Celebrating rhubarb
Mini pistachio, blood orange & rose rhubarb Baked Alaska, lemon chamomile & rhubarb scones, rhubarb, cardamom & champagne jam + more!
Winter lingers, draping the landscape in its hushed, grey veil. The mornings arrive heavy with mist, curling around rooftops and pooling in quiet cobbled streets. Now and then, the sun makes a fleeting appearance, slipping through the fog, scattering gold across frost-laced windows - only to vanish again, as if teasing us with the promise of spring. Yet the air remains sharp, the cold insistent.
Oh, how I miss California in February. And so, there is only one proper recourse to England’s endless gloom: rhubarb. Blushing pink against the season’s monochrome, it arrives like a quiet rebellion to the lingering chill. Its slender stalks, vivid as watercolor brushstrokes, cut through the grey with a brightness that holds promise. The vegetable’s acidity, tamed by sugar and spice, softens into something lush and deeply comforting. If the season refuses to turn, we’ll summon its warmth ourselves, one mouthful at a time.
This is a rather long post, so feel free to view via the website or app if the email cuts out.
This week’s newsletter is, once again, a love letter to sugar, laden with rhubarb in all its tart, fragrant glory.
The recipes take inspiration from bakeries and restaurants in both New York and London. Some lean into the art of slow, weekend cooking, such as the mini pistachio, blood orange and rose rhubarb Baked Alaska. This was inspired by a particularly lovely Valentine’s dinner my husband and I enjoyed at Spring, in London. Others are simpler, more immediate pleasures: chamomile, lemon zest and rhubarb biscuits (or scones, if you’re English), dipped in a blood orange and rhubarb glaze then crowned with a jewel-like sliver of stewed rhubarb—perfect with a cup of tea.
We’re also exploring ingredients that pair well with rhubarb, especially when they make the most of its versatility. One example of this is where a homemade rhubarb syrup does double (or triple) duty appearing in a rhubarb and grapefruit fizz cocktail, with plenty left over to drizzle on ice cream, use in jellies or as a glaze for tarts.
Finally, I had the pleasure of speaking with JR Ryall, the pastry chef at Ballymaloe House and author of Ballymaloe Desserts: Iconic Recipes and Stories from Ireland, who shared some of his favorite restaurants as well as the ingredient he’s most excited about right now (care to guess?).
Forced rhubarb season is in full swing in the UK. In Yorkshire’s famed Rhubarb Triangle, the vegetable is grown in the darkness of candlelit sheds until the luminous pink stalks are ready for pulling.
If you’re in the US, however, you may have to wait until early spring, when field-grown rhubarb begins to appear at farmers’ markets - its color less intense but its tartness just as bracing. No matter, spring is around the corner, so save this newsletter for later or make the recipes here, swapping in whatever’s in season (cough citrus!).
Rhubarb & Pistachio - I often mention this pairing, and for good reason. Rhubarb and pistachio bring out the best in each other. One is sharp and vegetal, the other rich and faintly floral. The acidity of rhubarb, especially when cooked down into a jam with champagne and cardamom, cuts through the buttery depth of pistachios, keeping their sweetness from becoming cloying. On lazy Sundays I occasionally bake a no-recipe recipe pistachio and rhubarb tart that hits the spot. A sheet of puff pastry forms the foundation, spread with tart, aromatic champagne, cardamom and rhubarb jam, then layered with pistachio frangipane, (a nod to the pistachio cream recipe from Baking at République), before baking to golden perfection.
For the decoration, the pretty rhubarb strips you see in the photo above are created by placing a few thick stalks of rhubarb in a baking tin or dish, before adding sugar and just enough water to cover before poaching for 10 to 15 minutes. After cooling and refrigerating, slice the stalks.
has a great method for this process here. The recipe for the rhubarb, cardamom and champagne jam is below.
Rhubarb & Blood Orange – If rhubarb is the heroine of a Brontë novel - windswept, tart-tongued, and prone to drama, then blood orange is the rakish stranger who coaxes out her softer side. Together, they strike the perfect balance of sharp and sweet, their deep pinks and reds swirling like a Turner sky. A compote of the two is a revelation when spooned over thick yogurt, folded into ice cream, or simply eaten, still warm, straight from the pan.
