As a child, I was traumatized by a rhizome.
I don’t remember when, but at some point during my delicate formative years, I was subjected to that thing called rhubarb.
It was probably in a pie, although my mother didn’t bake. Maybe it was prepared by a relative or a friend—badly, apparently.
Whatever the circumstance, it left a scar. All my life, for the better part of half a century, I have known for a fact that I hate rhubarb. Despise it. To the point where, any time it was offered to me, I always took a polite pass. And disparaged it as some kind of grotesque mutant celery. (Rhubarb is not related to celery.)
It was Chef Sin who pointed out recently that my bias against rhubarb was not only irrational but ill-informed. After all, I love tartness. I love citrus. And the malic acid that makes rhubarb so sour is also present in lemons and limes as well as apples and berries. By all rights, I ought to love rhubarb, too.
“When was the last time you tasted rhubarb?”
“Um, not that long ago. Probably during the Nixon administration.”
“Ah.”
Chef Sin resolved to prove my anti-rhubarb feelings unfounded. She started with a classic gateway drug, strawberry-rhubarb pie, which disguised the forbidden fruit (rhubarb is a vegetable) with a familiar one. Of course, I loved it: a little sweet, a little sour, neither cloying nor pucker-inducing. Superb.
She moved then to the hard stuff: a full-on, undiluted rhubarb pie. Again, it was just the sort of thing I crave in a dessert, a touch of sugar balanced with a ton of acid.
Chef Sin’s final challenge to me? Find a rhubarb cocktail that I loved just as much as the pie. As it turned out, that was the easiest part of my entire rhubarb rebirth.
My source is Jay and Leah Hall, another husband-wife food-blogging team from Nebraska who write as Gastronom. Their Rubasil Cocktail is tart and refreshing, and the addition of basil gives the drink a deliciously fragrant counterpoint.
The cocktail calls for rhubarb syrup, which is just simple syrup with some chopped rhubarb added to simmer for 20 minutes. Bonus: The strained solids can be mashed with a fork and used as jam for toast.
That’s it: I’ve gone from die-hard rhubarb resister to full-on rhubarb rooter.
Now if I can just conquer my aversion to tequila.*
Rhubasil Cocktail
Adapted from Gastronom
2 ounces vodka
1 ounce rhubarb syrup
2 to 3 basil leaves, plus more for garnish
sparkling water or club soda
Add the vodka and basil leaves to a glass. Gently muddle the leaves.
Fill the glass with ice and top with the rhubarb syrup and bubbles. Garnish with a basil leaf if desired.
Note: Rhubarb syrup is even more dense than simple syrup and will tend to sink to the bottom of the glass, leaving a layer of vodka on the top and a sickly sweet mess at the bottom. Always serve the Rhubasil Cocktail with a swizzle stick or straw, and encourage the imbiber to stir before every sip.
* Coming soon to the Sunday Special.