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Created by Chef Thomas
Forced rhubarb simmered gently with sugar and lemon until it gives up a bright pink syrup, ready in the fridge for a glass of cold water on the first afternoon that feels like spring.
The forced rhubarb turns up in the middle of winter, which is the first kind thing January does. Slender, almost luminous pink stalks, grown in the dark sheds of Yorkshire and harvested by candlelight. It's a ridiculous piece of agriculture and I'm glad it exists.
I bought a bundle on Saturday and didn't know what I wanted to do with it until I was walking home. Then I did. Cordial. A quiet pink syrup to keep in the fridge for the next few weeks, ready for a glass of cold water on a bright afternoon when the garden is finally starting to think about waking up. We're only making dinner, and dinner sometimes wants a drink beside it.
This is the simplest thing. Rhubarb, sugar, a lemon, some water. Simmer it gently until the stalks collapse and give up their colour, strain it through muslin, bottle it. You're done in under an hour and you've got something the colour of stained glass that tastes like the edge of spring every time you pour a splash into a cold tumbler.
I wrote it down in the notebook the first time I made it. 'Rhubarb. Pink. March. Worth it.' That was the whole entry. Some things don't need more than that.
Quantity
1kg
trimmed and chopped into 2-3cm pieces
Quantity
500g
Quantity
500ml
Quantity
1
zest peeled in strips, juice reserved
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| forced rhubarbtrimmed and chopped into 2-3cm pieces | 1kg |
| golden caster sugar | 500g |
| water | 500ml |
| unwaxed lemonzest peeled in strips, juice reserved | 1 |
Trim the ends off the rhubarb and give the stalks a rinse. You don't need to peel forced rhubarb. The skin is tender and holds most of the colour, and the colour is the whole point. Chop into rough 2-3cm lengths. Don't worry about neat cuts. It's all going in the pan and will collapse anyway.
Put the rhubarb, sugar, and water into a heavy saucepan. Add the strips of lemon zest, taken off in wide ribbons with a peeler rather than grated, because ribbons are easier to fish out later. Set the pan over a medium heat and stir gently until the sugar has dissolved. The pan will start to smell bright and slightly perfumed, halfway between jam and a sweet shop.
Bring it to a gentle simmer, then drop the heat low and let it cook for fifteen to twenty minutes. The rhubarb will soften, then slump, then collapse into the liquid, and the water will turn a deep, almost unreal pink. Don't stir too much. Don't let it boil hard. You're coaxing the colour out, not fighting it. When the stalks have given up their shape and the liquid looks like stained glass, it's done.
Line a sieve with a piece of muslin or a clean tea towel and set it over a bowl. Tip the rhubarb and its liquid into the sieve and leave it to drip through on its own. Don't press the pulp down, however tempting. Pressed pulp makes cloudy cordial, and clarity is part of the pleasure here. Give it an hour. Go and do something else. Read something. Put the kettle on.
Pour the strained cordial back into the cleaned pan. Add the lemon juice, taste, and adjust. It should be sweet but with a clear, clean tartness behind it. Warm it through gently for a minute or two, just enough to marry everything, then take it off the heat. Pour into sterilized bottles while still warm and seal. Let them cool completely before they go into the fridge.
1 serving (about 72g)
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