What the heck is that? Rhubarb

The world of produce has some odd stuff. I’ve already written about some of the super-weird. This season brings a less exotic, but still-really-strange item: rhubarb.

Rhubarb’s leaves contain oxalic acid, which can be toxic. The edible bit is the stalk, like celery, but it’s most frequently used in pies. Is rhubarb a fruit or a vegetable? The word “stalk” should indicate a vegetable, but a New York court  decided in 1947 that rhubarb was a fruit – at least for the purpose of regulation. (This was good news for rhubarb enthusiasts: the tariffs on imported fruits were lower than they were for vegetables.)

And rhubarb is tart. Hoo boy, is it tart. Antioxidant anthocyanins, which also give the rosy color and tart taste to sour cherries and peek-a-boo apples, are responsible. Prepare yourself to add a lot of sweetener in preparing rhubarb.

Typically, rhubarb is mostly green with a nice flush of crimson. Some varieties are also just pale green, which supposedly doesn’t affect the taste much, since even the reddest rhubarb is tart. This pile, for example, at the Union Square Greenmarket contained many stalks that were particularly green and celery-like in their appearance.

  

Of course, an adjoining pile of strawberries was green, too - perfect for folks with jaded palates who are tired of boring ripe strawberries.

But what to do with the rhubarb? You can make pies, cakes, sweet breads and slushies. Folks who like cutting the flavor of fatty meat with an acidic fruit love to use rhubarb in this way. Another customer at the Greenmarket bought over 7 pounds of rhubarb for this very purpose. "Use rhubarb for anything you'd use an orange or cranberry sauce," he advised.

As for me, every year when rhubarb season rolls in, I ponder ambitious plans and end up with the same thing: mess o'rhubarb. You can call it a compote, or a chunky summer soup. I find it bracing and refreshing. Do I need to add that it's really, really easy to make?

First, wash rhubarb well and trim the stalks' ends. If your rhubarb stalk has leaves, cut those killers off. (You'd need to eat about 11 pounds of leaves for a fatal result, but still.) Cut the rhubarb into a large dice. The size doesn't matter much - it's going to collapse very soon.

Next, add some sweetener - and some sweet fruit. (Raisins and dates are the most densely sweet potential additions; other fruits may vary in their contributions of sweetness.) How much sweetener? A good rule of thumb is about a tablespoon of sugar, or its equivalent, for every couple of stalks. You can always add more sweetener when you're done cooking if you think more is in order.

Here I've added strawberries and red grapes to keep the great crimson color.

Add a bit of water - a couple of tablespoons for a compote or stew consistency, more if you want soup or syrup. The rhubarb and other fruit will actually give off quite a bit of liquid. Let your pot come to a boil, then reduce it to a simmer.

And how long should you cook your rhubarb concoction? Around 5 - 6 minutes if you want the rhubarb to keep its shape.

Not what's going on here! I don't mind the disintegration.

And here it is, the mess o'rhubarb. Not the most photogenic dish I've ever made, but I enjoyed it.

I could cut back on the water and cooking time and call the final product compote.

I could add some chopped onion, vinegar and raisins to the compote recipe and call it rhubarb chutney.  

Next time I could even toss the rhubarb with a little sweetener, put it in a glass baking dish and bake it for a half hour or so at 350.

But for now I'll enjoy this odd "fruit" and the simple and messy method of cooking it that has become a tradition.

Pink-a-boo! I can see you! (Or, The Big Apple, Continued)

Evidently 60 varieties of apples are not enough.

Last apple season, I counted 60 varieties of apples sold at the Union Square Greenmarket and wrote about it in a blog entry, "The Big Apple." 
(Of course 60 varieties are but specks of sand on the beach: the forthcoming seven-volume encyclopedia, The Illustrated History of Apples in North America,  identifies 17,000 apple varieties grown between 1623 and 2000.)

This season, I've seen four new varieties: the bland and crisp SnapDragon, an offspring of Honeycrisp created by Cornell University's apple breeding program; the very decent (and remarkably blight-resistant) Crimson Topaz; and  - let's cut to the case - much more interesting Pink-A-Boo and Pink Delight. 

Don't confuse either of these Pinks with Pink Lady, a fairly random Golden Delicious offspring also known as Cripps Pink.  They are far more intriguing.

From the outside, Pink-a-Boo looks nice enough. The photo above could be of Granny Smiths or another green apple that sometimes has a rosy cast. But it's the insides that count here.

Cut open a Pink-a-Boo and discover its Cherry Vanilla surprise!

Our other fascinating newcomer, Pink Delight, looks like many other reddish apples from the outside, distinguished mainly by being a bit less photogenic than usual (even for low-spray apples).

 But inside, Pink Delight had the same marvelous surprise!

I had never heard of red-fleshed apples until this season, but the eccentric British website suttonelms.org.uk lists many varieties, mostly with charmingly lurid names - Red Love, Red Moon, Scarlet Surprise, Purple Passion, Purple Wave, Vampire, Firecracker and Red Devil. A red-fleshed apples few go the Disney route, with names like Pink Sparkle, Pink Beauty and Pink Princess. Here's the site's description of Pink Pearl: 

Rich flavor..the flesh is an attractive light pink and white. The apple is to my taste but if it was put in a child's lunch box it would probably be half eaten.

A comment about the plan for Tesco, a major British supermarket chain to carry red-fleshed apples (yes, I'm envious) included this pithy description of the apples: 

They look pretty damn insane yet wonderful.

Most red-fleshed apples are believed to be descended from malus niedzwetzkyana or Niedzwetzky's apple, a wild apple native to the Caucasus with red leaves, flowers and flesh. Beginning in the 1920s, Albert Etter, a California horticulturalist, used the Niedzwetzky offspring Surprise (sometimes called Surprize) to breed around two dozen red-fleshed apples. In case you were wondering, the red color of red-fleshed apples are caused by our good buddy anthocyanins, the antioxidants also present in a variety of deeply-pigmented produce, including purple cabbage and sour cherries. 

And what about the taste? Pink-A-Boo, the smaller apple above, has more dramatic coloring than Pink Delight, but rates only a "pretty good" in flavor. In other words, I wouldn't rush to buy it for myself if I had better alternatives -- and considering the only place I could buy it is Samascott's stand at the Greenmarket, which consistently has an incredible selection, so of course I would have better options. But I'd still buy it as a gift for others or simply to wow them.

Pink Delight is another story. Close your eyes and open your mouth. Pink Delight (okay, one you pare off the blemishes) tastes like the Granny Smith of my dreams (but seldom found in real life). Tart, but not astringent. Deep in its apple flavor. Desirable beyond its superficial charms.

I can't wait to see what Apple #65 is like.

The Cult of the Sour Cherry

They're elusive. They're delicate. Their growing season is short. They make a brief appearance in select markets - I counted only a few sightings at the Union Square Greenmarket - and none at all at most gourmet stores. Consequently, their fans, an "almost cultlike following," in the words of the New York Times, have been known to head to farms to pick their own. My sister planned her her backyard garden with them in mind, and has reorganized and replanted repeatedly, hoping for some success.

Just what is about sour cherries that warrants such devotion?

"They are perfect," my sister said when I posed this question to her."Their shape and size are very pleasing. Their flavor is perfectly sweet and sour. Their texture is nice and light, not as dense as sweet cherries, although I like sweet cherries too. If only they weren't so hard to come by."

Sadly, my sister's sour cherry tree looks more like her fig tree than this lush beauty.

So it's off to the market.

For those who blinked and missed the Greenmarket's crop of sour cherries, a pilgrimage must be made to Brighton Beach. Forget hipster Brooklyn enclaves like Gowanus  and Red Hook that are making the "Brooklyn" brand an international shorthand for coolness. For produce lovers, this Russian area is Brooklyn's best neighborhood. This rule applies doubly for enthusiasts of produce that is popular with Eastern Europeans.

