Rhubarb and Carrot Olive Oil Cake

Like contributor Jim Dixon of Real Good Food, I grew up eating stewed rhubarb in the spring, and was even known to gnaw on a raw stalk once in awhile. In adulthood, chewing on the raw product has gone by the wayside, but having as much as I can is still a priority at this time of the year.

Every year when I see the first rhubarb at the farmers market I'm reminded again that I didn't plant some in my own garden. The one year I did remember, I was too late; I planted the crown in the fall and never saw it again (early spring is the time…I could've looked it up). Rhubarb is my favorite pie filling, and I grew up eating bowls of it simply stewed with sugar. These days I mostly roast it with olive oil, usually with either honey or cane syrup.

But I'm occasionally inspired to do more. After making Nigella Lawson's Venetian carrot cake and liking the unusual, not-too-sweet and very Italian dessert, I thought it would be a good vehicle for eating more rhubarb.

Grate a medium-sized carrot and put the results on a paper towel to soak up some of the liquid. Cut 6 to 7 stalks of rhubarb into half inch pieces (about 2 cups or so). I mixed together a half cup each of cane syrup and extra virgin olive oil (sorry Nigella, but if you don't use extra virgin olive oil you might as well use plain vegetable oil), then added 3 eggs, a teaspoon of vanilla, a shot of bourbon, and the zest and juice from a smallish lemon.

I stirred in about 2 cups of almond flour and added the grated carrot and sliced rhubarb. Parchment paper got cut into a circle to fit a 7-inch cast iron skillet (a cake pan or pie tin would be fine), and I drizzled a little more extra virgin over it to grease the pan. I poured in the thick batter, added a generous sprinkle of blanched, slivered almonds to the top, and baked it at 350° F for about 45 minutes. Nigella calls for a topping of mascarpone with powdered sugar and rum (or bourbon, for my version), but I like a little whipped cream with cane syrup and whiskey.

Rhubarb is also awesome in other desserts, made into syrup or mixed in a cocktail…check out these other fantastic rhubarb recipes!

Life Gives You Lemons (and Rhubarb)? Make Cocktails!

You know what it's like: It's cocktail hour and a gin and tonic would taste really good, but you're out of tonic and all the limes in the fridge are brown and shriveled. Which rules out a gimlet, a caipirinha or a margarita.

But wait…there are lemons, and you just made a batch of rhubarb syrup so your nephew could have his favorite thing at auntie's house, her fabulous rhubarb soda.

Since that was precisely the situation I found myself in the other day, I cast my mind way, way back to the 1990s and what popped into my head was that chichi happy hour cocktail—and the bane of bartenders everywhere—the lemon drop! I simply substituted the rhubarb syrup for the simple syrup and, voilà, cocktail hour was saved. Huzzah!

Rhubarb Lemon Drop

For the syrup:
Rhubarb
Water
Sugar

For the cocktail:
2 lemons, juiced
2 1/2 oz. vodka
1 1/2 oz. rhubarb syrup
3/4 oz. triple sec
Sugar for the rim

For the syrup, wash rhubarb and chop stalks crosswise into 1/2" pieces. Place in saucepan and add water to cover. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 15-20 minutes. Pour rhubarb mixture through a sieve into a medium-sized mixing bowl to strain off solids. Add equal amount of sugar to the strained liquid (you're making a 1:1 simple syrup) and stir until sugar is completely dissolved. Cool. The syrup can be stored in pint jars in the freezer to keep you well-supplied until next rhubarb season.

For the cocktail, make a sugar rim on the glass by slicing partway through a wedge of lemon and running it around the edge of your glasses. Make a mound of sugar on a plate and, inserting the edge of the glass into the mound at a 45° angle, twirl the edge of the glass  fill cocktail shaker 2/3 full of ice and add all ingredients. Shake 15-20 seconds. Pour into sugar-rimmed martini glasses and serve.

Rhubarb Crisp: A Blast from the Past

"Planning, preparing and serving meals is an art which develops through inspiration and thought. It may look difficult to the beginner, but like driving a car, swimming or anything we learn to do without thought or conscious effort, it is a skill which grows easier with the doing."

Perky, positive phrases like these, along with recipes for "Wheaties Ting-a-Lings," "Hollywood Dunk" and "Veal Supreme"—described as "popular at Sibley Tea House, near the home of an early Minnesota governor"—littered the pages of my mother's 1955 edition of Betty Crocker's Picture Cook Book.

