Hide the cheese

Oscar's Strawberry Milkshakes

Rhubarb-Grapefruit Jam

Ricky and Lucy. Gracie and George. Tom and Jerry. Felix and Oscar. Sonny and Cher. Donny and Marie.

Unlikely pairs that make magic together. (Ok, maybe they weren't all magic, but they were all entertaining).

Rhubarb and grapefruit may seem like an odd couple, too, but they are delicious together. The rhubarb is tart right off the bat, hitting immediately with an intense burst of flavor. The grapefruit hangs back and as soon as the rhubarb begins to retreat, it comes on with its bitter flavor. Of course it is all mellowed by the sugar in the jam, but the combination is excellent.

I like it spread on toast or swirled into yogurt. The rhubarb flavor isn't super assertive so it didn't stand up to the peanut butter in a sandwich.

Now Gabe is feeding me more names. Abbott and Costello. Mary Matlin and James Carville. Padma Lakshmi and Salman Rushdie. . .

2009: Rhubarb-Thyme Compote
2010: Rhubarb-Mint Popsicles
2011: Rhurbarb-Apple Turnovers

Rhubarb-Grapefruit Jam

Makes about 4 cups of jam
10 minutes preparation time
about 30 minutes cookig time

I use about 4 tablespoons of grapefruit juice for each cup of finished jam. It may seem like a lot, but the grapefruit flavor mellows over time.

8 cups diced rhubarb (about a pound and a half)
3 cups sugar
1/2 cup fresh grapefruit juice (from about 1 grapefruit)

Mix the rhubarb and sugar in a medium-sized sauce pan. Cover the pot and cook over medium-low heat until the rhubarb begins to release its juices, about five minutes. Remove the lid and cook the jam until the rhubarb is meltingly soft and has thickened, about 25 minutes. Stir in the grapefruit juice.

Pour the jam into airtight jars for short-term storage or can them if you want to keep them longer. (For some links about canning see this post).

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Weekend Snapshots: Swansong and New York City's American Museum of Natural History

We took the kids to New York this past weekend for a quick trip, a bittersweet trip for me. On  the sweet side, Saturday morning, we visited the American Museum of Natural History. I had not been in years, but we were inspired to visit by Brian Selznick's Wonderstruck. If you haven't read it, it's a great book for elementary and middle school aged children and some of the main action takes place at the museum.

We found the Minnesota Wolverine diorama that is featured in the book and were inspired to visit many more of the museum's signature dioramas. I turned my camera over to the kids and they had a great time photographing the animals. National Geographic, watch out!

We also visited the ocean hall, the gem stone exhibit, and watched Journey to the Stars. There is so much more to do!

In the afternoon, we had a picnic in the park with friends. The children entertained themselves while we chatted for a few hours over lots of yummy treats, mostly from the venerable Zabar's.

The trip was bittersweet because part of the purpose was to have a last visit to my aunt and uncle's apartment. My siblings and I all grew up visiting my aunt and uncle there. Those visits made New York a magical place for us and gave me the sense that anything was possible. I am so grateful for all those experiences and for the love and incredible generosity that my aunt and uncle showed us for so many years.

After my aunt died last year, my uncle decided that, for many good reasons, it was time to sell the apartment and move on. This trip, then, was a swansong for me and also a chance for our children to have one last hurrah in a place that was so important to their mother.

I woke up before dawn on Sunday morning, and lay there for some time feeling the presence of many memories swirling around me. The room felt thick with images and emotions from all of my visits there, so thick that they were nearly tangible.

I could see Midge there, popping around to lay snacks out on the coffee table, excitedly listing options for our stay in the city. Or curled up on the corner of the couch, listening to my latest professional or personal dilemma, working up some excellent advice, delivered gently. Or telling a story as only she could, zeroing in on the quirkiness of the situation and using a well-placed expletive or two to make it that much more hilarious.

Or, in the last year of her life, sitting on that same couch, both of us crying, as we discussed the cancer that was spreading through her body, and her efforts to accept death. And later, watching as she gamely walked out of her bedroom using the walls as support, in the nightgown that we had given her, to have a last visit with our children. Or later still, sitting by her side as she lay in her bed, so tiny and fragile, overwhelmed by feelings of helplessness, concern, and love.

The attachment to the apartment feels so strong, perhaps because of the intense emotion that I feel when I am there. Letting go is hard because I feel like I am losing my aunt again, that my connection to her is somehow diminishing.

I realize, though, that the memories are not in that place. They are in me and my uncle, in my mother and siblings and Gabe, and now, in our children, too. Even though I still miss Midge terribly, spending time with others that I love helps me remember her and honors her life. She was so dedicated to all of us, and it was she and Jay that created the magic of New York for us, not the apartment or the view.

I hope that Olivia, Oscar, and Chloe will carry those memories of Midge and New York wherever their lives take them. I know I will.

Rhubarb Shortcakes

You know how your mind wanders and you go from Shakespeare to rhubarb to crossdressing?

Sometimes you are just sitting, innocently minding your own business, watching your daughter perform in A Midsummer Night's Dream. Just watching, soaking in her enthusiasm and joy, watching her recite lines that you saw in the beat up script that she carried around for months but didn't mean much to you on the page. Now listening, hearing those words come to life.

Then you hear it: "rhubarb-rhubarb-rhubarb-rhubarb-rhubarb."

