Normally, I do try not to give people the impression that I am some kind of fruit-obsessed dipsomaniac. I realise that posting a recipe for rhubarb schnapps right after one for a blood orange gin cocktail will probably not help my case very much, but if I wait a suitable period of time before I tell you about the schnapps it will be too late for you to make some too, and that would not do.
You see, the recipe calls for early pink rhubarb, and there is only so much ‘early’ (how is it March already? What happened?) left in the year. I suppose you could make this with ordinary, bog-standard rhubarb, but it would not glow nearly as alluringly sat on the kitchen windowsill: this is by far the prettiest drink in my house, even in a booze cupboard which includes violet liqueur. I can give it no higher recommendation. Well, apart from the fact that it’s also quite delicious – but look at it! do you even care what it tastes like?
It’s not as sticky and sweet as a fruit liqueur, but infinitely tastier than a flavoured vodka – I have waited not even half the length of time that I should have done before trying it, and already it tastes far better than I have been hoping (you would think I had better things to do with my time than spend all of it thinking about rhubarb schnapps, but apparently not). The pure rhubarb flavour is fantastically well preserved, any incipient astringency is well balanced by the sugar, and the considerable amount of vodka is reduced to a barely-there back note. I have had two glasses already today. You remember that rhubarb jelly I told you about? This tastes like that, only it’s mainly vodka. This could be dangerous.
Apparently, this should be left for four weeks before drinking, but I challenge you to have this sat, daintily, on your preserving shelf (if I pretend that everybody else has one, perhaps John will stop looking at me askance every time I demand one) and not dip a spoon in every once in a while – it’s certainly a good deal more satisfying than the annual wait to see if the sloe gin has stopped tasting like medicine yet. (Usually at least 4 months, if you’re interested. That’s a lot of puckered-face-inducing spoonfuls, although you would think we would learn).
For those of you still dithering: not only is it beautiful, and my new favourite thing to sip, slowly, from tiny Moroccan tea glasses, it is staggeringly easy to make. Rhubarb is rinsed and chopped, and put in a jar with some sugar and vodka. There may be some waiting in between, and afterwards, but this is really all that this requires. And for anyone who’s ever received my is-it-easy-to-make-jam answer (“Yes. You put fruit and sugar in a pan, and cook it until it’s jam”), and looked at me disbelievingly, this really is even easier than jam. You don’t even need to turn the hob on.
rhubarb schnapps
From Diana Henry’s Salt Sugar Smoke. Enough for a 1.5l jar, although I found that I couldn’t quite fit in all the rhubarb, and by the time it had macerated with the sugar and shrunk a bit to leave room in the jar, I’d made the rest into crumble. This seemed a satisfactory enough arrangement to me, mind.
Diana suggests that you can add much less sugar to this, if you prefer.
900g early pink rhubarb
350g granulated sugar
900ml vodka
Rinse the rhubarb, chop off any manky bits and leaves and cut it into 2cm lengths. Put these into a clean jar with the sugar, shake to mix and leave overnight, until the juice has been drawn out of the rhubarb. The next morning, pour the vodka over the mixture, seal the jar and shake again (first checking that your jar really is as watertight as it is advertised to be – no prizes for guessing whose wasn’t).
Leave for four weeks (!) before drinking. If you like, this can be strained through a muslin-lined sieve into a bottle for adding to a more refined drinks cabinet, or left in the jar with the rhubarb and spooned out as you go. It will keep for a year, although the colour will fade.
katherineeats 