Spring in a British garden is a funny, generous season. The daffodils are out, the soil is warming, and the first real pudding fruit arrives before almost anything else: forced rhubarb, those slender, crimson sticks pulled from darkened crowns in Yorkshire and beyond. Gooseberries follow close behind, especially if you grow an early variety under a cloche or use fruit frozen from last summer. Together they bring a bright, sharp acidity that cuts through the richness of custard and cream. This is not delicate, perfumed summer eating. It is bold, comforting, and exactly what a chilly April afternoon calls for.
The golden rule with early rhubarb is to treat it gently. Forced rhubarb is tender and needs very little cooking. For 500g of trimmed sticks, cut into 4cm lengths, you will need just 2 tablespoons of caster sugar and the juice of one small orange. The orange does more than sweeten: its acidity lifts the rhubarb's flavour and stops it tasting flat. A strip of orange zest, pared with a peeler, adds a gentle perfume without bitterness.
Put everything into a non-reactive saucepan — stainless steel or enamel is ideal. Add a tablespoon of water to stop the fruit catching before it releases its own juice. Cover with a lid and cook over a low heat for 8 to 10 minutes, shaking the pan once or twice rather than stirring. You want the pieces to hold their shape but yield easily to a spoon. If you stir too much, you will end up with a purée, which is fine for a fool but less pleasing if you want visible chunks. Taste after cooking. Early rhubarb can be surprisingly sweet, so add a little more sugar only if needed. Leave to cool completely in the pan; the juices will thicken slightly as they sit.
Gooseberries need a little more persuasion than rhubarb. Top and tail them — a small pair of scissors or a sharp knife makes short work of 300g. Put them in a pan with 2 tablespoons of caster sugar and a splash of water. Cook over a low heat for 8 to 10 minutes until the skins pop and the fruit collapses. Early gooseberries are tart, so taste and adjust. If you are using frozen gooseberries, there is no need to thaw them first; just add an extra minute or two to the cooking time.
For a smoother fool, push the cooked gooseberries through a sieve to remove the seeds and skins. For a rustic version, leave them as they are. Either way, let the fruit cool completely before you fold it into cream or custard, otherwise the mixture will split or turn watery.
A fool is one of the oldest and kindest puddings in the British repertoire. It takes minutes to assemble and can be made with either custard or whipped cream. My preference is a half-and-half approach: thick, cold custard for body, and lightly whipped double cream for richness. For four generous servings, you will need 300ml of custard and 150ml of double cream, whipped to soft peaks. Fold them together gently, then ripple through 400g of cooled stewed fruit — a mix of rhubarb and gooseberry is particularly good.
Do not overmix. You want visible streaks of pink and green. Spoon into glasses or small bowls, layer with a little extra fruit, and chill for at least an hour. A crumbled shortbread finger or a few toasted flaked almonds on top add crunch. If you are using only custard, choose a good-quality fresh one, not the tinned variety; the flavour of the fruit deserves better.
The same stewed rhubarb and gooseberries work beautifully in a crumble. Put the fruit in a buttered dish, top with a rub-together mixture of 100g plain flour, 50g cold butter, and 50g demerara sugar, and bake at 180°C (160°C fan) for 30 minutes until golden. For a quicker pudding, fold the fruit through whipped cream and meringue for a spring Eton mess, or spoon it over warm rice pudding. A rhubarb and orange compote is also excellent with yoghurt for breakfast — though that is perhaps less of a pudding and more of a virtuous start to the day.
If you grow your own, pick rhubarb stems from March to June, but stop by midsummer to let the plant recover. Gooseberries are ready when they are firm and slightly translucent; pick every few days to keep the bushes cropping. Neither fruit needs to be eaten the same day. Stewed rhubarb freezes well in rigid containers for up to six months. Gooseberries freeze beautifully too — spread them on a tray first, then bag them. That way you can enjoy a spring fool in November, when the garden is bare and the custard is especially welcome.
The Seasonal Plot shares practical, down-to-earth guidance on british seasonal gardening and outdoor living for readers across the UK.
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