RHUBARB REDISCOVERED

From Midwest Living Magazine

 

            Each summer I spend a few weeks in my childhood hometown in South Dakota.  I've lived away for many years, and I sometimes bring an outsider's viewpoint to what was once a seamless backdrop of my growing up world.   A little distance from the once familiar can cause a person to see the individual elements.  For example, the regular sight of $5 peonies and $30 bouquets of lilacs in the California flower shops, and I now look at my mother's peony bushes and lilac hedges with new appreciation.  Now that I've seen horseradish tastings at the local food boutiques, I view my brother's homemade version in a new light (though I still suggest a gas mask if you visit during the preparation). 

            It took a few more years before Rhubarb entered this domain. It too had been part of the landscape of my childhood, and I guess it had its purposes.  It occasionally appeared in front of me camouflaged as a dessert.  I cut its big leaves into the shape of a palm trees when I was playing Muffy dolls visit Hawaii with my little friend Carol.   We sometimes ate it raw without sugar to prove to other kids how tough we were. (Like men who prove they're macho by eating the hottest peppers.) It tasted horrible and made your teeth feel so dry you practically had to peel your lips away.  It was only slightly more palatable than the grasshopper and worm parts the big kids made us eat to get into their clubs.

            On that trip, I noticed that people seem to grow rhubarb to give away rather than to use. It's the Midwest version of the giant Zucchini's that people give to each other in California. But Midwestern gardens have plenty of room, and in July, they'll find somebody to give it to. One neighbor confessed that the only time she locks her car door when she goes downtown is in July, otherwise she might come back and find a heap of rhubarb in the back seat.

            That summer I was weeding around the roses next to my mother's rhubarb when I noticed, for the first time, what a pretty plant it is.  Big plump leaves on the top of slender stalks just starting to show the rosy shade of ripeness.  And all of a sudden, I remembered Rhubarb Cream Pie.  At 85, my mother no longer remembered every dessert she served or where the recipe was, so I had to search.  

            I went through her entire collection of cookbooks.  In "What Albion Lutherans Eat" circa 1926 I found an ad for my great grandfather's buggy shop but no recipe.  In my grandmother's handwritten cookbook, there was a recipe for a mustard plaster, but no rhubarb cream pie. Finally I found a custard recipe as a starting point and improvised.  My mother's rhubarb wasn't quite ripe, so I ran to the store for a few stalks.  I added my own touches, lots of vanilla, some nutmeg, and more butter.  

            As it baked the rich smell filled the house and made the rainy summer afternoon seem almost made to order.  My mother tested it first then made me cook it 15 more minutes.  Couldn't quite handle rhubarb al dente.  At the end of 15 minutes, it was done, and it was wonderful. 

Each visitor who came by sampled and raved.  Following each rave was, “Where’d you get the rhubarb?"  Everyone reacted the same to my disclosure that the rhubarb had been purchased.   To a person they said, “Oh no! You should have told me. I would have brought you some." You've never seen a more disappointed group of people; they had missed the opportunity to give rhubarb to someone who would actually use it.  I told each one I'd be happy for some more.  

            With the contributions I further tested and refined the recipe.  I now feel certain that I came upon a good reason for rhubarb.

 

My recipe

--Chop up some rhubarb to make about 2 cups and put into an uncooked pie shell.

-Mix 2 tablespoons of melted butter, 2 eggs, 2 tablespoons of flour, 3/4 cup of sugar, l cup of canned milk with 2 teaspoons of vanilla and 1/2 teaspoon of nutmeg.

--Pour over the rhubarb and bake at 400 for 15 minutes, reduce heat to 325 and bake for about 45 more minutes. 

 

The “refined” recipe from the kitchen of Midwest Living Magazine

                        Pastry for 9-inch single-crust pie

            21⁄2     cups fresh or frozen unsweetened, sliced rhubarb 

            2          eggs

            1          cup evaporated milk

            3⁄4       cup sugar

            2          tablespoons all-purpose flour

            2          tablespoons butter or margarine, melted

            2          teaspoons vanilla

            1⁄2       teaspoon ground nutmeg

 

1. Prepare and roll out pastry. Line a 9-inch pie plate with the pastry. Trim and crimp edge as you like. Do not prick. Line pastry with a double thickness of foil. Bake in a 450º oven for 8 minutes. Remove foil; bake 4 to 5 minutes more or till set and dry. Remove pie plate from oven and reduce oven temperature to 350º.

2. In a medium saucepan bring 2 cups water to boil; add rhubarb. Return to boil. Drain water and cool rhubarb.

3. Carefully sprinkle rhubarb evenly over bottom of prebaked piecrust.

4. In a bowl, beat together the eggs, milk, sugar, flour, butter or margarine, vanilla, and nutmeg. Slowly pour over rhubarb in piecrust. Cover entire pie loosely with foil.

5. Bake in the 350° oven for 25 minutes. Remove foil. Bake for 15 to 20 minutes more or till center appears nearly set when shaken. Serve warm or chilled. Makes 8 servings.

Nutrition facts per serving: 318 cal., 16 g. fat, 38 g. carbo., 71 mg. chol., 1 g. fiber and 149 mg. sodium.

 By Susan DeMersseman, who lives in Berkeley, California, where it’s acceptable to buy your rhubarb.   Midwest Living Magazine June 2000.