Post ID3389
Recent posts, Recipes | February 4, 2014 | By Sue
I recently wrote about family-style dining for the Telegraph. It’s a style of serving food where bowls, platters and even cooking pots are plonked in the centre of the table for everyone to help themselves. It’s my favourite way to serve food. I don’t, therefore, make thumbelina tarts like these very often. The truth is they’re more work than making one big tart. But I find their diddiness appealing and a lovely way to celebrate the start of the rhubarb season.
It’s now the time of year (in the UK) when tender pink stems of forced rhubarb from Yorkshire start appearing in the greengrocers. This time last year I concocted a rhubarb jam cake (make the vanilla rhubarb jam at the very least, it’s amazing).
This year, I’ve gone for these celebratory tarts. I’ve pimped up a basic sweet pastry crust a little by adding cinnamon and ground cardamom to the dough. The filling is frangipane-style; I didn’t want almonds to overpower the rhubarb so I added a little flour to make the filling lighter and able to soak up the rhubarby juices.
The quantity of rhubarb compote in the recipe is probably just enough to accompany the 6 tartlets, but if you’re as fanatical about rhubarb as I am, do yourself a favour and make lots more than this. My favourite breakfast and snack at the moment is rhubarb compote served with a splodge of full-fat Greek-style yogurt into which I’ve beaten a splash of orange blossom water. Sprinkle over some crushed pistachios and you’ve got a bowl of deliciousness that’s pretty as a picture.
Rhubarb tartlets with a spiced crust and rhubarb compote
Makes 6 tartlets or 1 x 23cm tart For the pastry
- 180g plain flour
- 40g icing sugar
- 90g chilled butter, diced
- 2 egg yolks
- ½ teaspoon ground cardamom
- ½ teaspoon cinnamon
- pinch of salt
For the filling and compote
- 110g butter, softened
- 65g soft light brown sugar
- 2 eggs, beaten
- 1½ teaspoons orange blossom water
- 150g ground almonds
- 50g self-raising flour
- 500g trimmed rhubarb, chopped into 1cm lengths
- 8 tablespoons caster sugar
- grated zest of 1 orange
- 1 vanilla pod, seeds scraped out
Blitz all the pastry ingredients except the egg yolks together in a food processor until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs. Add the egg yolks and pulse to form a dough. Wrap in cling film and chill for at least 30 minutes.
Roll out the dough between sheets of floured greaseproof paper and cut out circles large enough to line the base and sides of 6 x 10cm mini tart tins (or use a 23cm tin if you prefer). You need the pastry to overhang the sides of the tins slightly to allow for a little shrinkage. Prick the base with a fork and chill for a further 20 minutes.
Meanwhile, make the filling. Toss 200g of the rhubarb with half the sugar and all the orange zest and set aside. Beat the butter and sugar together until creamy. Gradually beat in the eggs and 1/2 a teaspoon of the orange blossom water, then fold in the almonds and flour. Finally, fold the rhubarb into the batter.
Heat the oven to 180°C. Divide the rhubarb batter between the pastry cases, gently pushing it into the base of the cases and smoothing the tops with the back of a spoon. Place on a baking sheet and bake for about 35 minutes, or until golden.
While the tartlets are baking, make the compote. In a pan, combine the remaining rhubarb and sugar, along with the vanilla seeds and remaining orange blossom water (if using). Simmer, stirring frequently, until the rhubarb has cooked down to the consistency you like. I like mine quite thick. Serve the tartlets warm, with the rhubarb compote and some whipped cream.
Pretty in pink: rhubarb and vanilla jam cake
Recent posts, Recipes | May 10, 2013 | By Sue
Rhubarb fever is still raging at our house.
Jammed, stewed, roasted, chutneyed or magicked into pudding, we just can’t get enough of the gorgeous pink stems around here. Although I’ve just returned from an incredible food tour of Belfast, and my fridge is bursting with fine produce from Northern Ireland that I’m dying to cook with, I feel the need to take advantage of rhubarb’s blushing presence at my greengrocer while I can.
My grandfather grew rhubarb in his garden in Sydney and as a child I loved watching him cut the fibrous juicy stems that he would parcel up in brown paper for us to take home, along with bundles of runner beans and bunches of heavenly sweet peas. My mother would chop the rhubarb into pieces, sprinkle it with sugar, roast it until tender (but still holding its shape - she’s a stickler for this) and serve it warm with vanilla ice cream. It was the beginning of an addiction.