Rhubarb & Honey – Sugar tames rhubarb, but honey romances it. Honey turns rhubarb’s brashness into something more mellow, reminiscent of late afternoons and sun-warmed fields. Think of a slice of toasted sourdough, thick with ricotta, slathered with honey-roasted rhubarb - simple, but unforgettable, so that you find yourself thinking about the decadent rich, sweet, tangy creaminess of this offering, long after the last bite.
Rhubarb & Rose – This is the kind of pairing you imagine might have been served in some gilded romantic Viennese café a century ago. Rose doesn’t just complement rhubarb; it lifts it, refines it, transforming its tartness into something perfumed and ephemeral. A rhubarb and rose panna cotta, wobbly and delicate, might be the closest thing to eating a line of Neruda. Or, why not try making my homemade rhubarb and rose ice cream? Making ice cream is easier than you might think.
Rhubarb & Fish – An unexpected but deeply effective pairing, where rhubarb’s acidity plays the role of citrus, lifting the richness of oily fish. Think of how lemon cuts through butter— rhubarb does the same. Chef Jeremy Chan at Ikoyi pairs rhubarb with red mullet. Inspired.
Rhubarb and Pink Champagne - This combination shares more than just a rosy hue; they both balance sweetness with acidity, making them natural partners in both desserts and drinks. The Victorians, ever fond of a botanical flourish, adored rhubarb in preserves and puddings, often pairing it with wine or spirits to tame its tartness. Pink champagne, with its fine bubbles and delicate fruit notes, does the job beautifully- think of it as a more elegant (and intoxicating) alternative to the classic rhubarb and custard pairing.
Scroll down for my Rhubarb fizz, a bright, effervescent cocktail that puts grapefruit juice and fresh rhubarb syrup to work.
Chamomile, Lemon & Rhubarb Scones
(or biscuits, depending on your passport)
You’ll notice I flit between American and British spelling, as well as the occasional transatlantic naming dilemma—scones or biscuits? That’s because I straddle both worlds, married to an American and now, officially, a citizen myself. So, bear with me.
I had a very clear vision for these scones: layered and impossibly flaky, rich with butter but never leaden, kissed with florals and citrus, sweet but not cloying. Chamomile and lemon zest bring a gentle, honeyed brightness, while a rhubarb and blood orange glaze, crowned with stewed rhubarb, adds both tartness and a striking blush.
I can’t tell you how many batches I’ve baked over the past few weeks. My freezer groans under the weight of my trials. I’ve tested methods from NYT Cooking, Martha Stewart, and the ever-brilliant Boy Who Bakes. I’ve tinkered with butter (cubed or grated?), sugar ratios (more? less? brown or white?), and the merits of weaving flavor directly into the dough versus saving it for the glaze. Should the rhubarb be folded in, or left to shine on top? Chamomile or Earl Grey? Blood orange zest or lemon?
My initial inspiration came from a scone I spotted on Instagram from Librae Bakery in New York, a vision of layered pastry that I felt compelled to recreate. After extensive testing, I’ve settled on two distinct approaches — one adapted from The Boy Who Bakes, yielding a delicate, laminated scone with just 20g of sugar, ethereal and light; the other, drawn from NYT Cooking, is heartier and sweeter, perfect for those who prefer a more substantial bite. Both can be eaten as they are with a little rhubarb glaze, or warm with butter and jam.
And, because I couldn’t resist, I’ve included a simple but dangerously good cinnamon-salted honey butter*, just the thing to melt luxuriously into those warm, golden layers.
*Note: simply follow the salted cinnamon honey butter method from the salted cinnamon honey butter toast recipe (all recipes below!).
Baked Alaska
Baked Alaska: a weekend project, yes, but one that rewards patience with a spectacle worth every step. First popularized in the 19th century (supposedly to commemorate the U.S. acquisition of Alaska), it has all the hallmarks of grande dining-room theatre. At the heart of my mini Alaskas are two layers of ice cream: rhubarb and rose and blood orange. This creamy center nestles atop a pistachio rose cake base, the nuttiness providing just enough earthy, buttery sweetness for the floral, citrus-kissed brightness above. Encased in a billow of meringue and torched to golden perfection, it’s a dessert that feels both nostalgic and extravagant. And honestly, I’m convinced that retro slightly over-the-top desserts of yesteryear are due for a comeback.
