Conjuring Spring

A colourful, flavour-soaked menu to welcome brighter days, Passover, and the start of the growing season

In some ways, I’m a traditionalist. When the holidays come around, I’m usually making lists of what my mom and my baba Sarah made, of what so many wonderful Jewish cooks, near and far, will be making right now. There’s a tremendous amount of satisfaction in this obedience — this carrying forward of what has come before. Of imagining yourself as part of a long line of cooks, preserving memory and identity by separating eggs and peeling apples.

And yet, sometimes putting together a traditional menu and cooking it by rote doesn’t feel as joyful and free as I want to feel. In fact, if I’m being honest, it can feel a little burdensome. So much labour without the fun of true personal expression.

So this year, I started planning my seder menu while strolling the produce aisle. What looked fresh, colourful, enticing? If I lived in Mexico or California, I would’ve been at the farmer’s market, but we had snow in Toronto just two days ago, and nothing is growing outside. (Yet.) I can’t wait to shop local, but in the meantime, my grocer had piles of greens and stacks of reds — plenty of fuel for inspiration. Here’s what I brought home, and what I plan to do with it:

Rhubarb So tart, so pretty, so earthy! Because I’m a rhubarb freak and because rhubarb absolutely epitomizes this time of year, I’m going to use it three ways: In a cordial (scroll down for recipe) in my charoset (I have some pickled from last year — I will chop it finely and add to the apples) and lightly stewed with water and sugar to go alongside my chocolate dessert. Pure bliss.

Blood oranges I didn’t plan to be moved by blood oranges, but there they were — so cute and firm and blushing. I think I’ll make them into a salad with avocado and maybe some grapefruit, like this one I made last March.

Fennel The bulbs were so generous and robust looking; so springy. I grabbed a few with the thought that I’d do an orange and fennel salad but once home, I decided I prefer the texture of cooked fennel, so I’ll cut it into wedges and roast it in a 375 F oven, then dress with a caper vinaigrette.

Asparagus They aren’t local yet; nevertheless they are lovely. I might poach them and serve with a lemon aioli, or roast them, or even purée them into a soup with dill and a little sour cream as a garnish, instead of chicken soup. (Scandalous.)

It’s a lot of produce, a colourful riot of produce, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. But what about the main course? I’m feeling pulled to Cornish hens, my mom’s specialty (like I said, I’m a traditionalist at heart). I will roast them, well-salted, with herbs and lemon wedges in the cavities. Tastier and a little more special than chicken, but actually easier to serve. You can go big and serve one per person or I have these special shears for cutting them in half.

My family loves stuffing, so I think I’ll round out the menu with a little of that: Onions, shallots and celery, sautéed until soft, then a few sheets of crushed matzo added, along with a cup of stock to soften it. Once the liquid is absorbed, I’ll add a little oil to fry the softened matzo and give it some texture, then toss in chopped fresh herbs and cracked hazelnuts, s & p to taste.

And of course, chocolate. Michael’s birthday falls on passover this year, as it so often does, and I have the K for P cake down pat. I riff on this recipe by Alison Roman, who is in turn riffing on a recipe by the late Richard Sax. I serve the whipped cream on the side instead of on top of the cake, along with the aforementioned rhubarb compote. Also, a big bowl of berries and maybe some matzo brittle, if I have time to make it.

And that, my friends, will be that. I’m excited to get started — all of these beautiful ingredients are calling to me from downstairs, as I finish writing at my desk. But first, a little breakfast: Easter egg radishes, French butter, Maldon salt, and a few snipped fennel tops. Happy spring, indeed.

Rhubarb Cordial

Makes this with or without alcohol, as you prefer. (Gin works very nicely, too.) You can double or triple the recipe for a crowd, and if you find rhubarb is too expensive right now, wait until the field rhubarb comes in, and enjoy rhubarb cordials throughout June.

2 cups sliced fresh rhubarb

1/2 cup water

1/4 cup sugar

4 oz vodka (optional)

1/2 - 1 cup fizzy mineral water

4 sticks raw rhubarb, about 2 inches long

4 lime wedges

In a small saucepan, stir together rhubarb, water and sugar. Bring to a simmer over medium-low heat and cook slowly, stirring occasionally, until rhubarb is very soft and starting to fall apart, 10 to 15 minutes.

Pour rhubarb mixture through a fine mesh strainer set over a bowl, pressing on solids to release all their liquid. Discard solids and cool syrup. You will have about 1 cup.

Fill four small old-fashioned glasses with ice. Add 1 oz vodka and 1/4 of the rhubarb syrup to each one. Top with a splash of bubbly water and garnish with a stick of raw rhubarb and a little side saucer of sugar, for dipping. Makes four cocktails.