Meant to bolster the confidence of a new generation of middle-class housewives like my mother, saddled with preparing three meals a day for a growing family and a husband who spent his days at the office and came home expecting dinner on the table, Betty was always there with her reassuring, confident wisdom.

"Good eating brings happiness two ways. First, there is the joy and satisfaction of eating delicious, well-prepared food. Then there's the buoyant health, vitality and joy of living that comes from a wise choice of foods. Both are important to good nutrition."

Of course, we now know that Betty was an invention of one of the six milling companies that became General Mills in 1928, created for the purpose of responding to recipe requests from customers. The company decided that having a woman's name to sign the return letters would be more personal, and so combined the last name of a retired company executive with the first name "Betty," which they felt was "warm and friendly."

I'm not sure my mother bought the whole ad-speak tone of the cookbook, but both it and her mother's 1944 copy of The Joy of Cooking—which was written by an actual person, Irma Rombauer—were her kitchen workhorses.

One of my mother's favorite "Betty" recipes was for apple crisp, though rather than the granola-esque crumble topping, it had a crunchy sugar topping that contrasted so satisfyingly with the soft, warm fruit under it. I've used it for many different kinds of fruit, most recently for a wonderful rhubarb crisp that brought back vivid memories of my mother's kitchen.

Rhubarb Crisp

4 c. rhubarb, sliced into 1/2" chunks
2 Tbsp. sugar plus 1 c. for the topping
1/4 c. orange liqueur like triple sec, Harlequin or Grand Marnier
1 tsp. cinnamon
3/4 c. flour
1/3 c. frozen butter or margarine, in pieces

In medium mixing bowl, combine rhubarb, 2 Tbsp. sugar and liqueur. Set aside.

For topping, in bowl of food processor combine 1 c. sugar, flour and butter or margarine. Pulse until it is the texture of cornmeal.

Place rhubarb mixture in 9" by 12" baking dish. Sprinkle with cinnamon. Sprinkle with topping mixture from processor. Bake at 350° for 40-50 min. until fruit is bubbly and topping is slightly golden.

Rhubarb Gimlet: Two, Two, Two Treats in One

Okay, okay, calm down. Rhubarb season is almost over so this will (probably) be the last post on the subject for this year—unless Dave makes that rhubarb sorbet he's been talking about. We'll see.

Chopped and heating for syrup.

I've been making batches of rhubarb syrup and squirreling it away in the freezer so there will be beverage fixin's to last through the summer, fingers crossed, if I can restrain myself from having a sip of soda on these warm afternoons. (What happened with our usual rainy Rose Festival weather? This is disturbing.)

Delicious and refreshing, darn it!

Another hitch in my clever plan is that the other day I was inspired to combine some of that carefully stashed syrup with one of my favorite cocktails, the gimlet. Yes, you've got it: uh-oh. Even more uh-oh was that it was not only delicious but crazy refreshing.

Sure hope I can score some more rhubarb at the farmers' market, or I'm in, as they say, big-big trub-trub.

Rhubarb Syrup

Several rhubarb stalks, chopped into 1/2" pieces (redder rhubarb makes a more intensely colored syrup)
Water
Sugar

Place chopped rhubarb in saucepan and add just enough water to barely cover the pieces. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to simmer. Cook over low heat until rhubarb is tender, 20 min. Strain through fine mesh sieve or several layers of cheesecloth, pressing gently to release the liquid. If you want a completely clear syrup it might take more than one filtering. Discard the solids. Measure or weigh the remaining liquid and add an equal amount of sugar. Heat the syrup in a saucepan, stirring until the sugar is dissolved. Chill. Will keep for at least a week in the fridge. Alternately, pour syrup into glass or plastic containers and freeze for later use.

Gimlet

2 oz. gin
1 oz. fresh-squeezed lime juice
3/4 oz. rhubarb syrup

Fill cocktail shaker with ice, add ingredients, shake very well and strain into martini glass. Garnish with lime wedge.

Lots more recipes and suggestions for rhubarb.

Rhubarb: Drink It, Eat It, Wear It…It's All Good!

I realize this is my second post on rhubarb in as many weeks, but, darn it, I love the stuff. Plus I had to share the darling photo above.

