Rhubarb Ripple Ice Cream - Rhubarb Trilogy 2011 - Part II

Encouraged by David Lebovitz and his The Perfect Scoop, I have been making ice cream recently. I don’t love ice cream but I do have an ice cream maker which caused no small amount of post purchase depression. Consequently, I have fits and spurts of determination to use said machine.

Turning the pages and looking at perfectly scooped bowls of creamy indulgence, some beautifully swirled with bright fruit purées, I got to thinking about how uncommercial rhubarb is. Why is there no rhubarb ice cream next to the Black Raspberry Cheesecake and the Rum Raisin? I would stand up for the humble rhubarb and create the next ice cream sensation, Rhubarb Ripple.  

Instead of using the same recipe I have used for years for vanilla ice cream, I thought, since I was already reading it, I would use one from The Perfect Scoop. I followed the ingredient list perfectly and then forgot or didn’t bother to read the recipe instructions and carried on my way, happily ignoring the published directions and making it the way I would have made it anyhow. Regardless, it is perfect and delicious and not crazy sweet and the perfect foil for the rhubarb compote I was going to swirl through.

I would recommend, if you are really caught up in appearances, or taking pictures of your work for your blog, that while you split your vanilla bean, you watch what you are doing. Don’t watch your toddler scaling the kitchen cupboards or you will wind up with something like this.

Or, better yet, put down your knife and rescue your toddler from her tenuous toe hold on the edge of the drawer. In hindsight, you and your kitchen units will be happy you did.

Rhubarb Ripple Ice Cream (with some help from David Lebovitz and The Perfect Scoop)

Vanilla Ice Cream Base

1 cup (250 mL) whole milk

2 cups (500 mL) whipping cream

3/4 cup sugar

1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise

6 large egg yolks

Pinch of salt

Rhubarb Ripple

4 cups chopped rhubarb

1 cup granulated sugar

4 tablespoons (1/4 cup) lemon juice

Scrape out the seeds of the vanilla bean and add to a large saucepan with the milk, cream and sugar. Gently bring to a boil. Immediately remove from heat.

Beat egg yolks and pinch of salt in a bowl and slowly pour about a third of the hot cream mixture into the yolks, whisking all the time. 

Slowly pour the yolk mixture back into the pan with the remaining cream whisking all the time.

Return to the stove and over a low heat, stirring constantly, cook until the mixture coats the back of a spoon. You can test by running a finger through the mixture on the back of the spoon. It should hold the path left by your finger.

Pour the mixture into a bowl and chill.

Put the rhubarb, sugar and lemon juice in another medium saucepan and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the mixture is thick enough to hold a track in the bottom of the pan when you run a spoon through it. As the mixture thickens, you will need to stir it more frequently to prevent burning. It will be thick and syrupy and will measure just shy of 1 1/2 cups when it is properly cooked down.

Pour into a bowl and chill.

Freeze the ice cream base in an ice cream maker according to manufacturer’s instructions. If you don’t have an ice cream maker you can try it the way I explained here.

Put a large metal mixing bowl in the freezer to chill while the ice cream is freezing.

When the ice cream is frozen, transfer it to chilled bowl and quickly fold/swirl/gently stir about 1 cup of the rhubarb mixture in. You don’t want to fully incorporate it it, you want to keep the rhubarb in swirl or ripples. You also want to do this as quickly as possible to prevent as much melting as you can.

Immediately transfer to the freezer to set up again.

Commercial, it may not be but delicious, there is no question.

Roasted Rhubarb - Rhubarb Trilogy 2011 Part I

As I mentioned here, what seems like only a few days ago but in reality is nearly a month, rhubarb and strawberry season was underway on a recent visit to England.

It was on this trip that Poppy re-discovered Eton Mess and labelled it as the best thing in the world. So good, it was, and is still, requested at the faintest whiff of a strawberry.  

After our first Cornish lane experience in a good two years, following signs promising the first fresh strawberries of the year, I was a little shaky. We unbuckled and made our way up the path. I was worried the berries would be sold out or, even worse, Spanish. Poppy was worried the farmer would be in the fields, unable to be found to sell his or her goods. Tilly was just happy to be unbuckled from the sick making journey to get there.

Lucky day, the farmer was in her shop and had flats of huge, juicy strawberries just in from their very own tunnels, flanked by stalks and stalks of ruby red rhubarb, begging to join our berries.

Normally, without the prospect of Eton Mess, Poppy would be all over a nice bunch of rhubarb. The berries and thoughts of cream and meringue were too much though and she made me promise, promise, promise that if we got rhubarb too, I could not mix it in thereby destroying everything an Eton Mess is supposed to be.