In case you're wondering if sour cherries fall into this category, take a look at this UN Food and Agricultural Organization chart (courtesy of Wikipedia) or a rival chart about sour cherry production embedded in this Power Point presentation.

Rank	Country	Sour cherry production in Metric Tonnes
1	Russia	235,000
2	Ukraine	178,000
3	Turkey	140,000
4	Poland	138,000
5	Serbia	116,000
6	USA	98,000
7	Hungary	82,000
8	Germany	80,000
9	Iran	51,000
10	Georgia	15,000
11	Moldova	15,000
12	Belarus	15,000
13	Denmark	14,000
14	Albania	8,200
15	Croatia	7,500

(For those Russians who can't cope with sour cherries' short season, there's always компот (compote). 

Sour cherries fall into two categories: the dark red morello, which have red flesh, and rosy red amarelle, which have pale flesh. (Compare the picture at the top of this blog post with the picture below.)  Montmorency cherries, an amarelle variety, are the most widely sold in the US.  

But how do sour cherries stack up against  "regular" Bing cherries? I bought some of each to find out.

As you can see from the pictures, sour cherries (on the left) are smaller and rounder and a little lighter in color. Their flesh is less dense than the Bing cherries' and their taste is - no surprise here - tangy and and a bit pucker-worthy, less uncomplicatedly sweet than the Bings' taste. Both kinds of cherries were very pleasing. In the interest of being thorough in my research, I ate all of both kinds.

Sour cherries have a different nutritional profile than sweet cherries. They have a little less sugar and fewer calories. Their tart taste is also associated with their high concentration of antioxidants. 

According to researchers at Oregon Health & Science University, sour cherries have "the highest anti-inflammatory content of any food." A roundup of the health benefits of sour cherries by the National College of Natural Medicine is impressive: tumor reduction in parts of the gut; improved quality and duration of sleep (because of sour cherries' melatonin; decreased post-exercise muscle soreness and inflammation; and greater strength following exercise. Choose Cherries, the website of a trade group that promotes sour cherries, lists studies that link sour cherries to reduced risk of heart disease; reduced risk of stroke; reductions in the inflammation associated with arthritis and gout; and reductions in blood cholesterol and triglycerides. The American Chemical Society's Journal of Agricultural & Food Chemistry suggested that sour cherries might be helpful in lowering diabetic people's blood sugar levels and increasing insulin production, prompting the author of its announcement to write, "Perhaps George Washington wouldn't have chopped down his father's cherry tree if he knew what chemists now know."  

Of course, before there were chemists analyzing sour cherries' health benefits, there were chefs creating sour cherry delicacies: sour cherry soup (fondly recalled as a summertime treat by my Viennese neighbor Rose), kriek lambic beer, Persian sour cherry-saffron rice, Turkish nectars and syrups, and my husband's favorite dessert, cherry strudel. (He, like other Upper East Siders of a certain vintage, still mourns the loss of the great Mrs. Herbst but gains comfort in the existence of Andre's Cafe and European Bakery.)

And you needn't be from Eastern Europe or Western Asia to appreciate the culinary possibilities: the US has its own ode to sour cherries: cherry pie.

But when you're torn between fried cherry pie pockets and medicinal "superfood" tart cherry powder - a divide that nicely epitomizes our oftentimes crazy approach to food in this country - remember, there's a lovely fruit in there. 

And you don't have to be a cultist to enjoy it.

Why Aren't You More Popular?

I can't predict which actors will become stars - I can't even agree with the popular consensus about which celebrities are good-looking - and I am similarly stumped about why certain fruits or vegetables miss the popularity boat.

Here's a good case in point: why isn't purple cabbage more popular?

Why aren't you more popular?

Purple cabbage is beautiful. It's very low in calories yet almost unbelievably nutritious - a great or great source of fiber, Vitamin C, Vitamin K, Vitamin B6, folate, manganese, thiamin, calcium, iron, magnesium, phosphorous and potassium. It even has some alpha-linolenic acid (ALA), a desirable essential fatty acid. The cabbage's beauty and great nutritional profile are actually wedded together in the cabbage's concentration of deeply pigmented anthocyanins - the source of its lovely color -  which can help fight cancer, heart disease, macular degeneration and other diseases. 