Marco Polo went to China to find where it was grown. An importer's list from that time might include it with other precious items brought along the Silk Road: "silks, satins, musk, rubies, diamonds, pearls and rhubarb." My own great-grandmother, Mary Alice Walden (née Beebe), an herbalist and midwife in the town of Bridal Veil in the Columbia Gorge, may well have used it to treat patients suffering from constipation.

My mother's mother "put up" dozens of jars of stewed rhubarb every spring, which was served as dessert at the noon dinner she made for my grandfather, a cattleman in Eastern Oregon (dinner was at noon, supper at six in that ranching family). He would pour a mound of sugar on the already-sweetened serving she put in front of him, though I preferred it straight from the jar.

I loved it so much I was even known to eat stalks raw in the springtime, making hats out of the large leaves, a fashion statement I've passed on to my nephew (top photo). He was the one who reminded me (or was it insisted?) that I needed to make rhubarb syrup when he saw several stalks sitting on the counter. Used in his favorite beverage last summer, what choice did I have but to comply?

The recipe below should get you on the road to more rhubarb indulgence, though I'll leave the decision about headgear up to you.

Rhubarb Syrup

Several rhubarb stalks, chopped into 1/2" pieces (redder rhubarb makes a more intensely colored syrup)

Water

Sugar

Place chopped rhubarb in saucepan and add just enough water to barely cover the pieces. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to simmer. Cook over low heat until rhubarb is tender, 20 min. Strain through fine mesh sieve or several layers of cheesecloth, pressing gently to release the liquid. If you want a completely clear syrup it might take more than one filtering. Discard the solids. Measure or weigh the remaining liquid and add an equal amount of sugar. Heat the syrup in a saucepan, stirring until the sugar is dissolved. Chill.

Rhubarb Soda

To make a rhubarb soda, half-fill a tall glass with ice and pour in a small amount of rhubarb syrup (more syrup will make a sweeter drink—we like ours on the subtle side). Add soda and stir. Garnish with mint sprig if desired.

Rite of Spring: Rhubarb Crisp

It was almost exactly five years ago that my friend Lindsey gave me cutting from her beloved rhubarb plant. It had grown to an immense size and needed to be divided, and since I'd regaled her innumerable times with my rhubarb history, she deemed me worthy of inheriting a chunk of her leafy offspring.

My initial idea to plant it on one end of our raised beds was a definite miscalculation. Within a couple of years it had almost completely taken over half the bed with its spreading branches (far left), requiring transplanting to another spot where it could leaf out with abandon.

That move, of course, set back any harvesting for another couple of years, but finally this spring I managed to pull off a few early stalks, enough to make the first rhubarb crisp of the year (right).

Rhubarb Crisp

For the topping:

1 c. flour

3/4 c. uncooked rolled oats

1 c. brown sugar

1/2 Tbsp. cinnamon

1/2 c. butter or margarine, melted

For the fruit:

4-6 c. rhubarb, cut in 1/4" slices
1 c. sugar

1/4 c. triple sec, Cointreau or other orange liqueur
2 Tbsp. cornstarch


Mix together dry ingredients in medium sized bowl. Pour in melted butter or margarine and stir with fork to distribute. When well-mixed and crumbly, scatter on top of fruit in pan.

Slice fruit into large mixing bowl. Add sugar, water, cornstarch and vanilla and mix thoroughly. Put in 9” by 12” by 2” baking pan. Scatter topping mixture evenly over the top and bake in 350 degree oven for 55 min.

Spring in Your Step? Try Spring in Your Glass!

The red stalks of rhubarb that appear at farmers' markets and grocery stores this time of year, along with tender green things like raab, nettles and miner's lettuce, are among the first harbingers of spring, a sure sign that, once again, winter has breathed its last cold breath on the Willamette Valley.

The rhubarb phosphate.

I've been a fan of this sourest of vegetables from childhood, when I'd take a stalk off the kitchen counter where my mom was chopping it for a crisp or pie and, much to her chagrin, chomp down on it, letting the full glory of its acidic sourness fill my mouth. So when I heard that my dear friend Dave Shenaut at Raven & Rose was working up a cocktail featuring my favorite spring ingredient, I asked if he'd be willing to share a recipe or two with the readers of GoodStuffNW.

The Bonnie Wee Lass rhubarb cocktail.

