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Created by Chef Thomas
Forced rhubarb baked under a gingered crumble until the juices bubble up pink through the cracks, the kind of pudding that makes a February evening feel like it was going somewhere all along.
February is a lean month. The garden is asleep, the market is a parade of root vegetables and stored apples, and most evenings end with the same question: what, honestly, is for pudding. And then the forced rhubarb arrives, impossible pink stalks grown in the dark of Yorkshire sheds, and suddenly the cold months have a point.
This is the pudding I make more than any other between January and March. Rhubarb, sugar, ginger, and a proper crumble on top. Nothing clever. The ginger matters, though. Rhubarb and ginger belong together the way apples belong with cinnamon. One sharpens the other, and the warmth of the ginger answers the sourness of the fruit like they were waiting to meet. If you've got a jar of stem ginger in the cupboard, a chopped piece and a spoonful of its syrup lift the whole thing. If you haven't, ground ginger alone does the job perfectly well.
The crumble itself is the usual business. Flour, butter, sugar, a handful of oats for texture, rubbed together until it looks like rough breadcrumbs with a few larger pebbles still holding on. Those big lumps are the ones you want. They go dark and craggy at the edges, almost toffee-ish, and they're what separates a crumble worth making from one you won't remember.
I wrote it down in the notebook years ago: "Rhubarb. Ginger. Friday. Rain." It's the whole recipe, really. Everything else is just the how.
Quantity
800g
trimmed and cut into 4cm lengths
Quantity
100g
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1 piece
finely chopped
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
from 1 orange
Quantity
200g
Quantity
150g
cubed
Quantity
100g
Quantity
50g
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
to serve
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| forced rhubarbtrimmed and cut into 4cm lengths | 800g |
| golden caster sugar | 100g |
| ground ginger | 1 teaspoon |
| stem ginger in syrup (optional)finely chopped | 1 piece |
| stem ginger syrup (optional) | 1 tablespoon |
| orange zest | from 1 orange |
| plain flour | 200g |
| cold unsalted buttercubed | 150g |
| light brown soft sugar | 100g |
| rolled oats | 50g |
| ground ginger (for the crumble) | 1 teaspoon |
| fine sea salt | pinch |
| double cream or proper custard | to serve |
Set the oven to 190C/170C fan. A proper, confident heat. You want the crumble to go golden without the fruit turning to mush underneath.
Tip the rhubarb into a baking dish, something ceramic or enamel, about 25cm across. Scatter over the caster sugar, the teaspoon of ground ginger, the chopped stem ginger if you're using it, a spoonful of its syrup, and the orange zest. Give it a gentle toss with your hands so everything is coated. The rhubarb will look impossibly pink at this point. Don't worry if it seems underdressed. It releases a surprising amount of juice in the oven.
In a wide bowl, tip in the flour, the cubed butter, the second teaspoon of ground ginger, and the pinch of salt. Rub the butter into the flour with your fingertips, lifting the mixture as you work so it stays cool. You're after the texture of rough breadcrumbs with a few larger, pebbly bits still holding their shape. Those bigger lumps become the craggy golden bits on top, and they're the best part. Stir through the brown sugar and the oats.
Scatter the crumble over the rhubarb in an even, generous layer. Don't press it down. A loose topping gives you those craggy peaks that go dark and sticky at the edges. Leave it a little uneven. This isn't the place for precision.
Slide the dish onto the middle shelf and bake for thirty-five to forty minutes. You'll know it's ready when the top is deeply golden, the kitchen smells of caramelized sugar and warm ginger, and the rhubarb juices are bubbling up through the cracks in a deep pink syrup. Trust your nose more than the clock. When it smells ready, it usually is.
Let it sit on the side for ten minutes before serving. This isn't optional. Straight from the oven, the juices are lava and the crumble hasn't settled. Ten minutes of patience gives you a pudding you can actually eat. Spoon into warm bowls and pour cold cream over the top, or proper custard if you've made it. The cold cream against the warm fruit is most of the pleasure.
1 serving (about 250g)
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