Rhubarb's Blush with Whipped Goat Curd and Pistachio Dust
Spring's tart answer to summer pudding, with flowers doing the heavy lifting.
Pulled this together on a wet March afternoon when the first rhubarb forced its way through the cold frame, and the elderflowers were just beginning to show promise in the hedgerows. Goat's curd from Dunlop made it taste like Ayrshire itself — sharp, honest, a bit of grit under your teeth in the best way.
How to Cook It
- 01
Poach the rhubarb gently
Cut rhubarb into 5cm batons. Pour 200ml water into a wide pan, add the cordial and 1 tablespoon honey, bring to a bare simmer. Slide the rhubarb in carefully — you're poaching, not bullying. It'll turn translucent and blush deeper in about 8–10 minutes. Watch it; there's a moment where it's perfect, and a moment where it's jam.
~10 min - 02
Cool the rhubarb and strain
Lift the rhubarb out with a slotted spoon onto a clean plate. Pour the poaching liquid into a jug and let it settle — you'll use a spoonful for each plate. Let the rhubarb cool to room temperature; cold is fine, but warm tastes better.
~10 min - 03
Whip the curd and cream
Put the goat's curd into a bowl. Pour the double cream into another, cold bowl, and whip it to soft peaks — don't overdo it or you've got butter. Fold the cream into the curd gently, add a pinch of salt and the lemon juice. You want something cloud-like but still able to hold a shape on the spoon.
~5 min - 04
Toast and blitz the pistachios
Put the pistachios into a dry pan over medium heat for 2–3 minutes, shaking often, until fragrant. Tip onto a plate to cool. Once cool, blitz half of them finely for dust, leave the rest whole for texture. No need to be precious — rough is better.
~5 min - 05
Plate with intention
Spoon a generous dollop of the whipped curd into the centre of each bowl. Arrange the rhubarb batons around it — lean them, don't just plonk. Drizzle the poaching liquid around the plate. Scatter the pistachio dust and whole pieces over the top. A crack of black pepper if you're feeling bold.
~3 min
“This isn't a fussy plate, but it's not careless either. The rhubarb should be visible — pink against white — so don't bury it. The whipped curd sits proud in the middle like it's meant to be there. The pistachio dust catches the light. Spoon some of that poaching liquid around; it's beautiful, tastes of elderflower and rhubarb's tartness, and it stops the plate from feeling dry. Serve at room temperature, or just-cool — coldness kills the flavour.”
Sharp rhubarb hits first, then the curd's tang softens it into something almost creamy. The elderflower isn't showy — it's there, like a memory of spring that didn't quite arrive yet. The pistachio brings a nuttiness that shouldn't work but does, and underneath it all, that honey adds a whisper of sweetness that makes you realise the whole thing was never actually sour at all.
Skip the goat's curd and cream. Whip 200g silken tofu (blended smooth first) with 100ml oat cream and 1 tablespoon of aquafaba (the liquid from a tin of chickpeas, whipped until foamy) to soft peaks. Add the lemon juice, a pinch of salt, and fold in 1 tablespoon of melted coconut oil for richness — it mimics the butter-fat of the curd. The rhubarb poaching and pistachio dust stays exactly the same. The tofu won't have the tang of goat's curd, so use 2 teaspoons of lemon juice instead of one, and taste as you go. You lose nothing essential here — just a different kind of lightness.
Low alcohol, floral, slightly sweet — it echoes the elderflower without competing. Proper luxury without the heaviness.
Lean into what's already on the plate; cool, floral, just sweet enough to let the rhubarb's tartness shine.
- ·Don't let the rhubarb turn to mush — it should hold its shape and have a slight bite. Pull it out the moment it goes translucent.
- ·If you can't find local goat's curd, use thick Greek yoghurt instead, but reduce the cream to 50ml — it's already rich enough.
- ·Make the pistachio dust fresh; old nuts taste like old cardboard. Toast them every time, no shortcuts.
Show us yours.
Cooked this dish? Snap a photo, share it here. No filter, no fuss — the good, the wonky, the accidentally set-fire-to.
Sign in to share your photo of this dish.
No one's cooked this yet — be the first.