Definitions for cordials seem rather contradictory.  Dictionary dot com defines one as “a strong, sweetened, aromatic alcoholic liquor or liqueur;” others describe a sweet, nonalcoholic fruit concentrate.  My favorite definition comes from Merriam Webster: “tending to revive, cheer or invigorate,” and is associated with cordial waters.  It seems the most fitting for this rhubarb cordial.  It is brightly flavored, sweet but not overly so, softly tart, and silky.  I had a glut of rhubarb this morning, so my cooking from this single pot actually yielded two cups of rhubarb sauce, three cups of rhubarb compote, and three cups of rhubarb cordial.  I’ll be posting sister recipes in the coming days.  In the meantime, sip on some rhubarb cordial.  It’s made a rhubarb lover of even the most skeptical in our house.  In fact, we’ll be celebrating our Honey Girl’s homecoming after a year away at college with a rhubarb champagne tipple tonight.  It’s almost as pretty as this spring day.  You may pour a dram of the cordial into a glass of Prosecco and serve it with brunch or as an aperitif.  Stir it into some homemade plain yogurt for breakfast.  Stir some into a pitcher of homemade lemonade for a spring picnic.  Or mix it with water, still or sparkling, for a refreshing springtime cooler.

After a taste of spring, we are in the midst of another good old-fashioned Minnesota blizzard.  I love a blizzard.  Here in Minnesota, snowfalls come and stay for the winter every year, but a real pileup, one that sends people en masse to the markets and shops the day before it’s to hit, is always exciting.

When we lived in the city and our Honey Girl and Sweet Boy were little pips, we had a blizzard tradition.  We would haul out a little wooden sleigh, pile on the snow clothes—the hats and mittens and scarves and coats and snow pants and wooly socks and boots—and I would pull them to our neighborhood ice cream shop for a blizzard ice cream cone.  We’d clear the snow from our eyelashes and wipe our noses and brush off and warm up a little bit while we licked our cones and watched the snow, fierce or gentle, bring down a hazy blanket of white.  Then I’d pull them home and we’d make hot chocolate to warm up.  It was a triple treat, all that snow and ice cream and hot chocolate.  It was fun for me to celebrate like a kid again.  We often wondered why the faithful people at the Grand Ole Creamery were open in the winter, let alone during a blizzard; we always seemed to be the only customers on those days.  But we were thrilled they were.  We don’t live in the neighborhood anymore, but whenever we have a blizzard, I think about pulling my little ones on that sleigh over for another cone.  Now I just make an extra yummy mug of hot chocolate: one for me and one for my Sweet Boy, since our Honey Girl is away at college.  We toast to winter and watch the snow blur and soften the world outside again.The hazy blue light of the blizzard is so lovely.