Steven (unzeugmatic) wrote,

Rhubarb Season

Once again my landlord Stephen's rhubarb patch in the backyard had become an aggressive jungle of greenery. On Saturday he hacked it back into some order and, with the resulting detritus, made about a dozen jars of rhubarb chutney and a rhubarb cake and a rhubarb pie and then he came downstairs with a sheaf of rhubarb stalks and said, "Here, make a rhubarb crumble."

While I don't have an especially well-stocked larder just at the moment, all that I need to make a rhubarb crumble is rhubarb, sugar, lemon zest, bread crumbs, and butter. Plus maybe vanilla ice cream. All of which I had. Forty-five minutes after Stephen knocked on my door (which is five minutes in Stephen Parker time) I went upstairs with a bowl of hot rhubarb crumble which Stephen pronounced delicious.

It makes me feel morally edified to harvest crops from my own (rented) backyard. Baking makes me feel industrious; Stephen sometimes refers to me going "all Betty Crocker" at times like these but on Saturday he noted that I had gone all "Rhubarb-Betty Crocker". But this time what I was most proud of was the fact that I can legitimately say that I "whipped up" a food item. There aren't many times when that phrase applies to my kitchen activity, but on Saturday Stephen handed me some rhubarb and I whipped up a crumble.

So there.
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