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 There is something comical about rhubarb. The very word sounds silly, is there any truth in the story that all extras in crowd scenes are told to repeat the word ad infinitum to generate the noise of a crowd? The word has always been used in our family to barrack pomposity or simply as a demonstration of mob rule. In any case, Rheum barbarum, 'the barbarian root', originates somewhere between the Himalayas and China and found its way to Europe because of the remarkable potency of the root as a purgative.
The leaves are poisonous, and no one seems to have even thought of eating the stalks until around 1800, a curiosity that is easily explained by the fact that the sugar essential to any rhubarb recipe was a scarce commodity until that time. |
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By the Victorian era, it had become very popular, with cookbooks regularly singing the praises of a vegetable that can be eaten as a fruit, and that is at its best at this time of year when there is little else in season. Once it was discovered that by keeping the stalks in the dark they grew longer and were a great deal less astringent and more delicate, an unlikely industry grew up around Wakefield in Yorkshire dedicated to the cultivation of early forced 'champagne' rhubarb, one of the great glories of British gastronomy.
The standard English repertoire for rhubarb is the very best sort of nursery food. I actually like stewed rhubarb with custard, I adore a crumble and a pie, and I simply love a fool - and these classics suit both the early and the later coarser, outdoor-grown rhubarb: one simply adds more sugar to the latter, devouring both with lashings of custard or cream. |
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Rhubarb Varieties >> |
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