The best part is that these drinks are based on a syrup rather than an infused alcohol, meaning it can be used as an ingredient in a delicious cocktail, of course, but it can also be combined with soda or lemonade for a refreshing beverage to serve at brunch or for sipping on the patio. The syrup will keep for a week or two in the fridge, but it can also be frozen for enjoying on a hot summer day.

And a note on phosphates, those spritzy, fizzy drinks that were the specialty of soda fountains in the late 1800s and early 1900s. At Raven & Rose, Mr. Shenaut is determined to bring back classic beverages like the phosphate, and is looking to beverage writer and itinerant bartender Darcy S. O'Neil's book Fix the Pumps as one of his guides. I'd highly recommend it, as well as O'Neil's blog, Art of Drink, for some fascinating reading.

Rhubarb Syrup
From Dave Shenaut at Raven and Rose
3 lbs. rhubarb stalks, chopped into 1/2" pieces (redder rhubarb will make a more intensely colored syrup)
Water
Sugar

Place chopped rhubarb in large saucepan and add water to cover. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to simmer. Cook over low heat until rhubarb is tender, 15-20 min. Strain through fine mesh sieve or several layers of cheesecloth, pressing gently to release the liquid. If you want a completely clear syrup it might take more than one filtering. Discard the solids. Measure or weigh the remaining liquid and add an equal amount of sugar. Heat the syrup in a saucepan, stirring until the sugar is dissolved. Chill.

Rhubarb Phosphate
From Dave Shenaut at Raven and Rose
3/4 oz. rhubarb syrup
1/2 oz. lemon juice
2-3 drops rose water
10 dashes of phosphate
Seltzer*

Half fill a glass with ice, then add the syrup, lemon juice, rose water and phosphate. Fill with seltzer. Garnish with sprig of lemon balm.

* If you don't have phosphate and seltzer, simply substitute soda water. The flavor will be slightly different, but still lovely.

Bonnie Wee Lass
From Dave Shenaut at Raven and Rose
2 oz. gin
3/4 oz. rhubarb syrup
3/4 oz. lemon juice
2 drops rose water
Sprig of lemon balm for garnish

Fill a shaker 2/3 full of ice. Add gin, syrup, lemon juice and rose water. Shake, then strain into cocktail glass. For the garnish, Mr. Shenaut mists the sprig of lemon balm with absinthe and sprinkles it with superfine sugar before setting it gently on the surface of the cocktail, but the sprig by itself would be fine, too.

Rhubarb Revelation

The first time I heard contributor Jim Dixon of RealGoodFood refer to honey-roasted rhubarb, it was one of those slap-my-forehead moments…of course! I've seen the first stalks appear at the farmers' markets and local produce sections of the grocery store, though the plant in my garden (below) is just starting to unfurl its leaves. So wait if you can, but if you can't, grab some and get roastin'!

Around here you can depend on rhubarb to be out of the ground and ready to eat before almost anything else. We’re still a few weeks away from when you’ll be able get enough for a couple of pies from that patch on the side of your neighbor’s house, but here’s an old favorite to get you ready for that day.

I adapted this recipe from Tenuta di Capezzana, the Tuscan olive oil producer. It’s easy and incredibly delicious. Make one cake now to eat plain, then another when the rhubarb arrives.

Olive Oil Cake with Honey Roasted Rhubarb

3 eggs
2 1/2 c. sugar
1 1/2 c. extra-virgin olive oil
1 1/2 c. milk
Grated zest of 2-3 oranges or lemons
2 c. unbleached all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking powder
Large pinch of salt
6 large rhubarb stalks

Preheat the oven to 350°.

Butter and flour a 12-inch cake pan (I usually make this in a 12-inch cast iron skillet). In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs and granulated sugar. Add the olive oil, milk and orange zest.

In another bowl, stir together the flour, baking powder and salt. Make a well in the dry ingredients, and slowly add the egg mixture, stirring just until blended. Do not over mix. Pour the batter into the prepared pan.

Bake until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean, 50 to 55 minutes. I let the cake cool in the skillet, and serve it from the pan. but you could let it to cool completely, loosen the sides with a knife, and invert onto a serving plate (hold the plate against cake pan and flip...hopefully it will come out in one piece).

