Forced Rhubarb: Radiant Fuchsia — A Harbinger of Spring
There is something spellbinding about forced rhubarb. It arrives when winter still has a firm hold — January’s low light, cold mornings, all feels quiet in the garden — and yet here are these impossibly vivid sticks of pink.
Forced rhubarb comes from a very particular place: the Rhubarb Triangle in West Yorkshire. A small, almost mythical pocket of land between Wakefield, Leeds, and Morley, where rhubarb has been grown for generations in a way found nowhere else in the world.
Grown in darkness and warmth after long exposure to winter cold, forced rhubarb stretches upwards, unseen. If you stand quietly enough, you can hear it: faint pops and creaks as the stalks grow.
It is harvested by candlelight. Bright light can shock the plant, encouraging greening and toughness. Candlelight is soft and steady, preserving the darkness the rhubarb has grown in and allowing it to remain tender and gently flavoured. What began as necessity has become ritual — a way of working that respects both the crop and its rhythm.
Why the Rhubarb Triangle?
Forced rhubarb can be grown elsewhere, but it is in the Rhubarb Triangle that everything aligns. The soils here are deep and fertile. Winters are reliably cold — essential for dormancy — while the Yorkshire climate remains cool and damp rather than extreme, encouraging slow, steady growth. These conditions produce strong crowns that can be lifted and forced without losing delicacy.
Yet soil and climate tell only part of the story. What anchors forced rhubarb here is heritage. For generations, family-run farms have refined the same careful methods: lifting by hand, growing in darkness, harvesting by candlelight. Knowledge passed down rather than written down.
To better understand this quiet world, see this beautiful short film from Ffern. Just six minutes long, it captures what words can’t: the stillness, the rhythm of harvest, and the sense of tradition and family devotion behind this fleeting winter crop.
Watch the process unfold.
A short, precious season
Forced rhubarb has a brief season, typically running from January through to early March. Once the crowns have given everything, they are spent.
My own rhubarb arrived from E. Oldroyd & Sons, delivered just two days after harvest in a large box that seemed to be from another era. Opening it was like uncovering something precious — stalks blushing pink, cool to the touch, almost translucent.
Shimmering sticks of fuchsia
In the kitchen, forced rhubarb behaves differently from its outdoor cousin. It is softer, more fragrant, less sharply acidic. As it cooks, something quietly magical happens. Those fuchsia sticks soften and collapse, deepening into a richer, darker hue.
I made a small batch of Rhubarb and Vanilla. The result is a glossy, onctueuse preserve — smooth, spoonable, gently perfumed with vanilla. Perfect on yoghurt or porridge, closer to a compote than a firm-set jam. There is a limited batch, ready just in time for Valentine’s.
If this felt like your kind of pace, you may enjoy Notes from the Jam Kitchen — seasonal notes and small observations, written in step with the year.
Joining includes The Five Principles of French Jam Making, a 10-page downloadable PDF.