, unsalted butter, cut into 8 pieces
3/4 cup plus 1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/8 tsp ground cloves
1/8 tsp orange extract or 1 tsp grated orange zest
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1-1/2 lbs rhubarb, cut into 1/2-inch pieces (about 6 cups)
1-1/2 cups straberries, hulled and sliced, or frozen strawberries, thawed and sliced

1- Preheat oven to 350 deg. with a rack in the center of the oven.

2- In a large bowl, combine 1-1/2 cups of the flour and the powdered sugar and salt. Cut the butter inot the flour mixture using a pastry blender or fork. The mixture should resemble coarse crumbs and clump together when squeezed lightly in your hand. You can also do this in a food processor.

3- Put 2 cups of the mixture into an 8-inch square baking dish and press evenly into the pan with your fingers. Bake in the oven for 25 minutes, or until golden brown on the edges and light golden in the middle.

4- While the crust is baking, add 1/3 cup granulated sugar to the remaining butter-flour mixture and toss (or pulse in food processor) to combine. Set aside.

5- In a large bowl, combine 3/4 cup granulated sugar and the ground cloves. Stir in 3 to 4 Tbsp flour (adding more flour will make the filling firmer when cool), the orange extract or zest, and the vanilla. Add the rhubarb and straberries, mixing well to coat the fruit. Pour the mixture onto the hot crust, spreading the filling to the edges of the dish. Sprinkle the reserved sugar mixture over the fruit. Bake for 50 minutes or until bubbling around the edges and light brown on top.

6- Let the bars cool to room temperature before cutting and serving.

You Don't Know Till You Try

In high school I got invited to a formal dance by a young man who I was glad to go with because he was a lot of fun, but he was on the short side. If I wore my normal (for then) 3 to 4 inch heels, I'd tower over my date.

To solve this dating dilemma, I borrowed a cute little mandarin-style dress from my friend who was 2 inches shorter than me and I bought some super cute flat shoes. The shoes were black, satin sandals that were held onto the feet with long, satin ties that tied around the ankles like ballet slippers. As I said, super cute.

So I went on my date, thinking that this date would be great and my outfit was the cat's meow. As is so often the case in life, expectations were far greater than the actuality. I spent the majority of the evening bending over and retying up the silly ribbons that held my shoes on. I guess if I'd thought it through, I'd have known that satin's defining characteristic is slipperiness and a satin ribbon holding on a shoe was not a good design. I finally took the shoes off altogether and my date put them in his pocket and although my toes did get trod on a wee bit, we had a much better time.

This pie reminded me a bit of that date because sometime you never can tell how something's going to work until you try it out. I found the recipe for the rhubarb curd on Patricia's beautiful site (be sure to check out her gorgeous artwork in her shop!). I had the brilliant thought of putting it into my favorite strawberry pie, combining two great flavors together.

I made a crumb crust (too lazy to do the regular kind, plus I didn't want the crust to get soggy with the curd), spread in a layer of the curd, piled on sliced strawberries, and covered it in a beautiful strawberry glaze. I took some pictures of the pie after it had chilled, then prepared to get the money shot - the gorgeous piece of pie standing tall on it's plate.

I sliced and, um, no, that's not going on the blog. It oozed. I couldn't slice the pie. I had to scoop it out like a cobbler. It wasn't lovely at all. But it was sooooo good. Not one person complained about the look of the pie. Instead there were intense discussions about whether the stomach could hold seconds. Or thirds.

So, here's the recipe. Be forewarned, it's not company pie. Not glamorous at all. But your family will be pleased that you made it for them!

(Note: this is a multi-stage recipe, so you can do parts of it as your schedule allows, put it together early the day you want to serve it, and let it sit in the refrigerator till it's time for dessert.)

Strawberry Rhubarb Curd Pie

Crust:

1-1/2 cups graham cracker crumbs
1/4 cup sugar
6 Tbsp butter, melted

Rhubarb Curd:

2 cups of rhubarb cut into small pieces
1/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup water
4 teaspoons lemon juice
4 egg yolks
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter

Strawberries and Glaze:

2 to 3 cups strawberries, cleaned, hulled, and sliced
3/4 cup water
1 cup sugar
3 Tbsp cornstarch

1- Preheat oven to 375 deg.

