The rhubarb muffins that broke me open were sitting on a wax-paper square at a roadside diner counter in Wiscasset, Maine, somewhere between hour four and hour five of a drive up Route 1. I had not planned to stop. The hand-lettered sign in the window said FRESH RHUBARB and I pulled over without thinking.
The woman behind the counter pushed one across to me with a paper napkin. Pink streaks ran through the crumb. The streusel had shattered a little under her thumb when she picked it up.
The Maine Diner That Started It
Her name was Donna. She ran the place with her sister and they had been baking the same muffin since the eighties, off a recipe their mother kept in a tin recipe box by the register. I sat at the counter for forty minutes asking too many questions, because that is what I do.
By the time I left she had written the proportions out for me on a napkin already smudged with butter and coffee. I have that napkin. It lives in a drawer in my apartment now, weighted down by a mortar and pestle so it does not blow away when I open the kitchen window.
Two days later I was back in California, still thinking about it. I started baking.
What Rhubarb Actually Is
Here is the part I did not know before that drive. Rhubarb is botanically a vegetable. The part you eat is the leaf stalk, and the leaves themselves are toxic because of the oxalic acid in them. You cut them off and throw them out. Donna told me this twice, in case I missed it the first time.
The other thing worth knowing. Color does not mean ripeness. Greener stalks are not underripe, they are just a different variety, and they will be more tart. I have used both. I prefer the greener ones for muffins, actually. The sourness cuts through the brown sugar better.
Rhubarb arrived in North America with British settlers in the 1600s and got its real foothold around Maine and Massachusetts in the 1790s. By the 1820s New England was calling it pie plant because every spring kitchen turned it into something. Muffins came later, once home baking expanded in the nineteenth century and frugal cooks started looking for ways to use the patch before it bolted in the heat.
One more thing while we are clearing things up. You do not need strawberries. Strawberry-rhubarb is a modern American pairing and it is fine, but the original muffin is rhubarb alone, and that is the version I want.
What I Used
- 2 cups all-purpose flour, spooned and leveled
- 3/4 cup packed light brown sugar
- 2 tsp baking powder
- 1/2 tsp baking soda
- 1/2 tsp fine sea salt
- 1 tsp ground cinnamon
- 1 cup buttermilk, well shaken
- 1/2 cup vegetable oil, or melted unsalted butter, cooled
- 2 large eggs, at room temperature
- 1.5 tsp vanilla extract
- 2 cups fresh rhubarb, diced into 1/4-inch pieces, leaves discarded
- For the streusel, 1/2 cup flour, 1/3 cup packed brown sugar, 1/2 tsp cinnamon, 3 tbsp cold cubed unsalted butter
Sourcing the Rhubarb in California
Rhubarb is harder to find in LA than it should be. I get mine at the Sunday Hollywood farmers’ market, from a woman who drives down from a farm in Fillmore in April and May, and a few weeks more if the weather is kind. Her stalks are mostly green with a pink blush at the base. They are perfect.
The first time I tried these I bought sad, hothouse rhubarb from a chain grocery and the muffins came out flat-tasting. The flavor needs the field.
One Sunday last May the kitchen window was open and the jasmine on the fire escape was going hard. I had Joni Mitchell on. I made these twice in one afternoon because the first batch went to my neighbor across the hall before I had photographed any of it.
Inside the Pan While They Bake
Make the streusel first so it has time to chill. Rub the cold butter into the flour and sugar and cinnamon with your fingertips until you get coarse, clumpy crumbs. Cold butter is the whole point here. If it goes soft, the streusel melts into a glaze instead of staying as little rocks of sugar on top.
Whisk the dry ingredients in a big bowl, and break up every lump of brown sugar with the back of the whisk. In another bowl, whisk the buttermilk and oil and eggs and vanilla until they look like one thing instead of three.
Pour the wet into the dry. Fold with a rubber spatula, only just, until you still see streaks of flour. This is the part that matters most. Overmix and the gluten wakes up and the muffins go tough and gummy. Then in goes the rhubarb. Three or four folds. Stop.
Scoop the batter into the tin, almost to the top. Pile the chilled streusel on each one and press it down lightly with your palm so it sticks.
Into the oven at 425. For the first five minutes the outside of each muffin sets fast, the crust stiffens, and the gas from the baking powder pushes up against that crust hard enough to bully a tall dome out of it. Then you drop the heat to 350 without opening the door. The inside finishes more slowly now, the rhubarb leaks its juice into the crumb around it and turns pink streaks brighter pink, and the streusel goes amber where the sugar caramelizes against the butter. Fifteen to seventeen more minutes. A toothpick should come out with moist crumbs, not wet batter.
Let them sit in the pan five minutes before you move them. Otherwise the bottoms tear.
What I Adapted for Home
The original napkin called for melted butter. I use vegetable oil more often now because the muffins stay softer on day two, which matters when I am baking for myself and eating them slowly through the week. Butter is better warm out of the oven though. Use that if you are eating them all in one go.
I have tried swapping the buttermilk for full-fat sour cream measure for measure. It is even better. Tangier crumb, denser in a good way. Do that if you have it.
Eat one warm with salted butter and black coffee. That is the way Donna served them. I cannot fake the long-road hunger that made them taste so impossible the first time, but at home in my kitchen with the window open, on a quiet Sunday, they get pretty close.
Rhubarb Muffins
Ingredients
Equipment
Method
- Position a rack in the center of the oven and preheat to 425 F. Line a 12-cup muffin tin with paper liners or grease each cup well.
- Make the streusel first. In a small bowl combine 1/2 cup flour, 1/3 cup brown sugar, and 1/2 tsp cinnamon. Add the cold cubed butter and rub it in with your fingertips until the mixture looks like coarse, clumpy crumbs. Refrigerate while you make the batter.
- In a large bowl whisk together the 2 cups flour, 3/4 cup brown sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and 1 tsp cinnamon until evenly blended and no lumps of brown sugar remain.
- In a medium bowl whisk the buttermilk, oil, eggs, and vanilla until smooth and fully emulsified.
- Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients. Using a rubber spatula, fold gently just until barely combined — streaks of flour should still be visible. Do not overmix or the muffins will turn tough.
- Add the diced rhubarb and fold 3 or 4 more times, just enough to distribute the pieces. The batter will be thick.
- Scoop the batter into the prepared muffin cups, filling each almost to the top. Sprinkle the chilled streusel generously over each muffin, pressing lightly so it adheres.
- Bake at 425 F for 5 minutes to force a tall dome, then without opening the door reduce the temperature to 350 F and continue baking for 15 to 17 minutes more, until the tops are golden, the streusel is set, and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out with only moist crumbs.
- Let the muffins rest in the pan for 5 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack. Serve warm, or cool completely before storing.