Slice a half dozen or so rhubarb stalks into half inch pieces. Toss them with a few tablespoons of olive oil, then arrange on a sheet pan and drizzle with about a half cup of honey. Roast at 350° for about 20 minutes (I do the prep after the cake is in the oven, then cook the rhubarb while the cake is baking). Let cool and spoon over slices of olive oil cake.

Photo from Jim Dixon's Produce Diaries at Culinate.com.

In Season NW: Rhubarb Over Raab

I love a good rant when it's well-informed and passionate. Contributor Jim Dixon of RealGoodFood goes off about labeling any flowering vegetable as raab, which kinda bugs me, too. Once he gets that out of his system, he goes on to discuss roasted rhubarb, a great addition to the spring repertoire.

Raab Rant

The tendency to use the term “raab” for the immature flower stalks of vegetables typically eaten during some other phase of their life cycle needs to be stopped. Raab is a corruption version of rapa, Italian for turnip. Broccoli is the plural of the Italian broccolo, which means the flowering head of a cabbage. Broccoli raab: flowering head of a turnip (aka rapini, another delicious member of the cabbage family Brassicaceae).

It’s probably too much to ask for a simpler approach. But I’d rather see the common names of the vegetables, mostly cabbage brethren, used instead. Maybe something along the lines of “collard tops.”

For a different take on raab, check out this post from the Portland Farmers' Market blog.

* * *

Roasted Rhubarb

I love the taste of rhubarb, and growing up I ate a lot of plain stewed rhubarb sprinkled with sugar. A few years ago I decided to roast some with olive oil. I liked how it kept its shape even though it got very tender. It still needed a sweetener, though, so next I drizzled it with honey, too, before roasting.

Cut 5 or 6 stalks of rhubarb into half inch pieces. Toss them with a healthy drizzle of extra virgin olive oil (a couple of tablespoons worth) and abut the same amount of honey. Spread on a baking sheet, sprinkle with flor de sal, and roast at 350F for about 20 minutes.

I eat this with yogurt, spooned over a slice of olive oil cake, or all by itself.

Olive-Oil Cake with Honey-Roasted Rhubarb
By Jim Dixon, from the Jim Dixon collection at Culinate.com

I adapted this cake recipe from Tenuta di Capezzana, the Tuscan olive-oil producer. It’s easy and incredibly delicious. The rhubarb, however, was my own invention. I started just roasting it with olive oil, then sprinkling it with sugar to eat, but the honey works much better. I also like how the rhubarb holds its shape, instead of breaking down like it does when you stew it. We ate a lot of rhubarb growing up, and it’s one of my favorite things, but I’m adamant about never mixing it with strawberries.

For the cake:
3 eggs
2½ c. sugar
1 1/2 c. extra-virgin olive oil
1 1/2 c. milk
Grated zest of 2-3 oranges or lemons
2 c. unbleached all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking powder
Large pinch of salt

For the rhubarb topping:
6 stalks rhubarb
2 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil1/3-1/2 c. honey

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter and flour a 12-inch cake pan (I usually make this in a 12-inch cast-iron skillet).

In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs and granulated sugar. Add the olive oil, milk, and citrus zest.

In another bowl, stir together the flour, baking powder, and salt. Make a well in the dry ingredients and slowly add the egg mixture, stirring just until blended. Do not overmix. Pour the batter into the prepared pan.

Bake until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean, 50 to 55 minutes. I let the cake cool in the skillet and serve it directly from the pan, but you could let it cool completely, loosen the sides with a knife, and invert onto a serving plate (hold the plate against the cake pan and flip; hopefully it will come out in one piece).

While the cake is baking, slice a half-dozen or so rhubarb stalks into half-inch pieces. Toss them with a few tablespoons of olive oil, then arrange on a sheet pan and drizzle with about ½ cup honey. Roast at 350 degrees for about 20 minutes. Let cool and spoon over slices of olive-oil cake.

Regrets? I've Had a Few

For years I'd wanted to grow rhubarb but never got around to planting one. This year, though, thanks to my friend Lindsey, there's a small plant in the raised bed. Maybe I'll be able to give a cutting to contributor Jim Dixon of RealGoodFood in a couple of years!

Every spring when the first red stalks appear in the market, I have one of those "D’oh!" moments, realizing that, once again, I failed to plant rhubarb. The stuff grows like a weed here, and many yards have a big clump flourishing forgotten in a shady corner. Maybe next year.