2- Combine all the crust ingredients in a bowl; mix well. Press firmly on the bottom and up the sides of a deep 9 inch pie plate.

3- Bake for 6 to 8 minutes, or until the edges are brown. Allow to cool to room temperature.

4- To make the curd, combine the rhubarb, 1/4 cup sugar, 1/4 cup water and lemon juice in a non-reactive saucepan. Bring to a boil over med-high until rhubarb goes completely mushy. Remove from the heat and let it cool to just warm. Put the mixture into a blender or food processor and process until smooth.

5-Whisk the yolks and sugar together in a heat-resistant bowl set over a pan of simmering water. Add the cooled rhubarb and the butter in pieces and stir until it is all combined and thickens. Cool completely and it will thicken some more.

6- To make the strawberry glaze, place one cup of the strawberries in a non-reactive saucepan with 3/4 cup water. Bring to a boil and simmer for 5 minutes.

7- Mix together the sugar and cornstarch; add to the strawberry liquid and cook until clear. Remove from heat and allow to cool.

8- Spread the cooled rhubarb curd over the crust. Arrange the remaining strawberries over the curd. Pour the cooled glaze over the strawberries, completely coating the top.

9- Refrigerate until serving time.

Cleopatra's Sorbet

As a small child I had an every-so-often friend. She was the granddaughter of our next-door neighbors and I only saw her when she came to visit, usually once a summer. We'd play hide and seek, running around the adjoining yards, getting grubby in the dirt, and playing wildly imaginative games.

The neighbors had a patch of large rhubarb growing and whenever the granddaughter visited, we'd play Queen of the Nile with the rhubarb. With her grandmother's permission we could pick the largest stalks and leaves of rhubarb and one of us would be the queen and the other would be the slave girl, using the enormous rhubarb leaves to fan the queen.

When we'd exhausted the play potential of the rhubarb and the leaves were looking a bit wilty, we'd take our fans into the kitchen and her grandmother would chop up the stalks, throw them into a pot with some water and sugar, and cook them into a disgusting looking stew. Disgusting looking, but divine tasting. That dish of stewed rhubarb was the highlight of the visit, something I looked forward to every year and mourned when the granddaughter stopped coming to visit.

This spring I was tremendously excited because the rhubarb that my daughter's father-in-law (shouldn't there be a shorter way of saying that - parent in law?) gave me last year survived the cold winter and was actually producing! My first year to cook with homegrown rhubarb. Yeah! What to make first? My list is larger than my rhubarb patch, so I'll have to save some of the projects for next year.

For starters, though, I settled on Strawberry Rhubarb Sorbet from The Perfect Scoop (of course). It was a good choice. The sweetness of strawberries, the tang of rhubarb, and the delicious smoothness of the sorbet make this recipe go straight to the "keeper" file. So easy, refreshing, and delectable. Plus you can use those gigantic leaves to keep cool while you're cooking up the rhubarb.


Strawberry Rhubarb Sorbet
- adapted from The Perfect Scoop by David Lebovitz

12 oz (325 g) rhubarb
2/3 cup (160 ml) water
3/4 cup sugar
10 oz (280 g) fresh strawberries, rinsed and hulled
1/2 tsp freshly squeezed lemon juice

1- Cut off the rhubarb leaves and trim off the ends of the stalk. Wash the stalk and then cut into 1/2-inch (2 cm) pieces.

2- Place the rhubarb, water, and sugar in a medium saucepan and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat, cover, and simmer for 5 minutes, or until the rhubarb is tender and cooked through. It will fall apart into stringy bits. Remove from the heat and let cool to room temperature.

3- Slice the strawberries and puree them with the cooked rhubarb mixture and lemon juice in a blender or food processor until smooth.

4- Chill the mixture thoroughly in the refrigerator, 4 hours or overnight. Freeze it in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions.