I don’t know what it is about Sternschanze, this funky neighborhood in Hamburg stocked with fruit markets, kitchen shops, Asian jewelry stores and killer street art, but they’ve got this rhubarb thing down.
Which means, guys, that I might have found heaven on earth.
For example, just outside a bombed-out building that looked exactly the same as it did in the summer of 1945, aside from florescent smatterings of graffiti, I ordered cream gelato swirled with pink rhubarb compote.
But the best was yet to come. For dinner, we stopped at a tiny Turkish spot for kumpir, which is a type of baked jacket potato, stuffed with hummus, cucumber salad, shredded carrots, cilantro and a smattering of purple-spiced zatar, and it was there that I spotted my new best friend.
Rhabarberschorle.
In Northern Germany, you rarely drink juice straight up — instead you mix it 50/50 with mineral water and end up with a light soda. I’d been happily sipping away at Apfelschorle (apple soda) every night at my guest parents’ house, but this rhubarb stuff was something special.
This drink lets the bright, tart fruit (vegetable?) take center stage, and it’s about time. Strawberry rhubarb tiramisu, anyone? Panna cotta? Strawberry-rhubarb marzipan cake? I think I’m on another rhubarb kick, and good thing, because the lovely fruit/vegetable/thing is finally in season.
Also, this drink tastes like pink champagne should. Confession: I don’t actually know what pink champagne tastes like, and I never will, but I think we can all agree that it’s gorgeous.
So, when I saw a recent post about this syrup on Smitten Kitchen (food blog addict, right here), I knew I had one thing to do this afternoon. I adapted Deb Perelman’s recipe, adding more rhubarb and dialing back the strawberries — because, hey. I’m all about that.
Strawberry-rhubarb soda syrup
(and bonus compote)
1 ½ pounds rhubarb, chopped
½ pound strawberries, quartered
1 cup water
1 cup sugar
squirt of lemon
This could not be easier. Just toss everything but the lemon in a pot and bring it to a boil. Stir every so often. Simmer for 20 minutes or so (the fruit will be breaking down), then turn off the heat. Let it sit for a while so the flavors can marry (cute, huh?), then squeeze in some lemon to taste, just to intensify the flavors. Finally, push the mixture through a strainer. You’ll end up with this gorgeous red-pink syrup and a jar of compote you can dollop over yogurt or ice cream. And just another bonus — the syrup is the most fab thing ever served over ice cream. Just sayin’.
For schorle, take about two tablespoons of syrup and dilute with sparkling water. Adjust soda and syrup amounts to your liking.
@AnnaDrysdale