It’s a good thing cookies are what they are: chewy in all the right places, crisp where they’re meant to be crisp. A little chocolate, maybe, a few salt flakes on top. Cookies done right are the best. And frankly, after so much scooping and chilling or rolling and dredging, so much lifting from pan, to rack, to plate; with eight, or ten, or twelve to a sheet, and multiple sheets to bake, they’d better be. Cookies need to be worth it and, with any luck, they are.
Still, they’re a tough sell this time of year. There are people, I hear, who experience a certain correlation between the temperature outside and the desire to turn on their ovens. For this set, the normal set, we’ll call them, summer is no time for cookies. It’s one thing to fill a pie with cherries, or peaches, or berries that won’t wait for cooler climes, flip the oven door shut and retreat to the furthest and, presumably, coolest corner of your home to wait it out. Cookies, on the other hand, like to keep you. (See above: scooping, chilling, rolling, dredging.) And those great gasps of heat billowing forth at each turn and switch of the pans… It’s no wonder that if cookies have a low season, summer is it.
I bake cookies year-round. (Much to the relief of a certain cake averse cookie man whose birthday was earlier this month.) I drink hot tea and eat hot oatmeal for breakfast year-round, too. I don’t mind the heat. But normal people of the world, I hear you. And I bring you crumb bars:
These bars have a lot going for them any time of year, but especially mid-summer. (Yes, I said mid. Summer’s not over until September 21st.) They’re the very definition of unfussy, requiring only a bowl, a sharp knife, and your fingers for tools. And unlike better known bars like brownies and blondies, they’ve got fruit! A summertime sweet if ever I’ve seen one, a cookie-like thing that you can hold in your hand, no dough scooping or other attending shenanigans required.
The only wrinkle in this story is that today is August 31st and, as you can see from the photo, these were rhubarb bars in their original form. It was the first week of July when I first made these, and I was going to tell you about them then, but there was that rhubarb polenta crumble we’d just discussed. (Why a similar fear of ingredient saturation never occurs to me when I’ve got a new corn bread on my hands, I don’t know.) And now here we are slurping our way through high stone fruit season, rhubarb but a rosy memory. I’d tucked this recipe away for next season, but then I changed my mind and decided to trot it out today. First of all, because this weekend I plan to swap in some thinly sliced plums or peaches – whatever looks good at the market today – in place of the rhubarb, and I thought you might want to follow suit. But also because I found this recipe back in May on Kelly Carámbula’s site The Best Remedy (formerly known as eat make read), and I’ve got some other Kelly-related business to tell you about today.
Kelly is, to put it mildly, extremely cool. She’s a designer, and a caterer, a mixologist extraordinaire, and the creator and editor-in-chief of Remedy Quarterly. (Is there anything you don’t do, lady?) The latest issue – their tenth! – is a collection of essays, photos, and recipes on the theme of discovery. It came out last week, and if you flip to page 58, you’ll find a story about drinking vinegar that’s written by me. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen my name in print in something like this and, whoa, what a kick! You’ll have to get your hands on the issue to read the full story but, in short, it’s the tale of a pregnant Jess who wants nothing more than to pour vinegar down her throat until, one day, she does. (In the form of something called shrub.)
Now, about those bars. I say, make them with what you’ve got. I have a feeling that this recipe is forgiving. If you’re going the berry route, a simple swap should work. If you opt for stone fruit, like I plan on doing this weekend, try thin, overlapping slices, no other filling ingredients required.
Enjoy the long weekend, all.
Rhubarb-Ginger Crumb Bars
Adapted from The Best Remedy (where Kelly adapted them from Smitten Kitchen)
Kelly uses fresh ginger in her bars (2 tablespoons, finely chopped, mixed in with the rhubarb) but that's not Eli's cup of tea, so I went with ground ginger instead. I also upped the amount of fruit by one cup. The first time I made these, I went with a 50-50 split, half of the dough on the bottom, the other half crumbled on top, per Kelly’s instructions. That’s what you see in the photo, above. The next time around, I reserved only about a third of the dough for the crumb topping. I prefer it that way, with a thicker shortbread base and a less crumby top. Let's the fruit really shine.
For the dough:
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
¼ teaspoon salt
Zest of one small lemon
1 cup (2 sticks or 8 ounces) cold unsalted butter, cubed
1 large egg
For the filling:
5 cups ½-inch slices of rhubarb
3 teaspoons ground ginger (see note, above)
Juice of one small lemon
½ cup sugar
4 teaspoons cornstarch
Heat the oven to 375 degrees and butter a 9x13 inch pan.
Blend the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in a medium bowl. Stir in the lemon zest. Add the egg and the cubed butter and work into the dry ingredients with your hands. The dough will be crumbly. Put 2/3 of the dough into the prepared pan and pat into place.
In another bowl, stir together the sugar, cornstarch, ground ginger, and lemon juice. Add the rhubarb and mix gently. Spoon the fruit mixture in an even layer over the shortbread base. Crumble the remaining dough over top.
Bake for 45-50 minutes, until the crumb top is golden brown. Cool before cutting into squares.