Rhubarb is one of my favorite things. Spring food. Sour and astringent. It makes the years since childhood contract. A cup of white sugar into which a raw stem was rammed, the stalk chewed as if on a dare. Stewed rhubarb leading to the earliest bowel related humour at our table, pretend mad dashes for the washroom mid-dessert. Pies. Lard rich crust glazed with a crackle of rhubarb filling. Later, as a young married couple, we made weak rhubarb juice on a slow simmer that was cooled then mixed with cheap Ontario white wine as a particularly fine weekend drink. Today, I dug up and separated the rhizomes, halfway between thick carrots and thick sweet potatoes. I separated them in the patch where the compost bin used to sit and gave them a long soak of water from the hose. What was one plant should now be six. If I had a farm, I would have a rhubarb house. I understand the best in England are built over coal mines with only the light of one candle to ensure the stems are as pale as possible.
No yard should be without rhubarb.
[Original comments…]
Ben (The Tiger) – April 16, 2012 9:21 AM
http://tigeronpolitics.wordpress.com
Ah, rhubarb pie…
Ed Carson – April 18, 2012 9:34 AM
About rhubarb, my question has always been: Who was the first person who discovered the stem and only the stem is the bit that will not kill you?
Alan – April 18, 2012 10:02 AM
The second guy who ate it.
Ed Carson – April 18, 2012 4:49 PM
I would have said the third. Because first would have eaten the leaves and the second would eat the root; leaving the third guy to say, “tastes a little bitter, maybe needs a little sugar. And if you pardon me, I have to take a dump.”
Julia – April 27, 2012 9:11 AM
http://javaliterally.blogspot.com
My mouth drooled over the thought of rhubarb desserts. I keep saying I’m going to FINALLY learn to make strawberry rhubarb pie since my crust making skills are of the mad variety.