About six years ago, I moved to the Boston area from the Midwest. When people ask me what I miss about my old home now that I live in the big city, it’s not the horizons, the cornfields, or the friendly Midwestern folks back home that I mention (although, for the record, those things are nice, too). It’s the rhubarb.
Don’t get me wrong—rhubarb is certainly found in the Northeast. In fact, according to Alice Waters’s Chez Panisse Fruit, it was those thrifty New Englanders in places like Maine and Massachusetts that first embraced rhubarb cookery in America back in the 1820s. But see, that’s the problem--thriftiness. To me, there’s something intrinsically wrong about paying $2.99 a pound for rhubarb at the grocery store when it should, by its very nature, be something you can get for free from your own backyard, or from the overabundant rhubarb patch of a generous neighbor or relative.
Perhaps I’ve gained this perception of rhubarb because it is just so darn hardy. Seemingly impervious to pests and adverse environmental conditions, a rhubarb patch flourishes even when it’s been divided, plundered, or neglected. In short, a rhubarb plant is perfect for a gardener like me—one who has little patience or time but likes a big payoff. If only I had a few square sunny feet in which to grow one!
Rhubarb (rheum rhabarbarum) as we think of it today is a relative newcomer to the culinary scene. Its roots have been cultivated for medicinal purposes, especially in Asia and in ancient Greece and Rome, for millennia. Cited for its efficient easing of certain digestive ailments, the medicinal properties of rhubarb were also discovered in Europe by the sixteenth century.
It wasn’t until the eighteenth and nineteenth century that, with the growing availability of sugar (a virtual necessity for most recipes that use the tart fruit), rhubarb stalks became common ingredients in English and American cookbooks. One other theory about the relatively late rise of rhubarb in Western cookery is that early experiments with the leaves (which contain a high level of oxalic acid, and are toxic) proved, well, less than appetizing.
Of course, the interesting thing about cultivating rhubarb for its stems is that, unlike tomatoes, peppers, and squashes, which are botanically fruits but are treated culinarily as vegetables, rhubarb is a botanical vegetable which is almost invariably interpreted by home cooks as a fruit. Its common name in England and parts of America is “pie plant,” and its no accident that pie filling (by itself or paired with other fruits, especially strawberries and pineapple) is today the most common use of rhubarb. Other popular dessert preparations of rhubarb include crisps, custards, stews, preserves, and tarts. Spices such as ginger, cinnamon, and cloves are traditional accompaniments. Rhubarb has also gradually gained popularity as a savory accompaniment to rich meats and fishes such as pork, duck, and mackerel.
So where do I get rhubarb now that I no longer have a convenient, never-ending supply out my back door? Well, I’ve considered engaging in a little late-night rhubarb rustling when I’ve spotted under-utilized rhubarb plants outside houses in my neighborhood. For now, though, in my urban, rhubarb-less state, I’ll have to be content with the charitable rhubarb contributions of acquaintances in the suburbs—that and springtime visits back to those friendly folks in the Midwest (and my mother’s rhubarb patch), of course.
Selection: Field-grown rhubarb is available primarily in April and May in the northern part of the country (rhubarb does not grow well in hot weather or in hot climates). Choose firm, crisp, shiny and brightly colored (red or green) stalks that are not too thick or woody. Trim off the leaves and discard them.
Storage: If you’re lucky enough to have a rhubarb patch at hand, cut the rhubarb stems from the plant directly before you plan to cook them. If not, they can be stored in the crisper in your refrigerator for 3 days or cut into pieces and frozen for up to 6 months.
Preparation: Follow recipe directions for cutting rhubarb crosswise into appropriate sized pieces. I once heard a funny story about a new bride who prepared a rhubarb pie by filling a pie shell with criss-crossed layers of whole rhubarb stalks, trimmed just enough to fit the pan. Needless to say, the fibrous stems, when layered this way, made the pie not only inedible, but also even impossible to slice! For rhubarb lovers, one of the simplest ways to enjoy rhubarb is just stewed with water, sugar (or honey) and a little bit of cinnamon, orange juice, or whatever other flavoring you prefer. Mixing this stewed fruit with whipped cream creates the traditional dish known as rhubarb fool.
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Norah Piehl, Food Correspondent:Norah’s column, “Season’s Eatings,” published twice monthly to Gather Essentials: Food, considers the importance of eating seasonally and locally. “Season’s Eatings” helps the growing number of farmers’ market shoppers make good choices at the market, highlighting in-season produce and often including a recipe or two. Norah’s column alsos profile local growers and markets, discusses other items (from cheese to chutney) that might be found at your local market, and generally offer sresources for those who wish to continue exploring their local and regional agricultural offerings.Norah is a professional writer, editor, and book reviewer. In her spare time, Norah enjoys knitting (and blogging about knitting) and playing handbells with Boston’s Back Bay Ringers.
You can find all of Norah’s columns at www.gather.com/seasons eatingsKeep up with Norah’s other postings and Gather activity by joining her Gather network -- just click here: http://quincy74.gather.com and select the orange “Connect” button on the left-hand side of the page. You’ll find Norah and other Food Correspondents, plus celebrity chef content and plenty of other Foodies, at Food.gather.com


Comments: 9
Really--fascinating. I read that rhubarb is related to sorrel and dock, but I'll have to look up knotweed--maybe we have some growing in ditches or something nearby . . .