All Things Rhubarb

"It's the most wonderful time of the year..."

While I feel this way about Christmas usually, just yesterday I found myself humming this line as I drove through the vibrant green pastures harnessed by seemingly endless wooden rail fences in Geauga County. My Mother and I decided to take a trip to our favorite produce stand, J & J Produce, located at 16323 Claridon-Troy Rd, Burton, OH 44021. I would include a link to the website, but this place is so grassroots, so rural and so wonderful that they don't have a website. Owned by an Amish family, J & J Produce might just be my favorite produce stand in all of Northeast, Ohio. You will undoubtedly be hearing more about them as the growing season goes on and I highly suggest you take a trip there.

This entire week I've been on a mission to find one of my favorite early spring treats--rhubarb. The arrival of rhubarb, to me, is the arrival of growing season--something I look forward to from October to May. A couple of days this week have been sunny and warm, and I had a hunch the little red and green stalks might be just about ready. I've been driving around in the car and some days I can feel the sun baking my cheeks through the sunroof. It is not hot yet, it is not humid yet, it is May and it is perfect. On these warm days, I'd head out towards Geauga County typically, where they grow lots and lots of things, and sail past some of my old stomping grounds, looking to see if they had yet harvested any of the fantastically tart rhubarb that I have such love for. Each day had been a failure, but I knew it wouldn't be too much longer before success would knock on my doorstep.

Mom and I headed out on Tuesday, passing a little farm with a homemade wooden sign and a dirt driveway. This farm always has rhubarb in the spring. The sign said "Lettuce and Eggs," and yet again, no dice. I tried to resign myself to the idea that perhaps it was too early. As we drove further and further into the country, the day seemed to get better and better. The sun is brighter there in Burton and Middlefield, the grass is a shade of green that only comes from being shamefully sheared less often. People hustled and bustled around Burton square, and Mom and I stopped for a refreshingly thirst quenching iced tea. It was the perfect May day, and why it never dawned on me that my favorite produce stand would indeed have rhubarb, I don't know. All I know is that we turned the sharp bend and pulled up and over the tiny hill that blocks the stand from view until you are right on top of it. And when we were right on top of it, there it was. The industrial sign that can be changed daily with big, black, block letters to announce the days harvest said..."Asparagus...Rhubarb." It was as close to ecstacy food has ever taken me. I had been so craving and so anticipating the arrival of rhubarb season that this had caught me off guard and it was a wonderful and much needed surprise. I cleaned out the joint, snagging the last four bunches with plans to return this weekend for more. I lifted the stringy stalks to my nose and breathed in the pungent, tangy aroma that probably ought to turn people away. But, if you've ever enjoyed a slice of rhubarb pie, then you'd know that through the sour, starchy, weedy type odor of the rhubarb stalks lingers the suggestion of a bubbling pink, steaming, perfectly browned pie being pulled from your oven. Heaven.

A little bit about rhubarb for the masses that will read this...first and foremost the leaves are poisonus. Yep, poisonus. DON'T eat them. Really, don't. Rhubarb is officially considered a vegetable, but thanks to us Americans who are always so concerned about the extra pennies we have to shell out in taxes, it can legally be called a fruit (apparently you don't have to pay as much tax on "fruit"). It has been used forever, as far back as 2700 B.C. as a medicinal plant in China. It came to the United States in the 19th century, originating in New England and moving South and West with American manifest destiny. One thing that you really will want to know, other than it being poisonus, is that it is a potent laxative. You should have no problems the day after you eat the pie, if you get my drift. The last thing you should know is that it is delicious. Don't be afraid of it's sour taste, it's stringiness, it's poisonous leaves. Pair it with strawberries to make it less harsh, for all you first-timers out there. Just try it, give it a chance, and remember, buy it local.




Lovely rhubarb awaiting a good washing in the sink of my breezy kitchen.



Rhubarb stalks that are most desirable for baking and pies specifically, are long, thin, tender and red--like the stalk on the left. Those that are thicker and greener--like the stalk on the right--can be used, but will be a bit tougher and more sour so remember to adjust the amount of sugar if you get lots of these.



Pie in progress. The colors in this pie are to my eyes what music is to my ears...delightful.



A baby pie for a special friend.



An 'All Things Rhubarb' care package, including the baby pie and a mini-loaf of Rhubarb Walnut Bread. Plus all the love I put into making it.


And just for a smile...



My loyal kitchen companion and devoted baking assistant.