Add eggs, one at a time, beating until combined, then vanilla. Make cake: In a large bowl, beat butter and sugars until light and fluffy.
Add rhubarb and cook, turning gently, for 3 to 4 minutes, until it has softened slightly and released some of its liquid. Add butter and salt and heat skillet over medium until butter has melted, stirring frequently. Sprinkle sugar into skillet and add lemon zest use your fingers to mix the zest into the sugar the grit of the sugar will help release the most flavor from it. If your rhubarb is already quite thin, you might just want to halve each piece lengthwise. Remove rhubarb and cut each stalk lengthwise into thin (about 1/4-inch thick) ribbons. Make topping: In a 10-inch ovenproof skillet, trim your rhubarb to lengths that will fit across the bottom in one direction, i.e. I’m glad there’s more for the rest of us. I am not here to change their mind, anymore than anyone else has succeeded in convincing me over my lifetime that beets are delicious. They find it jammy or stringy or too wet or depressingly gray once cooked. They do not see rhubarb as a sign that we’re near done with last winter’s vegetables and that berry season is nigh. They are not charmed by its perfect coloration (ranging from shimmery garnet through millennial pink, and straight through to mossy green), its tart flavor (that sings against vanilla and lemon and anchors the sometimes cotton candy-sweetness of strawberries so you can better taste them), or by the fact that unlike anything else in my real life (hair, clothes, apartment), it’s incapable of looking bad.
I have learned over the last couple years that there are people - smart, interesting people that I love very much - who do not care for rhubarb. If you’re ever asking yourself if it’s been too long since you had an upside-down cake, the answer is always yes. And so when a teacher at my son’s school brought me a bag of the most gorgeous, deeply red rhubarb (I really am this lucky), I knew immediately that this cake would have buttery, lightly caramelized stripe-y rhubarb topping draped over it. I realize that spring is supposed to be all flowers and pastels, lightness and lemon zest, but all of these cool, rainy days in the last month make me crave winter spices, no matter how many tomatoes and herbs I have planted this week (so many, eee) in hopes, despite all historical evidence, that this is the year I excel at container gardening.
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