I adapted this recipe from Tenuta di Capezzana, the Tuscan olive oil producer. It’s easy and incredibly delicious.

Olive Oil Cake with Honey Roasted Rhubarb

For the cake:
3 eggs
2 1/2 c. sugar
1 1/2 c. extra-virgin olive oil
1 1/2 c. milk
Grated zest of 2-3 oranges or lemons
2 c. unbleached all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking powder
Large pinch of salt

For the rhubarb:
6 stalks rhubarb
4-6 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 c. honey

Preheat the oven to 350°. Butter and flour a 12-inch cake pan (I usually make this in a 12-inch cast iron skillet). In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs and granulated sugar. Add the olive oil, milk, and orange zest.

In another bowl, stir together the flour, baking powder, and salt. Make a well in the dry ingredients, and slowly add the egg mixture, stirring just until blended. Do not over mix. Pour the batter into the prepared pan.

Bake until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean, 50 to 55 minutes. I let the cake cool in the skillet, and serve it from the pan. but you could let it to cool completely, loosen the sides with a knife, and invert onto a serving plate (hold the plate against cake pan and flip...hopefully it will come out in one piece).

Slice a half dozen or so rhubarb stalks into half inch pieces. Toss them with a few tablespoons of olive oil, then arrange on a sheet pan and drizzle with about a half cup of honey. Roast at 350° for about 20 minutes (I do the prep after the cake is in the oven, then cook the rhubarb while the cake is baking). Let cool and spoon over slices of olive oil cake.

Photo from Moosey's Country Garden.

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I’ve also been roasting rhubarb regularly, and for the last batch I used some of the Katz Meyer Lemon Olive Oil. The subtle citrus tang is a nice addition.

Honey Roasted Rhubarb with Meyer Lemon Olive Oil

Slice a half dozen stalks of rhubarb into about half inch pieces. Toss with about a quarter cup of Katz Meyer Lemon Olive Oil, spread on a baking sheet, and drizzle with a half cup of honey (you can skip the honey if you want to use the roasted rhubarb for something savory).

Roast at 350 for about 15 to 20 minutes. Eat plain or with yogurt, ice cream, or anything else that’s rhubarb friendly.

Seasonal Greens

There's something about the color green that just shouts spring to me. It happens when I see the first tentative tendrils of my white bleeding heart popping out of the ground, followed by the hostas and anemonies, and then the farmers' markets start up with garlic shoots and tender baby lettuces.

And, my obsession with rhubarb notwithstanding, there's that very short, very special moment when fava beans can be found at the markets and on the menus of many restaurants. The trick seems to be finding very fresh pods with firm, round beans inside rather than faded, floppy things that have lost their luster to too much time in transit.

Yes, there is that notorious three-step prep, but, hey, the season is short and the agony doesn't last long. Just remove the beans from the pods, boil them for a minute or two in plenty of water, then shock them in ice water to stop the cooking process. Terrific in salads or tossed with pasta, they also make a vivid seasonal risotto. I like them as a fava bean spread on fresh slices of baguette or on crostini brushed with olive oil and garlic and topped with a tiny mint leaf.

So steel yourself and get in while the getting's good. You won't regret it!

Spring Thing

Some people look for the first robin, some people wait for the opening of their neighborhood farmers' market, others look for the mailman to start wearing shorts. Me, I yearn for the first pinkish green stalks of rhubarb to appear in the produce aisle. Growing up, my grandmother always canned jars of rhubarb sauce that would be served for dessert after the noonday meal (called "dinner," not lunch). Of course, my grandfather would douse it with half a sugarbowl of refined sweetness, but I ate it straight from the jar, savoring each strangely appealing bite, feeling the tart/sweet taste in my mouth.

I was even known to take a stalk, cut off the poisonous leaf (which we'd sometimes tie on our heads with string for an impromptu sunhat) and munch on the raw article, prompting much pursing of lips and choking from surrounding brothers and cousins. But I loved it. Which probably accounts for my continuing love of rhubarb in just about any form, though I admit to a loathing of the bastardized version that cuts its wonderfulness with strawberries.

So far I've made a rhubarb pie and a couple of crisps. Yet every time I have it, it somehow tastes new to me. So I'll continue to make more until the season ends, summer comes and I can look for the signs of spring again next year.