Welcome! It’s been a blast, reconnecting with some readers and meeting others through my newish newsletter. If there’s something you’d like me to explore, or feature more, please let me know. I’m all ears and eyes.
I get a little giddy this time of year. The emergence of cherry blossoms around Washington— sprays of pink and perfume on the landscape — are a lovely foil to days when it truly feels as if the sky is falling here and abroad.
Some of us walk around the Tidal Basin to get our fill, but even from a car slowed by traffic, the sight of so much lightness is meditative.
Cherry blossoms feel like something everyone can get around.
I feel the same buoyancy when I first spy rhubarb in the market. Its crimson color stands out like rubies; its fleeting nature makes the vegetable still more desirable. Rhubarb is one of the relatively few ingredients available fresh, like Mid-Atlantic shad, only in its season, typically April through June. (Hothouse rhubarb appears as early as January, but garden-grown rhubarb offers more intense flavor.)
Fetching as it is, rhubarb turns out to be a powerhouse. It comes out swinging with Vitamins K and C, good for bones and the immune system, respectively, and fiber. Low in calories, it’s also a probiotic, tending to your gut microbiome. Some people think rhubarb is related to celery because of its similar stalks and makeup. (Both are about 95 percent water.) It’s not. Rhubarb belongs to the buckwheat family; celery to the parsley tribe.
Chef Neraj Govil making rhubarb chutney at Malabar restaurant in D.C./Deb Lindsey Photography
None of this would matter if rhubarb’s taste weren’t singular. I relish the bracing pucker, the aggressive tartness — flavors typically softened, but not masked, by the added sweetness of sugar or fruit such as strawberries, raspberries or citrus.
If rhubarb were punctuation, it would be an exclamation point. It never disappears into a dish. Last spring, to great applause multiple times, I trotted out a rhubarb upside-down cake created by my former colleague Aaron Hutcherson. His cornmeal-based dessert is distinguished with the scent of cardamom and rhubarb cut into interlocking chevrons. Fancy.
Keep in mind, rhubarb isn’t just for dessert. I’ve enjoyed rhubarb chutney with lamb; rhubarb gastrique with game; and strips of pickled rhubarb in salads. In a memorable Persian khoresh, rhubarb acts as the souring foil to a lamb stew fragrant with fresh herbs. Nordic restaurants frequently use rhubarb to cut the fat of oily herring and mackerel.
Remember, too: Time is short. Stalk fresh rhubarb while you can.
Rhubarb tips
Look for firm, crisp stalks with a pink or deep-red color. They should not bend or have brown spots.
Use only stalks. Discard any leaves that might be attached, because they are toxic.
Bundle rhubarb, loosely and unwashed, in a damp paper towel and stow in your refrigerator’s crisper drawer for up to 2 or 3 weeks. Rinse before using.
When cooking rhubarb on the stovetop, it can go from firm to soft rather quickly. To retain some of its texture, monitor it closely and remove it from the heat while a few pieces still hold their shape.
For longer-term storage, chop the vegetable into 1-inch pieces, spread them on a baking sheet, and freeze until solid. Transfer them to a freezer-proof container and freeze for up to 6 months. Defrosted, the rhubarb will have lost its crunch, so use it for cooking and baking.
Indian-Spiced Rhubarb Sauce
Makes 4 cups
A variation of this chutney is featured at Rasika restaurants in Washington, D.C., and, depending on how it’s flavored, can be used as a sweet or savory condiment. The addition of orange is a variation on the basic recipe in the “Rasika: Flavors of India” cookbook (2017).
I can see spooning the pink sauce over vanilla ice cream or pound cake, or drizzling it on waffles or pancakes, which is what chef Neraj Govil says he had in mind when whipping up the warm-spiced condiment.
MAKE AHEAD: Refrigerate in an airtight container for up to 1 month, or freeze for up to 3 months.
For the chutney
1 ¼ cups sugar
1 1/2 cups water
5 or so 11-inch rhubarb stalks, cut into 1-inch dice (4 packed cups)
Strips of rind and juice of 1 orange (remove as much pith as possible)
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
Kosher salt, to finish
Flavor options (choose one)
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 grams saffron threads
To make the chutney, combine the sugar and the water in a deep saucepan over medium-high heat, stirring until the sugar has dissolved. Cook until the mixture becomes syrupy and registers a temperature of 220 degrees F (single-thread consistency), about 5 to 7 minutes.
Stir in the rhubarb and the orange rind; continue to cook over medium-high heat until they have softened, and the crimson rhubarb fades to pink, about 8 minutes. Remove from the heat to cool.
Add the orange juice, pepper, and ginger to the cooled mixture, stirring to incorporate.
To flavor the cooled mixture for sweet applications, stir in the vanilla. For savory, add the saffron threads. Transfer to a blender and puree until smooth and pourable. (For the latter, bits of saffron should remain visible.)
For a thicker chutney, return it to the saucepan and cook over medium heat, stirring to avoid scorching, to reach your desired consistency. Taste, and season with salt as needed.
Use right away, or transfer to an airtight container—preferably glass if you go the savory route–and refrigerate for up to 1 month.
Adapted from Neraj Govil, an executive chef of the Knightsbridge Restaurant Group, which includes multiple Rasika locations and the new Malabar, in Washington, D.C.
Postcard from Los Angeles
Two recent trips left me with lovely impressions — and a wish to return more often to arguably the most exciting place to eat in the country.