What the?

But there it is, clear as day, "rhubarb-rhubarb-rhubarb-rhubarb-rhubarb." Two characters, mumbling, saying that word of all words.

And not just any characters, mind you. It is one boy playing a boy playing a girl and another boy playing a boy playing a boy, mumbling through a girl playing a boy playing a wall. And it gets you thinking about how Shakespeare only used male actors to play all the roles so that there was lots of crossdressing going on. And you think how much funnier it is to watch those gender roles all scrambled than it would be if it were just boys playing boys, girls playing girls, and walls playing walls.

And in a way, you think, Rhubarb is a very Shakespearian vegetable. Sure, tomatoes are botanically fruits that we more commonly treat as vegetables (as are beans, squash, corn, etc., all of whom carry their own seeds within themselves, but for some reason nobody talks about them being fruits).

But I can't think of any other vegetables that masquerade as fruits. Rhubarb, then, is special.

Also, rhubarb is delicious. Even all by itself as the star of the show.

Your mind does wander like this, too . . . doesn't it?

2009: Candied Ginger Scones
2010: Monday Rhubarb Streusel Cake
2011: Green Rhubarb Galette

Rhubarb Shortcakes

Inspired by Anne Dimock's recipe for Straight-Up Rhubarb Pie on Food 52

The individual components for the dessert can be made several hours in advance and assembled just before serving. When I served these on Saturday, I halved this recipe and also made a separate strawberry topping for those who wanted a more traditional dessert. I used about a quart of strawberries, and loosely followed this recipe. Most of us opted for open-faced shortcakes with strawberries on one side and rhubarb on the other.

Serves 12
35 minutes preparation time
15 minutes baking time

For the shortcakes:
2 cups unbleached white flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons sugar
5 tablespoons butter, cut into pieces
2/3 cup milk
cream for brushing (a tablespoon or less)

For the rhubarb:
5-6 cups rhubarb, trimmed, washed, and diced (about a pound)
1/4 cup sugar
small pinch cinnamon
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

For the whipped cream:
1 1/2 cups heavy cream
1/3 cup sour cream
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla

Preheat oven to 425 degrees and line a cookie sheet with parchment paper. 

To make the shortcakes, sift together the flour, baking powder, salt, and sugar in a large bowl  Mix in the butter with your fingers, mashing it into the flour until the mixture is the texture of coarse cornmeal.  Slowly stir in the milk a bit at a time, using just enough to get the mixture to hold together.  Knead the dough for about a minute.  Roll it into a ball and flatten it into a disk.

Flour a work surface and roll the dough out until it is approximately 1/2 inch thick. Cut it into 2-inch rounds (or hearts or diamonds...).  After you have cut one batch, re-roll the dough and cut again. When you are left with small scraps, shape them into a final disk. It will be lumpy, but it will still taste good. Arrange the shortcakes on the cookie sheet and brush them with a bit of cream. Bake for 12 to 15 minutes, just until the cakes turn a pale gold color. Remove them from the oven and set them aside to cool on a rack.

Toss the rhubarb, sugar, and cinnamon together in a small saucepan. With the lid on, heat the rhubarb over medium-low heat until the rhubarb releases its juices, about 5 minutes. Remove the lid and let the mixture simmer until the rhubarb is very soft, about 15 minutes.

To make the cream mixture, whip the heavy cream, sour cream, sugar, and vanilla together until it is the texture of whipped cream.

When they are cool enough to handle, split them horizontally with a large knife. The shortcakes are firm and this is easier to do than it initially seems it will be.

To serve, place the bottom of each shortcake on a platter. Spoon about two tablespoons of the rhubarb mixture on top, and then layer on the whipped cream. Gently place the cake top on the whipped cream. 

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Happy Mother's Day 2012

It's a conflicted attitude that we have in this country towards mothers.

On the one hand, we love to critique mothering. We watch with the same curiosity that we have as we slow down to rubberneck at an accident. We observe the tiger mother, the helciopter mother, the stage mother -- the list goes on -- all with horrified fascination, hoping that we aren't making the same obvious mistakes.

On the other hand, we revere our mothers, setting aside this day to honor them, and even throwing them in there as a symbol of patriotism, up there with apple pie.

Either way, it's a bit of pressure. Either we're totally mucking up our children's lives with some approach that others think foolish. Or we're held to some impossible standard of perfection and goodness. Yikes.

Today, though, let's put that aside and focus on what mothers have done right. If you are a mother, whether a new one or a seasoned one, whether you hold your babe in your arms, hear their shouts from the back yard, or hope for a phone call from afar, picture those children that you have nurtured.

Really take a minute, close your eyes, and think of each of them, one at a time. Run a little slide show in your head. Think of their virtues, their strengths, the beauty that they have added to your lives.

Incredible, isn't it?

Let's let the rest go and, even though we may only be responsible for some small part of those wonderful people whose lives we hold so dear, let's revel in all that has gone right, in all the joy and wonder that they have given us.

And let's consider our own mothers. Despite their own imperfections, fatigue, and mistakes -- not to mention the mounds of laundry that constantly formed and re-formed -- they have gotten us this far. No small accomplishment, to be sure.

So today, celebrate, be happy. . .

And ignore that pile of laundry in the corner.

Happy Mother's Day!