James Whitaker
There is a particular moment in late February when the year finally starts to taste of something again. The light is still thin, the ground is still cold, and yet pale pink forced rhubarb is arriving in shops and market stalls, grown in darkened sheds in Yorkshire and a handful of other spots around the country. It is the first proper fresh crop of the British year, and it deserves better than being boiled to a grey pulp and buried under custard.
Why forced rhubarb is worth the fuss
Forced rhubarb is grown in darkness, which is why the stems stay slender, tender and almost jewel-pink rather than thick and green. It is far less stringy than the outdoor crop that follows from April onwards, and it needs only a gentle cook. You rarely need to peel it — just wipe the stems with a damp cloth, trim the ends and cut out any bruised patches.
The flavour is bright and sharp, so it wants two things: sugar and a warm spice. Orange and ginger are the classic pairing for good reason. The citrus lifts the sourness without flattening it, and ginger gives a gentle heat that suits cold, grey afternoons.
- In season: forced rhubarb from January to March, outdoor rhubarb from April to early summer.
- Look for: firm, glossy stems that snap cleanly. Wrinkled or floppy stems will be woody.
- Keeps: four or five days in the fridge, loosely wrapped, or freeze the cooked results for up to three months.
Roasted rhubarb with orange and ginger
Roasting is the easiest method and the one I come back to all spring. It keeps the pieces intact so they can sit on yoghurt or porridge without collapsing, and it gives you a syrup you can spoon over everything.
Heat the oven to 180°C (160°C fan, gas mark 4). Cut about 700g rhubarb into 5cm lengths and lay them in a single layer in a shallow ovenproof dish. Scatter over 70g caster sugar, the finely grated zest and two tablespoons of juice from one orange, a 2cm piece of fresh ginger peeled and grated, and a small pinch of salt. Dot with 20g butter and toss everything gently with your hands.
Cover the dish with foil and roast for 15 minutes. Uncover, give it a shake, and roast for another 5 to 8 minutes, until the stems are tender but still holding their shape. Resist stirring too much — you want pieces, not purée. If you are using later, greener outdoor rhubarb, increase the sugar to 110g and add another 10 minutes.
No oven? Put everything in a saucepan with a tablespoon of water, cover, and cook over a low heat for 8 to 10 minutes, shaking the pan rather than stirring. Cool and refrigerate in the syrup.
Five-minute spring breakfasts
This is where roasted rhubarb earns its place in the weekly routine. It keeps for four days in the fridge, which means breakfast becomes assembling rather than cooking.
- On porridge: spoon it over the top with the syrup and a scattering of toasted flaked almonds.
- With yoghurt: layer with thick Greek-style yoghurt and a little honey or maple syrup.
- Overnight oats: stir a few spoonfuls through before bed so the colour marbles through the oats.
- On toast: spread on buttered sourdough or crumpets, with a spoonful of yoghurt on top.
- Pancakes: warm the rhubarb through and spoon over Scotch pancakes or a simple batter.
Puddings for grey afternoons
If you want something warmer, a crumble is the obvious answer, and the sharper the fruit the better it works. Toss the roasted rhubarb into a buttered dish, then rub together 150g plain flour, 75g cold butter and 50g demerara sugar, stirring through 40g porridge oats and a teaspoon of ground ginger. Bake at 190°C (170°C fan, gas mark 5) for 25 to 30 minutes until golden and bubbling at the edges.
For something lighter, fold cooled rhubarb through whipped double cream or custard for a quick fool, or make a simple batter pudding: pour a thin pancake-style batter over the fruit and bake until puffed and set. Rhubarb and custard, in any form, is a combination that has never needed improving.
Getting more from your own crowns
Rhubarb is one of the most generous things you can grow, provided you treat it well. Plant crowns in late autumn or early spring, in a spot that gets sun for at least part of the day, and give them plenty of well-rotted manure. Leave a new crown alone for its first year so it can establish.
- Force a crown: cover it with a bucket or large pot in January to shut out the light and give you earlier, paler, sweeter stems. Leave the plant to recover the following year.
- Remove flower spikes as soon as you see them, because flowering drains the crown.
- Mulch generously each spring and water in dry spells — dry crowns give thin, tough stems.
- Divide congested crowns every five years or so, replanting the healthiest outer sections.
Making a day of it
Cold, bright spring weekends are ideal for a slow potter rather than a big outing. Seek out a walled kitchen garden or a country house with productive beds, where the forcing pots and early crops will be on show, and finish with tea and a slice of something baked with rhubarb. Farm shops and market stalls are piled high with it right now, often far cheaper than the supermarkets and fresher for roasting.
Wrap up warm, take a flask, and walk a canal path or a footpath through the fields before the hedgerows start closing in. Later in April and May, pick-your-own farms open for the first soft fruit of the year, and children who have helped choose and carry the rhubarb at home are far more likely to eat it. Buy a couple of extra bunches while it is at its best, roast it all at once, and freeze the surplus in its syrup. Then even a grey day in May can taste like the very start of spring.
