BRATTLEBORO — I have lived in Vermont long enough to know that as soon as I let out that long end-of-winter exhalation, more times than not we are slammed with a late storm.
But I am an optimist. I planted spinach and radishes, and for the first time in ages I am trying my hand at starting flower seeds. The little bulbs I put in the ground last fall are just starting to poke their green noses up amidst the brown rubble of my yard. I had my snow tires taken off a bit early this year, which might translate into doom for all of us. My apologies.
And you'll find my Christmas wreaths still hanging on the porch, because I usually don't take them down until around Easter, which this year fell late.
I have always loved Easter. As a child, my mother dressed me up in ridiculous frilly outfits that included white gloves and miniature handbags. My brother was made to wear a classic navy blue Little Lord Fauntleroy suit with short pants.
We'd drive to New Jersey, and with my brother and cousins I would wander the lawns of great-aunt Anne's house, desperately trying to find all those hard-boiled eggs and foil-wrapped chocolates.
We'd feast on overcooked ham with pineapple and asparagus and a coconut cake with lemon filling for dessert, and not once was there a mention of the religious significance of Easter.
This season of the year, people celebrate spring or the equinox or May Day or Passover, but I cannot seem to call my particular pagan celebration anything but Easter. When my children were young, we dyed pale colored eggs, and I hid them among the stone walls of my garden in Marlboro. I still host a big dinner for friends and family, complete with Easter baskets and pickled quail eggs.
For me, this feast represents the end of winter and the triumph of life over death. My traditions may be profane, but they embrace hope. To me, that is what spring and religion are all about. We all need some serious resurrection after a winter like this one, and what better way to celebrate life than to feed the people we love?
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The first foods of spring are indeed the coming back to life of the dead. After months of frozen ground, ice, and snow, the earth thaws, and somewhere down there, life opens up and starts to grow again, and if we are lucky, April brings rhubarb.
Rhubarb is about the first serious edible a Vermont garden produces. It is one of the many rheum plants of the buckwheat family, and technically a vegetable, not a fruit. It is grown from an underground rhizome, like flowering iris, ginger, or asparagus. It is a perennial, and a single plant can live up to 20 years.
For centuries, rhubarb was cultivated for its medicinal properties and is still used widely in traditional Chinese medicine. Rhubarb comes out of the earth in a tight green-and-red fist that slowly unfurls like a ball of chrysanthemum tea into crinkled, triangular leaves with thick, edible stalks.
Rhubarb was not used in desserts until sugar became an affordable sweetener, sometime in the late 1800s. It is high in nutrition, vitamin C, fiber, and potassium, and low in carbohydrates and calories.
The leaves of a rhubarb plant contain elevated levels of oxalic acid, which if eaten in excess cause serious gastrointestinal difficulties. The stalks are what you want. Look for crisp and sturdy ones, although if limp is all you can find, they can be refreshed by cutting an inch off the end and standing them in cool water for an hour or so.
When you are ready to use them, give them a good wash, then trim the ends again. If the rhubarb is really tough, remove just the very outside layer with a vegetable peeler, but usually this is not necessary.
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Now, let's talk about what to do with that rhubarb. The classic is strawberry rhubarb pie, but strawberries are definitely not in season in Vermont in April. It is a great combination, but perhaps overdone.
You could just cut the rhubarb into slices, add some sugar and lemon, stew it, and eat it for breakfast. It is said to be great for the digestion.
But there are lots more adventurous ways to get the benefits of rhubarb's botanical and culinary attributes. How about rhubarb syrup?
Combine 4 cups of chopped rhubarb, 1 cup of sugar, 1 cup of water. Bring to a boil and then simmer gently for about 20 minutes. By that time, the rhubarb should be soft and the liquid a bit thickened. Strain this through a cheesecloth-lined colander and cool. Add a few tablespoons to fizzy water with a squeeze of lemon or lime for a refreshing and healthy drink.
