rhubarb, rhubarb

Rhubarb 'Timperley Early' is living up to its name.  I suddenly realised a few days ago that there were stalks long enough to pull, while the other rhubarb crowns have barely got beyond the stage of shoving out a few fat red buds to show that they are still alive.  I decided that we would have rhubarb pudding for lunch.  When I went to pick it, some of the stalks were already fatter than my two thumbs put together.  I didn't take those, in case they were already tough, though Timperley always produces thicker stems than some varieties.

The pudding I had my eye on was a Diana Henry recipe I saw on the Telegraph website.  I kept the page open, meaning to copy it, but lost it when I had to reboot my laptop because it was running so slowly it wouldn't do anything.  Then the Telegraph website refused to allow me to open the page again, saying that the file requested was too large.  This is a particular glitch with the Torygraph running on Chrome, which I know they have known about since at least last September, because I asked them about it.  Given that the Telegraph is the only newspaper I actually pay money to read, I feel they should have solved the issue by now.  Instead I had to open up Windows Explorer, a browser I haven't used for so long I have forgotten how it works, but I managed to find Diana Henry's piece, and quickly copied it to Word.

Having now eaten all of it, I can confirm that it is a very good and useful pudding.  Assuming you like rhubarb, that is.  Neither Jane Grigson nor Elizabeth David did, so they don't have much useful to say on the subject.  It is a useful pudding because it is intended to be eaten at room temperature, and the left-overs keep well in the fridge and are still good to eat the next day or even the day after that.  I love puddings that can be prepared in advance for when we are entertaining.  No trying to judge what time we'll have finished the main course, and scuttling out to the kitchen half way through to check the pudding isn't starting to burn, or cooking it before the guests arrive and finding that after keeping warm for an hour and a half, it has gone soggy, or hard, or curdled.  My only criticism of Diana Henry's rhubarb pudding is that it does create quite a lot of washing up.

You cook the rhubarb through before turning it into pudding.  That's a sensible precaution when combining most hard fruits with any kind of baked carbohydrate topping or substrate, so that the final cooking time can reflect how the topping is doing, not the fact that the fruit is still rock hard. The rhubarb is cooked gently for the minimum possible time to soften it without turning it to mush. Again, this is a good principle with anything involving sponge or pastry and rhubarb.  You don't want soggy sponge.  Diana Henry said to remove the rhubarb from its cooking dish at once, which makes sense as you are removing it from the heat, but then says to keep it in a second dish before transferring it to the final buttered dish in which you are going to make the pudding.  I couldn't see the point of the intermediate dish (more washing up) and put it straight into the final cooking receptacle.

The recipe specifies 500 grammes of rhubarb for six to eight people.  I have no idea how much rhubarb that is, but used four stalks, which is about enough to cover the bottom of my particular dish.  She suggests using 250 grammes of sugar in total, some of which is cooked with the rhubarb. I thought that sounded too much, and cut it down by around 50 grammes, but neither of us have a particularly sweet tooth, and I like puddings made with acid fruit to still be on the edge of sharpness.  Others might wish to stick to the original quantity.

The sponge is the fascinating part.  It is a cross between sponge and egg custard, and the rise is got partly by using a raising agent, and partly by whipping the egg whites separately before adding them.  I never came across it before, and it is a beautiful sponge, light and moist, which I should think would do just as well cooked over apples, or apricots, or plums, or even cooked without fruit and used as the basis of a fresh fruit flan, with cream.  It is heavily flavoured with lemon, that's the other thing that gives it a lift.

Separate three eggs.  Grate two lemons and squeeze the juice.  The recipe only says to use the juice of one large lemon, but my lemons weren't that large, so I squeezed both and used as much juice as felt right.  Beat the egg yolks with 175 grammes of caster sugar, or less if that sounds too sweet to you, until they turn pale.  Add the lemon zest, as much juice as you're using, 75 grammes of self raising flour, 150 millilitres of single cream and the same of milk.  You might panic that it is going to curdle with all that lemon, but it doesn't.  Add a pinch of cream of tartar to the egg whites and whip to stiff peaks.  I wonder whether the cream of tartar matters?  I bought some just in case, but it would have been easier not to have to.  Fold the whites into the rest of the batter with a metal spoon.  I spent some time doing this, concerned that otherwise I'd have lacunae of egg white in the finished sponge, and the lumps of egg white were quite reluctant to break up and incorporate.

The rhubarb must have cooled for the next stage.  Put the batter over the cooked rhubarb in the buttered dish and cook for an hour at 180 C, standing the pudding dish in a tray of boiling water that reaches halfway up the side.  If you have a fat, indignant tabby cat sleeping in front of the Aga, it is a good idea to remove her before doing this bit, to avoid any tragic accidents.  I checked on the pudding after fifty minutes, but it took the full hour.

Diana Henry's instructions say to dust with icing sugar, which I did not do because I didn't have any icing sugar, and to serve with thick cream, which I didn't do because I didn't buy any, and it was only lunch, not a dinner party.  Thick cream, or creme fraiche, would have been nice and I would definitely include it if entertaining.  It was delicious at room temperature, and pretty good out of the fridge when I ate some for breakfast the next day.

You can see where the washing up comes from.  You've got the lemon grater and squeezer, and two mixing bowls because of having to beat the egg whites, and the small bowls you used to separate the eggs, and the dish you cooked the rhubarb in, and two whisks, and a measuring jug for the milk.  Compared to a straightforward fruit crumble, it is not a quick pudding to assemble.  But it is very nice.  Diana Henry, thank you.