The Ice Cream
Ice cream is a stage for flavor, a slow-melting, delivery system that lets taste and aroma unfurl in delicate layers. The method is reassuringly simple. Combine dairy, sugar and perhaps eggs, churn, then freeze to silky perfection. However, within that framework lies endless alchemy. A plain custard base can cradle the hum of vanilla, the snap of citrus zest, or the earthiness of roasted nuts. Spices bloom, and even savory notes - cheese, miso, black garlic, find a place in its cold embrace. Have you ever visited Salt and Straw? This ice cream brand has incredibly wacky flavors such as fried chicken that always seem to work!
The magic of ice cream lies in its structure, frozen molecules lock in aromatic compounds, only to release them gradually as they melt, unfolding flavor in slow, delicate waves across the palate.
If you decide to make both the rhubarb and rose ice cream and the blood orange version, you’ll quickly find they’re both stand-alone delights. Wonderful enjoyed with or without a scattering of roughly chopped pistachio or even made into a sundae by adding warm fruit or chocolate fudge sauces. I do love a scoop of ice cream after a good meal.
Salted cinnamon honey butter ‘toast’
The salted cinnamon honey toasts are a quick 15-minute project, inspired by an iconic creation from Arôme Bakery in London. They make the perfect base for a variety of toppings, like stewed rhubarb with a dollop of mascarpone and lemon, or a luscious spoonful of passion fruit curd.
Renowned for his exquisite confections (I mean, just look at the photo above!) at Ballymaloe House, JR Ryall has a deep appreciation for seasonality, craftsmanship, and the magic of good ingredients. His cookbook is a constant source of inspiration, so I was especially excited to ask him about the ingredient he’s most eager to work with right now, his favorite places to eat, and his best advice for reducing food waste in the kitchen.
At Ballymaloe, seasonality is at the heart of everything. What’s the one ingredient you’re most excited about in February, and how are you using it in your desserts?
We’ve always cooked with the seasons at Ballymaloe and in February we celebrate rhubarb. The very first rhubarb is forced, meaning it is grown indoors in the dark, or under a cloche, and as a result it is vibrantly pink. Soon after, in late February, the outdoor rhubarb plants in the centuries-old walled garden come to life, and the variety we grow at Ballymaloe has a wonderful rich red colour and deep flavour. It makes its way into fools, compotes, pies, elegant open tartlets, meringues, and of course, custard rhubarb tart, one of my favourite desserts - I love how the sweetness of silky custard balances the tartness of the rhubarb.
Many home cooks struggle with food waste, are there any ingredients you repurpose in the kitchen that people might not think to save? Any tips?
It's very satisfying to make something delicious as a byproduct of something else, take fruit compotes for example. Whenever I poach fruit and there is surplus poaching syrup, I see it as a precious ingredient, an extract of the fruit, wonderful for making jellies, granita, and even cocktails. I love to make use of things that might otherwise be overlooked and discarded.
Favorite current restaurant for a cozy winter dinner?
Close to home, in Cork city, I love Goldie, a wonderful little restaurant serving delicious seafood. In London, Quo Vadis is my winter go-to. I love the simple yet confident food there, especially the desserts. And in New York City I always go to King, a fantastic restaurant with the most delicious food and a cozy neighbourhood vibe.
Do you have a favorite bakery or lunch spot you've recently discovered?
Recently I was in Mexico city which is always a special place for me. I went to a great bakery called Saint, they serve very good coffee and pastries. And my new favourite lunch spot here is Maizajo, a taqueria that uses heritage corn varieties, and they make the most delicious salsas and mole you can imagine.
Favorite cookbooks that are brilliant for home bakers?
I love Sarah Johnson's book Fruitful. It's full of inspiring recipes that make the most of fruit through the seasons. And Claire Ptak's Violet Bakery Cookbook is another favourite that I think is essential for the home baker.
Let’s start with the foundational recipes such as stewed rhubarb, jam, and syrup, which serve as essential building blocks for many of our dishes and are invaluable staples in any culinary arsenal.
Note: You may notice some repetition (namely in the method) in the recipes - this is intentional. Each recipe is designed to stand alone, allowing you to jump straight to the one that interests you most without needing to reference earlier sections. However, in some cases, such as the rhubarb syrup, one recipe builds upon another, so be sure to check the preceding instructions when needed.
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