Although it’s beautiful roasted or stewed with sugar and a squeeze of orange juice, it’s a versatile ‘fruit’ (yes, I know it’s actually a vegetable) that can be enjoyed in lots of different sweet or savoury ways. I fancy making Niamh Shields’ (aka Eat Like A Girl) recipe for rhubarb cordial, as well as the sublime rhubarb floats made with a spiced rhubarb syrup featured on the food blog Not Without Salt. Hugh Fearnley-Wittingstall has some lovely suggestions for rhubarb, including a nice spin on the classic pairing with mackerel (he adds a little thyme to the stewed chopped stems).
Earlier in the rhubarb season, when the sublime pink stalks were a welcome flash of cheer during the endless cold and grey, Imen McDonnell, author of the beautiful Farmette food blog, tweeted about the winning rhubarb and vanilla jam she had just made. It became my business to do the same and since then my daughter and I have enjoyed greedy quantities of rhubarb jam on toast for breakfast (as a second course to our stewed rhubarb and yoghurt).
Imen went on to use a lovely slick of her rhubarb jam between layers of duck egg Victoria sponge (see her terrific recipe), but in my cake I’ve actually used jam in the batter and on top for a glaze. It’s based on a Valentina Harris recipe for crushed orange and almond cake that was very kindly passed on to me by the lovely food stylist Karyn Booth, who I met during my recent trip to Belfast. Karyn was making the orange and almond cake as part of a stupendous wedding cake tower, but although the marriage of citrus, almonds and cake is just up my street, I’m in rhubarb mode.
This cake is quite dense, very moist and delicious with a spoonful of cream on the side and even a little of the rhubarb compote. It might seem like a faff to make both rhubarb jam, stewed rhubarb and cake but actually it’s not and I reckon you’ll be happy that you did. Get the compote on the go and while it’s roasting, cook the jam. (This recipe will make more jam and compote than you need for the cake.) That way you’ll have rhubarb jam, compote and cake from one simple cooking session. A rhubarb addict couldn’t ask for more. To be sure.
Rhubarb Jam Cake
For the jam (based on a recipe by Imen McDonnell)
- 500g trimmed rhubarb, chopped into 3cm pieces
- 300g sugar jam
- the scraped out seeds from 1 vanilla pod
- 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
- a squeeze of lemon
For the compote
- 350g trimmed rhubarb, chopped into 3cm pieces
- 100g soft brown sugar
- zest and juice of 1 orange
For the cake
- 175g butter
- 175g caster sugar
- 4 eggs, separated
- 100g plain flour
- 1 teaspoon baking powder
- 100g ground almonds
- 200ml rhubarb puree
- 4 tablespoons rhubarb jam, plus extra for the glaze
1. Set the oven to 180°C. Lightly oil a 20cm springform cake tin and line the base with baking paper.
2. Place the ingredients for the compote in a baking tray and toss together. Roast for about 25 minutes, or until the rhubarb is tender but still holding its shape. When the rhubarb has cooled a little, transfer about half to the bowl of a food processor and blitz to a puree. Measure out 200ml of the puree for the cake.
3. Meanwhile, place the ingredients for the jam in a heavy-based pan with a splash of water and cook gently, stirring constantly, until the sugar dissolves and the rhubarb starts to release its juices. When all the ingredients have amalgamated and the mixture has liquefied, turn up the heat to medium and let it bubble away until thick and jammy, about 15 minutes. Leave to cool and then transfer to clean jam jars.
4. To make the cake, cream the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy, add the egg yolks and beat well. Sieve the flour and baking powder together and then fold in the ground almonds. Mix the dry ingredients and the rhubarb puree alternately into the batter. Whisk the egg whites to a soft peak and gently fold into the cake batter.
5. Pour half the batter into the prepared cake tin, then drizzle over the jam.
Pour over the remaining batter, gently smooth the top and transfer to the oven. Cook for about 45 minutes, or until a skewer or toothpick inserted into the centre of the cake comes out clean. If the top starts to brown too much towards the end of cooking, cover with a sheet of tin foil. Leave to cool in the tin for 5 minutes then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely. Melt a couple of tablespoons of rhubarb jam in a pan over a gentle heat and brush over the cake while still warm.