The entrance to Grand Central Grocery, open since 1917, in Los Angeles
Camelia marries France and Japan in the Arts District
L.A. native Charles Namba combines his Japanese roots and French training to create one of the most original bistro menus in town.
You’ve probably never had a Croque Madame sprung from pillowy milk bread and elevated, truly, by French ham that’s breaded and fried in the katsu style. Or pot pie with panache — whose dome of buttery puff pastry is lifted to reveal abalone and bay scallops that smell invitingly of the garlic, thyme, and butter that season them. The most seductive risotto in recent memory gathered premium Koshihikari rice cooked in dashi, fresh tarragon, and uni whipped into butter. The last element infused each bite with ocean-y richness. As a server attempted to remove what appeared to be a finished plate, my dining companion stopped her to retrieve the last few creamy teaspoons.
Good bones enhance the place. Carved from what was originally the loading dock of a National Biscuit Co. factory, the setting is cozy with globe lights, wood paneling, and brown leather booths.
The entrance to the Japanese-French bistro, which offers patio seating
Courtney Kaplan, the veteran chef’s partner in business and in life, offers another reason to dine in the honey-lit space. Her deep knowledge of sake encourages you to order by the glass or flask, as much to hear her stories about what you’re sipping as to flatter Namba’s soulful cooking.
The co-owners honor their team. It says something about a restaurant whose menu lists the name of everyone who works there. A fresh addition to the script is service director Patric Kuh, the definition of debonair as he greets and seats, gliding from table to table. He's also a friend from his ace-critic days at Los Angeles Magazine.
1850 Industrial St., Los Angeles. 213-800-9750. cameliadtla.com Entrees, $23 to $65.
Soban in Koreatown: So good!
Minutes after this family-run Korean storefront opened on a recent weekday, I walked into its quiet, warm embrace of a dining room. “Sit wherever you like,” said Deborah Pak, who runs Soban with her mother, Jennifer. “Would you like some barley tea? Hot or cold?”
A dozen side dishes typically crowd tables at Soban
Soon I was surrounded by company, most speaking Korean, and found myself admiring the many glass jars of fermented fruits and vegetables ringing a counter in front of the kitchen. The surface of everyone’s tables was almost obscured once a dozen banchan were dropped off. Among the prizes: strips of daikon stained with beet juice; slippery stamps of fish cake; celery seasoned with earthy-tasting perilla seed; soft-crisp lotus root; and baby anchovies tossed with peanuts that are roasted in-house daily, the restaurateur informed me.
Sheer food-safe gloves accompany the signature flower crab
Sheer food-safe gloves accompany the signature fresh flower crab, cured and staged in a dark pool of sauce that tastes of warm spices and medicinal herbs—“about 29 ingredients,” says Deborah. Another hit is her favorite braised black cod, which shares its platter with soft-cooked tofu, potato, radish, and other vegetables, everything reddened with a sweet and fiery sauce, coaxed from fish broth and chile flakes, that the restaurateur says she could pour over steamed rice and “eat all day.” Me, too.
The more standard dishes are easy to appreciate as well. I look forward to another order of spicy pork bulgogi, which sputters like fajitas as it arrives. At meal’s end, this anonymous diner was treated to a shot of house-fermented fruit and a hot tip from the co-owner: Visit the nearby Royal Thai Massage & Beauty for good, inexpensive pampering.
4001 W. Olympic Blvd., Los Angeles. 323-936-9106. sobanla.com Entrees, $16 to $61 (for the cured raw crab).
There’s a reason for the lines at Villa’s Tacos downtown
In many places — Paris and Seattle, for example — my visit begins with raw oysters. For fans like me, the bivalves are life-affirming, the perfect launch.
In Los Angeles, I’ve made a habit of dropping bags at the hotel and Ubering to the bustling Grand Central Market, where I always join the longest line in the colorful food hall, which is always at Villa’s Tacos.
After all, tacos tell some of the city’s best stories. Chef-owner Victor Villa started selling on his grandmother’s front lawn in Atwater Village in 2018 and opened his first brick-and-mortar shop in Highland Park three years ago. The taqueria catapulted to nationwide fame first with an appearance on Netflix’s “Taco Chronicles” and more recently when Bad Bunny featured the business during his half-time performance at Super Bowl LX.
The line moves at a steady pace as the Villa’s crew takes your order with more charm than you might expect. Take my most recent visit: “What can I get for you, brother?” asked a smiling young man near a rainbow display of agua frescas. The magenta hibiscus proved just the right refresher to wash back tacos built with the brand’s signature, pressed-to-order blue corn tortillas.
Sometimes I make a simple picnic of zesty chorizo tacos, dolloped with creamy guacamole, showered with onion and cilantro, and sparked with however many of the seven house-made salsas I request. As a hot head, I always include the mango with habanero. On other visits, I have feasted on Villa’s trio: queso-lined tacos piled with chopped flap steak; chicken leg meat with black beans; and crumbled chorizo punctuated with diced potatoes. The meats gain flavor from time on a mesquite grill; stripes of Mexican crema add tang and contrast to the composition. (The kitchen also offers a vegan version.) Grab more napkins than you think you’ll need, because the eating is delightfully messy.
Acocado-topped chorizo blue corn tacos at Villa’s Tacos
Maybe on my next visit to the market’s maze of food stalls, I’ll start with an empanada or a currywurst. Then again, maybe not. Why mess with a winning streak?
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