I didn’t mix it in, but I did put it on top. And, then I put it on top of muesli and yogurt in the morning and then on top of ice cream and then, I thought some pork, roast or chops, would benefit hugely from a few bits of this on top and a sprinkling of sea salt. Or, I thought, maybe a nice wedge of camembert or a bit of goat cheese and some oat cakes would be a nice medium. What I am trying to say is that there isn’t a whole lot that I don’t think this would be really good with. 

When you roast these, you’ll find they start to look a ‘little splody’, meaning they have almost burst their skins. That is fine. As the rhubarb cools, it will firm up and then you can move it around gently.

Roasted Rhubarb

7 big stalks of rhubarb washed and cut into 3-inch pieces

3/4 cups sugar

Preheat oven to 375ºF. If you have a convection oven, or fan in your oven, I would use it. If not, you may need to increase the cooking time. 

Line a baking sheet with parchment.

Toss the pieces of rhubarb in the sugar and arrange them on the baking sheet. Sprinkle the sugar that is left behind over them.

Bake for about 20 minutes, checking often, until they look like they are bursting and the edges have started to brown.

Remove from oven and cool. Transfer to a container or plate, reserving any juices for drizzling.

Use them to top Eton Mess, or muesli or yogurt or cheese or meat. You get the idea.

It's a Hard Life

In the past, you know those very few times I remembered to actually do it, Recipeless Wednesday was a photo and just a photo. While all this travel, as I have discovered, leaves little time for anything other than tea, I thought at least I could take pictures and tell you a bit about it. Luckily, the daughters and I have being very well cared for. Meals and laundry and comfy beds abound.

I could use a little more wi-fi access to the interweb, all available at the cafe down the road but the likelihood of accompishing anything other than a MacBook swimming in spilled hot chocolate is slim. My less optimistic visions of the mayhem involve Tilly jumping across the tables, lattes and cappuccinos spilling every which way as she shouts, 'Mine, mine, mine,' wielding a spoon reaching for the chocolate sprinkles of strangers and other terrified small children.

We started out on a high note, with our very own fashion dos and don'ts on Wills' and Kate's big day. We decided that hats are back unless, of course, they are really just nude coloured fancy Minnie Mouse ears. Not sure anyone could pull that/those off. All this royal telly watching with cups of tea to fuel the six am start.

Then we enjoyed an amazing day here where we, and our cupcake smeared gaggle of cousins, didn't venture past the dining room but, after a quick internet squizz, I am determined to go back for longer than an afternoon. We were treated to a Royal Wedding Tea Party complete with wedding cake and, more importantly, Pimm's. It was all served in idyllic English surrounds on a day straight out of July. After tea and cakes and little cucumber sandwiches delivered to the garden by icing-wired offspring, I almost couldn't bear the thought of returning to bathe and put to bed my children.

Then, there was more tea, and more cake, in the form of Annabel's Marmalade Cake, recipe and more children happily playing together while their mothers determined the best and worst dressed. I will post this in due time. I am starting to worry that this will become a blog about delicious things to eat with a cup of tea and, consequently, I'll need to let my trousers out.

Later that week, we had coffee with Rosie in Appleby. Her and her husband, Andrew, run The Courtyard Gallery. Stephen would have been most impressed with my restraint, Poppy's Deborah Hopson-Wolpe bowl almost got a mate and I could hear my cupboards crying out for Dartington pottery. Rosie makes the cakes for the gallery cafe so we were treated to a walnut cake and Tiffin squares and some other things that my children devoured before I got to try.

The next day we got to Cornwall, after a most stoic, if I may say so, eight hour car journey on my own with the girls. For that day, our gustatory experiences were enjoyed on a path of least resistance basis and somewhat limited by and to motorway service stations and coffee (lots of) with bribes of chocolate and sweets, like they hadn't been eating all that for the last ten days.

Crossing the Tamar, into Poppy's birthplace, as she'll all too readily explain, is a bit of a homecoming. It is our English home. Cornwall has brought us asparagus by the literal bucket load. Said asparagus gets itself drizzled in just shy of a bucket load of melted butter and a generous salt and peppering and calls itself supper. I have absolutely no problem with that.

Poppy has been begging for rhubarb, she has only had it once since we got here, and Eton Mess, that too has also only been had once. She has determined it is better than pavlova, it is essentially smooshed pavlova. Luckily for her, we managed to not get lost, stuck or drive the car into a hedge on some single track Cornish lanes leading to the farm shop where, as their sign four miles back promised, they had not only rhubarb, but fresh strawberries too.

We drove back to the grandparents' as fast as our out of practice Cornish lane navigating would allow and set about the yummiest of English puds and roasting our rhubarb. All the pictures and instructions to come in the first installment of 2011's Rhubarb Trilogy. All this, just as soon as I find some wi-fi.