Magic rhubarb pudding recipe
February, Recent posts | February 13, 2012 | By Sue
Ssshhh! Listen carefully. They reckon if you’re very quiet you can actually hear the ‘popping’ of rhubarb stalks pushing from their buds in the moist dark forcing sheds of Yorkshire. Yes, it’s forced rhubarb season and along with a large posse of fellow rhubarb addicts, I’ve been rifling my recipes for ways to make the most of this blushingly beautiful, tinglingly sweet,fleetingly available ingredient.
Although its popularity is undeniable – look no further than the food festival held in its honour – rhubarb causes schisms even in the most foodie-fied households. I thought it did in mine until I made this deeply comforting magic pudding. It turns out that my husband doesn’t hate rhubarb per se: what he hates is the yellowy-green stringy stuff grown on allotments across the land in the summer, and not the succulent, vivid pink forced stalks grown in Yorkshire’s at this time of year.
We have happenstance to thank for this tricksy way to grow rhubarb. A gardener in the Chelsea Physic Garden in 1817 found that when he accidentally left rhubarb plants covered with soil the stems shot upwards and grew sweet and tender. This new method of growing rhubarb, combined with falling sugar prices, induced a little bit of rhubarb mania. The cool damp climate of Yorkshire proved ideal for producing the most tender and flavourful stalks, and in the second half the 19th century a forced rhubarb industry took off. At one time there were more than 200 producers in the area between Leeds, Bradford and Wakefield, transporting their strawberry-pink harvests down to London’s Borough Market on the ‘Rhubarb Express’.
The number of producers has now dwindled to 12 but production is largely the same: rhubarb plants are grown outside in the fields for a couple of years and subjected to a number of frosts, before being transferred to warm sheds in November and replanted in utter darkness. Deprivation of food and light forces the crowns to throw out stalks incredibly quickly. Traditionally, it was even picked by candlelight so as not to interrupt the growing.
With a little patience and tenacity, you can try growing forced rhubarb yourself by placing a large pot or dustbin over the rhubarb crown, making sure there are no holes to let any light in. To speed growing even more you can insulate the outside of the pot with straw.
Anyway, given the magical nature of this ingredient (I want to say fruit but we all know it’s veg don’t we?) I wanted to make something similarly enchanting. And there’s nothing more magical than self-saucing puddings: what goes into the oven as a dish full of batter transmogrifies into a golden-topped sponge with a deliciously saucy, gooey bottom. My mum used to make chocolate and lemon versions of this for us as children, and although I think they came from packets, it’s easy to conjure at home. Don’t ask me about the science - all you need to know is that you get a lovely sponge cake on a bed of heavenly erubescent sauce.
Rhubarb self-saucing pudding
The magic batter will turn into a lovely layer of sponge on top of a creamy, curd-like sauce with chunks of tangy rhubarb.
Serves 6
- 75g unsalted butter, plus extra for greasing
- 800g trimmed rhubarb, cut into 2.5cm pieces
- juice and finely grated zest of 2 oranges
- 220g caster sugar
- 3 medium eggs, separated
- 75g self-raising flour
- 200ml milk (ideally full fat)
Set the oven to 180°C/Gas 4. Lightly grease a 2-litre ovenproof dish.
Place the rhubarb in a heavy pan with the orange juice and 3 tablespoons of the sugar. Stir and simmer gently for 5–10 minutes until the fruit is partly cooked but still holds some shape, and has released lots of juice. Place a sieve or colander over a large jug. Pour in the rhubarb and juices and set aside to cool.
Beat together the butter, the remaining sugar and the orange zest. Add the egg yolks one at a time, beating after each. Gradually mix in the flour, 150ml of the reserved rhubarb juices and the milk, alternating each one and mixing well after each addition. Whisk the egg whites to soft peaks and fold into the batter.
Spread the rhubarb into the base of the prepared dish and spoon the batter on top. Bake for about 30 minutes, or until the top is firm and golden. Leave to settle for 10 minutes, then serve immediately with cold cream or ice cream.
- Self-saucing rhubarb sponge pudding
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