Purple cabbage is widely available. Here are some heads of purple cabbage on sale this week - in February! - at the Union Square Farmers Market.

Looking gorgeous in February

But you know I wouldn't bother writing about purple cabbage if it didn't taste good.

I love having a purple cabbage on hand. When I buy one, I put it in a plastic bag, knot up the bag's end, and put the cabbage in the refrigerator. I have found that the cabbage will stay fresh for 2 weeks or more, just about the longest of any item of produce I have ever purchased. Another plus in purple cabbage's favor.

What are its down sides? I have given thought to this matter, and I've come up with a list of two items:

1) Most people think of the cabbage that isn't green as red cabbage, not purple. Purple cabbage has no recognition, no Q Score, so of course it's not popular.
2) When people think of cabbage, they think of smelly boiled cabbage, an overcooked vegetable and maybe some old gym socks boiled in a tureen. 

My responses:
1) Okay, okay, I'll call it red cabbage from now on!
2) So don't boil it!

The easiest way to avoid boiling red cabbage is by using it in the most famous of all cabbage salads - cole slaw. Just substitute the red for the green cabbage or use a mixture of cabbages. You could also pickle cabbage. Here's a good picked cabbage recipe.

(I should hasten to say that I have nothing against green cabbage. I just think red cabbage tastes better and is more appealing, even rousing, on the plate.)

I like to cook my red cabbage. I like to sautee/braise it.

Braised red cabbage with apple 

I begin by cutting the cabbage into large chunks, just short of shredding it. I cut out and discard the core. If the cabbage head has tough outer leaves, I generally discard them, since they are the gritty protectors of the cabbage head.

Getting ready, getting shreddy

I spray my large skillet with olive oil spray, turn on the heat and dump in the cabbage. Once the cabbage is sizzling, I add just enough water to prevent it from scorching and season it with some salt. I keep a watch on the pot, stirring and adding water as needed to prevent the scorching. 

A lovely sight to behold

I frequently add two ingredients to the mix: apple slices and ginger paste. A little background on each: my son likes his apples cut up but doesn't always eat them. These uneaten slices go back into the fridge to be used for this recipe. Another source of apples is the occasional bad apple in the barrel, the mealy, the not-rotten but nevertheless flavorless, the cook it or compost it. Think of this as the ""When bad produce happens to good people" solution.

I first became acquainted with ginger paste via The Vah Chef, an inspiring Indian chef and cooking instructor. He used ginger paste and ginger-garlic paste all the time - even when he used fresh ginger and fresh garlic in his recipes. Both are available in Indian groceries and worth checking out. Keep them in your fridge and never worry about grating a withered knob of ginger again. The paste has a great texture for mixing and adds a polished, finished note to many vegetable dishes. Really, rush out now and buy some! A Tanzanian friend told me that ginger paste was one of her mother's first purchases when she arrived to their new home in Chicago, and it has had a permanent parking spot in her refrigerator since then.

I like to dissolve about a tablespoon of ginger paste in water, give it a good stir, and then mix it in to my cabbage. 

The  Vah Chef says "Vah!" about ginger paste

Other possible additions: red wine; red wine vinegar; a handful of caraway seeds; all of the above. Add these ingredients early in the cooking. I sometimes add a splash of balsamic at the end of cooking if I've skipped the ginger paste. Total cooking time = at least 15 minutes (just wilted, still some crunch) or more. Make sure you don't burn the cabbage while keeping the liquid levels very minimal.

Add a splash

Braised red cabbage has a voluptuous, hearty flavor that belies its low calories and simple preparation. I've been gratified that friends have enjoyed it too. "I can't believe how good this is," one friend said recently. "And believe me, I would not have made this dish for myself in a million years. Now I'm going to buy some cabbage next time I go shopping."

Extra nice when the weather's frightful and most fresh vegetable options are as cruddy as the weather

Who's unpopular now?

Portrait of a cabbage by my father-in-law