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It should be disclosed here that my family has a habit of spicing up its relatively boring existence with the installment of trivial quests. Anything that is weird and rare — candy cigarettes, ceramic pie birds, white balsamic vinegar — is scooped up and declared a “find,” with the understanding that if found again it should be horded until our family has gathered the world’s biggest supply. If the find becomes too popular or familiar, we lose interest and move onto a new pursuit.
So when I was grocery shopping recently and saw the thick red stalks next to the grapes and cherries, I picked some up along with a carton of strawberries. When I was growing up (in Bethesda, Maryland), rhubarb at the neighborhood store wouldn’t have happened. Indigenous to Asia, the tart stalk was introduced as a foodstuff by the Brits, and people are still debating whether this was a good thing. Its polarizing effect made it a rarity at my local grocer’s.
When I found out today was National Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie day, I was surprised for many reasons, but the biggest was that I had just finished the last slice of a strawberry-rhubarb pie. It was the first taste of rhubarb I’d had in years, but the pie — not this specific one, but strawberry-rhubarb pies in general — played a big role in the family vacations I was subjected to as a child.
That pie was probably the most bittersweet we’d ever had, knowing that rhubarb down the road was a sign of imminent omnipresence to come. It’s funny how things taste different when you don’t have to sit in a hot car with your sisters or fly over an ocean to get them. But maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.
One of my dad’s favorite quests has always been strawberry-rhubarb pie. Not exactly rare anymore, it still elicits a nostalgic pang of delight when discovered. We took family trips to London and small English towns, and weekend jaunts to Amish markets in Pennsylvania. Many of these drives to bizarre places were under the pretence of visiting family or spending time together, but I’m pretty sure it was all in search of sliced rhubarb spending time with some gooey strawberries in a rich and flaky crust.
Wash the rhubarb and cut it into bit-sized pieces of about one centimeter in width. Put the rhubarb in a mixing bowl. Squeeze the juices of the fresh orange and lemon over it. Add the sea salt and raw can sugar to the bowl and toss the ingredients well. Let the rhubarb marinate about fifteen minutes. This softens the stalks, making the cooking process easier. Interestingly enough, the rhubarb’s quick bath in citrus and sugar delivers a brighter red conserve once cooked.
I have made this conserve over and over again in the last few weeks. I am even finding every excuse to drizzle it over the ingredients to every meal, from whole grain toast in the morning to my green salad with goat’s cheese and pink pepper for supper. In fact as I write these words, I am trying to ignore the urge to take the jar out of the refrigerator for just one more spoonful . . .
Sterilize a glass jar and its lid by boiling it in water ten minutes. Remove the jar and allow it to cool before spooning in the rhubarb and strawberries. Stick a piece of orange peel in the jar for extra flavor, or infuse it with a small piece of pure vanilla bean. Put on the lid and pop the contents of this pretty little jar into the fridge. The conserve will keep for approximately two weeks. However the color and flavor is the freshest within the first week of its preparation.
Cook the rhubarb-strawberry mixture 25-30 minutes, stirring occasionally. Once the liquid has reduced to the consistency of a thick homemade tomato sauce, turn off the heat. Taste it for the right balance between tartness and sweetness. Add some extra sugar or orange juice if needed, and cook a while longer. Allow the conserve to cool completely. It will thicken even more as it comes to room temperature.
What makes these two work so well together and why didn’t I know about this earlier I wonder? Suffice it to say that my upbringing in Italy didn’t familiarize me with this particular ingredient. Incompatible in their raw state, when heat comes into play, these rivaling ingredients suddenly melt together to form the perfect pair.
Strawberry Rhubarb Pie
Why is rhubarb a fruit?
In 1947 a New York court declared rhubarb a fruit because it’s most often cooked as one in the United States (and, it’s said, because it was a way to save businesses who imported these stalks from spending additional money on taxes). Rhubarb is sold at farmers’ markets and grocery stores by the stalk, like celery.
Is rhubarb good?
Rhubarb is a nutritious food that contains phytochemicals that play an important role in health, they help protect the body against metabolic disorders, have anti-inflammatory and antioxidant action, and improve digestion and intestinal function.
Does rhubarb taste like strawberries?
Many people associate the flavor of rhubarb with strawberries because the two are often paired together (they come into season at the same time, and strawberry’s sweet flavor helps counteract the sour one of rhubarb). Red stalks have a stronger, sweeter more robust flavor than green stalks, but both are totally fine to cook with.
Are strawberries and Rhubarb Good Together?
Besides just happening to share the same season, strawberries and rhubarb are naturally perfect for each other. Strawberries are incredibly sweet, and if you tried to make just a crisp with them alone it’d probably be too sugary to eat more than one bite.