Heavenly Rhubarb Rosewater Concoctions

Totally not my photo, alas.  No marble slab nor coolly sculpted glassware with gilded rims here.  The photo conjures up the halcyon days of summery elegance: big hats; fawn dresses in tiny floral print; and ice-beaded glasses of something pink and bubbly.  Some sort of buttery lemon cookie to top it all off. 

I fell under the spell of rosewater at first taste after making a batch of Rosewater Mousse
last summer.  Light and airy, it bordered on orgasmic.  So of course I made a batch when my girl was home for Christmas (we're into molded desserts, who knows why?)  She was so enthralled I'd catch her in the kitchen eating yet another serving.  Her sweet husband let her eat it all, (although come to think of it, he was raiding the fridge for the prime rib and turkey!  I aim to please all palettes.)    I made a second batch using buttermilk instead of yogurt and Tyler ate it all.  Ryan had discovered the prime rib soup by then.  Oh, and those marvelous chocolate cookies.  Note to self:  make those again.

I made some fabulous Rosewater - Pistachio Cookies
Mmmmm.  Heaven.

I randomly looked up rhubarb and rosewater anything and came up with syrup and jam recipes.  Okay, I have a thriving rhubarb bush (only because it's protected by a tomato cage from Mr. Moose.  He likes to sun in that very spot.  He likes to sun in that very spot for everything I grow.  Hmmph.)  I have rosewater.  Ready to go.

I followed the recipe steps, all going great guns.  The rhubarb aroma scented the surrounding air.  This is gonna be good.  When it was time to strain the syrup I ran into trouble.  I keep a Melitta coffee cone for these very tasks.  The diameter is just a bit small for any of my bowls so I often slide a cooling rack between the receiving bowl and the coffee cone.  Yes, it is precarious although I've been successful up til now.  Last night I performed this little operation on the stovetop (yep, pretty dumb...) and the cone got jiggled and lost balance.  Mushy, sugary rhubarb all over the stovetop, down the oven doors, and splat right onto the dog rug.  Such a mess.

But all was not lost.  There was about two cups in the receiving bowl.  I soldiered on and finished up the syrup.  It has a phenomenal flavor.  I don't think I'm going to share.

The photo and the recipe are from 

101 Cookbooks

Rhubarb Rosewater Syrup

HS: I use lime here, I think it really adds something, a needed edge. That said, lemon is quite nice as well.
4 large / 500 g / 1 pound rhubarb stalks, chopped
2 cups / 400 g granulated sugar
2 cups / 475 ml water
2-3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lime juice, or to taste
scant 2 teaspoons rosewater, or to taste
rose petals, optional
Combine the rhubarb and sugar in a medium, thick-bottomed saucepan. Stir well, and leave for 45 minutes or so (unheated), stirring now and then.
Add the water and bring to a gentle simmer over medium heat, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Continue to simmer for another 15-20 minutes, until the rhubarb starts to break down. Carefully strain into a bowl through a cheesecloth-lined strainer. Transfer to a clean saucepan, stir in the lime juice, and bring to a simmer. Let simmer over medium heat for another 15 minutes or until the syrup has reduced quite a bit and thickened. Remove from heat and allow to cool completely.
Stir in the rosewater a bit at a time, until it is to your liking. Rose water can be quite an assertive flavor, so be judicious to start. It keeps, refrigerated, for a week or so.
Serve over yogurt, in soda water, or drizzled over waffles.
Makes one medium jar of syrup.
Prep time: 45 min - Cook time: 30 min


***********************************************
I was out picking blackberries with Moose, who is currently wearing the cone of shame, (skin problems.) That dog has the tongue of a giraffe, able to curl about a ripe berry and pull it right off the bramble, into his mouth.  His cone has a lovely berry-pink cast between strips of duct tape that hold the thing together.  He is a strong, strong (and annoying) dog who rams into my legs with the cone.  He has a vindictive streak.



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