taste: rhubarb compote

This very quick recipe is for the lady at the farmers’ market last weekend who saw me buying rhubarb and wanted to know how to cook it. I don’t think I steered her too wrong. Rhubarb is another of those fruits (vegetables?) that I *hated* as a kid (hello kale) that are now everywhere, and some of my very favorite things. I know fashion influences what we find attractive, but it’s a bit more disturbing to think that it influences how we taste, although I’m sure it does. I don’t know what it was about rhubarb that I used to hate. Probably the texture, and the slightly cloying smell, or perhaps there was too much or too little sugar in the rhubarb crumble we got at primary school. I loved rhubarb and custard sweets, though (sorry, teeth).

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(See how much prettier things are with the good camera? Man.) As a compote, poached in the simplest way, this has been a lovely breakfast all week (once again inspired by the Paris market, where the stalks were twice the size). Even though the rhubarb stalks from the Socrates farmers’ market were a bit wilted in the afternoon heat, once washed and sliced into one-inch pieces, all streaky green-and-pink, they looked fine and fresh. In a medium pan, I half-covered them with water and sprinkled them with about a quarter cup of sugar, and heated them gently until they did their thing–obligingly collapsing together into a a lovely rosy orange mush. I turn off the heat while there are still a few visible chunks, so this takes about ten to fifteen minutes. I had nothing on hand to jazz them up – orange juice and/or zest, fresh ginger, or strawberries. But chilled and served in glop over plain yoghurt and sprinkled with granola, they don’t need anything else.

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