A divine rhubarb mojito can be made from 4 tablespoons rhubarb syrup, 1 ounce of rum, 6 large fresh mint leaves, 1 slice of lime, and a splash of fizzy water. Put the syrup and the mint in an old-fashioned glass and muddle it around until the mint is mashed and mixed in with the syrup. Add the rum, some ice, a bit of seltzer, and a squeeze of lime.
Add a few tablespoons of rhubarb syrup to a glass of chilled white or sparkling wine, and you have the perfect spring aperitif for one of those warm spring afternoons on the deck.
A lovely spring salad can be made from rhubarb, roasted beets, fresh bitter greens, and goat cheese. Wrap 8 medium beets in foil, drizzle with a bit of olive oil and salt, and roast them in a preheated 400-degree Fahrenheit oven for about an hour until they are tender. Unwrap and cool them, then peel and cut each beet into 8 wedges. Then combine 1 pound of sliced rhubarb with 3 cups of water, a pinch of salt, and ½ cup of sugar. Bring to a slow boil and then simmer gently for just a few minutes, until the rhubarb is slightly tender but still holds its shape.
Remove the rhubarb with a slotted spoon and cool.
Segment a few oranges into a bowl, grating, and reserving the peel in another smaller bowl. Add 2 tablespoons of white-wine vinegar to the bowl with the orange peel, 1 tablespoon of lemon juice, the juice from the orange segments, 1 tablespoon of mild honey, and a finely minced small shallot.
Whisk and add salt and pepper to taste. To the bowl with the orange segments, add the beets and 2 to 3 cups of bitter greens like arugula or watercress, then add the rhubarb. Stir gently and arrange on 6 plates. Crumble fresh goat cheese on top and a few tablespoons of dressing.
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Rhubarb chutney is terrific with fish or meat and incredibly easy to make.
In a heavy medium saucepan, combine 4 cups of chopped rhubarb, ½ cup of brown sugar, ½ cup of finely minced fresh ginger root, the grated peel of 1 orange and 1 lemon, ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon, ¼ teaspoon of ground cardamom, 1 finely diced small red onion, ½ cup golden raisins, 1/3 cup apple cider vinegar. Bring to a boil, then simmer for 20 to 30 minutes until rhubarb is tender. Cool.
This makes around 4 cups, which will keep for weeks in the refrigerator. This tart, sweet, and slightly spicy compote pairs perfectly with pork or chicken and is surprisingly delicious with a piece of salmon, braised red cabbage, and a cold garnish of yogurt or sour cream.
There are countless dessert recipes for rhubarb: pies, cobblers, buckles, grunts, slumps, and fools. My favorite is the fool.
A fool, or foole, is an old English dessert that dates back to the 16th century. It is a simple and brilliant combination of puréed cooked fruit very gently folded into unsweetened whipped cream. The secret is to make sure the fruit is tart and cold, the cream local and rich, and the folding so minimal as to allow lovely alternating stripes of fruit and cream.
Springtime food should be uncomplicated and clear. It should celebrate the ingredient. It should celebrate the season.
A rhubarb fool epitomizes this for me. You take a spoonful and first taste the fatty and rich silken cream, then suddenly a taste of tart fresh rhubarb. It is truly delicious and very easy to make. For eight modest servings, cut 1 pound of rhubarb into ½-inch pieces, and in a medium saucepan combine with 2 tablespoons of water and 1 cup of sugar.
Cover and bring to a simmer. Reduce the heat and cook, uncovered, for about 8 minutes, until the rhubarb is completely soft. Let cool, transfer the mixture to a food processor, and purée until smooth. Refrigerate until cold.
Beat 3 cups of finest quality heavy cream until soft peaks form. Gently and incompletely fold the rhubarb into the cream, allowing streaks of fruit to remain. Transfer into tall glasses, and serve with a great, crisp, plain cookie.
Winter is hard in Vermont, and spring plays tricks. I hope it brings warmth and sun to all of us. I hope all my flower seeds come up. I hope love conquers all.
And I hope that in whatever way makes sense for you and your family, you are able to take the time to acknowledge through food this most satisfying and enigmatic season.