Tony Cenicola/The New York Times

Rhubarb grew like weeds in Wisconsin, where I grew up. As young hellions we would pick it, tear off the elephant-ear leaves (which are mildly poisonous) and dip the stalks in sugar to eat. That fibrous green tang remains one of my Proustian tastes of summer. Nowadays I have to buy my rhubarb at the greengrocer, but even at three bucks a pound I consider it a grand find and pounce while I can. I wish I could preserve the taste for the rest of the year, but I’m not a jam maker. So recently I decided to try my hand at making a drinking syrup with it.

I’ve been learning by trial and error, but the curve is almost nonexistent; rhubarb cooks down so quickly, the whole project takes less than an hour and the payoff is astonishing. It also has a pleasing economy: you get a lovely syrup to make drinks with, both alcoholic and nonalcoholic, while the fibrous pulp that you strain off may in fact be the best part, spooned atop yogurt with fresh strawberries, or as a silky, tart ice-cream topping.

I began making this as a simple syrup, adding sugar while it was simmering, but I found that I couldn’t adjust the sweetness for differing tastes and applications. Sometimes you want to incorporate it as a sour into drinks that have other sweetened ingredients; and if you want to use the pulp on ice cream or sweetened yogurt, keeping it tart is a better option. Now I just simmer down the fruit with one vanilla pod and use it unsweetened, which gives me more room to maneuver.

Behind the bar I’ve made all types of drinks with it, and no matter what I mix it with, everyone seems to love it. (Then again, the fact that someone actually took the time to create something unusual impresses people.) Although I initially thought this would be a layup with any white spirit — gin in particular — I found the rhubarb flavor easily dominated by the strength of the alcohols and other ingredients like strawberry and mint. White rum fared better, but I wasn’t finding that perfect click.

Then came the nagging admission that the cooler I was drinking at my desk through the day — simply rhubarb syrup in ice water — was better than the cocktails I was mixing it into by night. I decided a lighter base was required, and so turned to wines. There was the niche. Something this innately good doesn’t require much fussing. Just pour a heavy dollop in a spritzer or a glass of sparkling wine, twist a lemon peel over it, and let the fruit do its amazing, transformative summer dance.

RHUBARB SYRUP

3 to 4 pounds rhubarb stalks, trimmed of leaves

1 vanilla pod, split lengthwise

8 to 10 cups water.

Wash the rhubarb in cold water, trim the ends, and cut into 1/2-inch pieces. (There’s no need to peel them or worry about the fibers, as these simply melt down.) Place the fruit in a 6 to 8-quart pot and add cold water to cover. Bring to a boil, immediately reduce the heat to a low simmer, and cover, stirring occasionally. When all the chunks have broken down into a uniform soup — 20 minutes or so — remove it from the heat. Uncover and allow to cool. As soon as it is cool enough to handle, ladle into a fine-mesh strainer over a spouted collecting bowl. (You may have to do this in batches.) The pulp will become a mass, so stirring it in the strainer with a wooden spoon will allow it to drain better. Once it’s drained, put the pulp and the syrup into separate containers and refrigerate immediately. Makes 2-plus liters of syrup and 2 pounds of pulp. Will keep for a week refrigerated.