I spent the first three weeks of sour cherry season walking right on by them. Part of it was the $12 a box price tag. The other part was that I had no clue what I would do with them, so I couldn’t justify the $12 a box price tag.

But I finally succumbed and doled out a hefty portion of my market budget for a quart or two. Coming out on the other side of it, though, I can say it was worth it. Also as the season has lingered on the price did come down a bit.

After the cherries themselves convinced me to make some compote out of them, I tasted it and was like I’m eating exactly what I love about cherry pie. Okay, I get it. I get what the big deal is. Then it was only a matter of figuring out what to put it in that wasn’t cherry pie. Because, as I’ve already embarrassingly admitted, I don’t really like pie.

I know...I know.

So first, these popsicles happened. But I was left with a good amount of compote still to use. Which was not really a problem. I could have left well enough alone and just had a half pint jar of it in my fridge for a few weeks to come -- to swipe on toast or swirl into yogurt or top ice cream with. What I did though, was swirl it into some muffin batter and then covered that with a crumble, because, it just made sense at the time.

Barely sweet gluten free batter, swirled with puckery sour cherry compote, topped with buttery sweet oat crumble was definitely a good decision. Let me know if you think so too...

Sour Cherry Oat Muffins

Adapted from this Canelle et Vanille recipe

Ingredients:

Oat Crumble:

1 cup old fashioned oats (gluten free if needed)

¼ cup coconut palm sugar (or brown sugar)

¼ cup coconut flour

pinch of salt

3 tablespoons butter

Muffins:

3 eggs

½ cup raw sugar

1 cup full fat greek or other yogurt

½ cup melted butter

1 teaspoon almond extract

1 cup brown rice flour

½ cup millet flour

2 tablespoons tapioca starch

1 tablespoon baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

1 cup cherry compote (recipe here)

Directions:

Heat oven to 350 degrees.

In a medium sized bowl combine oats, coconut palm sugar, coconut flour, and salt. Cut the cold butter into the crumble mix and mush together with your fingers or a pastry cutter until butter is mixed into the oat mixture well. It should clump if you press it together in your hands. Set aside.

In a large bowl, whisk together eggs, sugar, yogurt, melted butter, and extract to combine well. Add flours, tapioca starch, baking powder, and salt and whisk well to combine.

Line a muffin tin with cupcake liners. Fill each wrapper about three quarters of the way with batter. Next dollop about 1 tablespoon of cherry compote onto the batter of each muffin. Take a tooth pick or other type of skewer and artfully drag the compote throughout each muffin to create swirls.

Lastly sprinkle a little bit of oat crumble on top of each muffin.

Bake in oven for about 20 to 25 minutes until they are golden brown and a cake tester comes out clean.

Note: You might have oat crumble leftover if you don’t use it all on top of the muffins. Simply line a sheet pan with some parchment paper and spread the crumble out on it. Bake it in a 350 degree oven for about 10 to 15 minutes or until golden and toasty. Once cooled, place in an airtight container and use on yogurt or ice cream like you would a granola.

Makes 1 dozen muffins.

I took several lessons straight to heart as a young Connecticut country kid. One was that foraging for random things in the woods was a great way to get poison ivy on your hands (oh the misery). And that running around barefoot all summer in the clover covered lawn was a guarantee of many bee stings to the toes, which I now file under -- wish that was still a problem. And lastly – don’t ever, ever eat rhubarb’s toxic leaves.

My good friend Sarah, another city transplant who grew up in the fields of Connecticut’s countryside, said she also remembered foraging for rhubarb in the springtime. Once snatched up, she would dip the raw stalk briefly into the sugar bowl before each bite. (Pro tip)

Even now, I could lead you by the hand with my eyes closed to the place where the rhubarb grows. Each spring it matures in an uncultivated space on the right side of my mother’s garden, just outside the fence. There, it mingles with weeds, and grasses, and pricker bushes, waiting to be plucked and tucked into something sweet.

The rhubarb arriving every year was something I always looked forward to. The deep satisfaction of the seasons changing seemed to be important to me, even then. It’s arrival meant that the weather was getting warmer, school was almost over, summer was so close you could smell it. It meant that we were going strawberry picking so soon. However, I have no associations with actually consuming it. You see, my mother never really did anything with her rhubarb.

I wish I could tell you all that I have fond memories of strawberry rhubarb pies swirling around in my springtime memories of growing up. But in truth, it seems my mama wasn’t ever too big on pie. Which is why I’m probably not too big on pie. I have no consistent culinary memory link to it. I have one vague recollection of her making a crisp.

Rhubarb was one of the first things I picked up at the farmer’s market last year when I started going. I picked it up with only faint purpose since I had no idea what I was going to do with it. I knew it was seasonal, I knew it was fleeting and still --- those seem to be only two things I need to know to spend my entire savings account at a market stand. I ended up making this. And then I made it a few more times with the rhubarb I’d begged my mother to pick from her garden and freeze for me. A few weeks ago when I was not-so-patiently waiting for rhubarb and strawberries to show up, buried within my too full freezer I discovered a baggie of both rhubarb and strawberries from last summer --- a bonafide win. They soon found themselves stirred into a pot with some vanilla to make some more. I have new associations and now (strawberry) rhubarb compote means that spring is here.

Once I finally got my hands on some actual rhubarb, swirling some saucy fresh stuff into some cake was definitely an upgrade. Say you want those swirls even more shockingly pink, (if you couldn’t tell by my instagram feed), strawberries are here people(!!!) Use this compote recipe to swirl in instead. I, however, really liked the puckery rhubarb all by itself. I also love this rhubarb sauce’s demure shade of pink. Almost like it’s not quite calling attention to itself until it hits your tongue and it’s an explosion of pleasant tartness.

Rhubarb Swirl Cake

adapted from this recipe by Cannelle et Vanille

Yield: 1 nine inch square cake

Ingredients:

Rhubarb sauce:

2 cups diced rhubarb

½ cup raw sugar

juice of half a lemon

Cake:

3 eggs

1 cup raw sugar

1 cup full fat greek yogurt

1/2 cup melted unsalted butter

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 cup white rice flour

1/2 cup millet flour

2 tablespoons tapioca starch

1 tablespoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

powdered sugar for sprinkling (if desired)

Directions:

In a small saucepan over low to medium heat stir together the diced rhubarb, ½ cup of sugar, and the lemon juice. Stir occasionally. Keep at a simmer. It will take about 30 minutes for the rhubarb to breakdown and come to desired consistency. Once it is thick and jammy, turn off heat and allow to cool down a bit.

Heat oven to 350 degrees.

Line a 9-inch square cake pan with parchment paper.

Set aside.

In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, sugar, yogurt, melted butter, and vanilla extract.

Add in the white rice flour, millet flour, tapioca starch, baking powder and salt. Whisk again to thoroughly incorporate.

Pour into the cake pan and spread it out evenly.

Dollop four thick lines of the rhubarb compote onto the top of the batter. Using a toothpick, knife, or skewer drag through the rhubarb lines to create a swirling design throughout the top of the cake.

Bake cake for 40 to 45 minutes minutes or until it’s edges have turned golden brown and a cake tester comes out clean.

Let cake cool in pan. Using the edges of the parchment paper, lift the cake out of the pan. Dust with powdered sugar, if desired. Cut into squares.

Note: You will probably have some rhubarb compote left over. Swirl it into other things like yogurt or ice cream or oatmeal. Sometimes I just eat it with a spoon, but that’s just me.