Rhubarb: The taste of nostalgia
One of my earliest retention is follow my Grandma Jo to the yard at five or six years quondam to hack fresh rhubarb angry walk for a snack . My cousins and I were each given a small Tupperware ® cupful ( all shades of orange , brown , and green , good manners of the 1980s ) with an inch of sugar at the bottom to plunge our rhubarb . Sour bite after sour sting , we finished off those shuck and promptly asked for more . The sweet and moody combination would give us a bellyache subsequently . Still , it represented the beginning of the summertime , quick weather , and long barefoot Sunday afternoons playing at Grandma ’s .
To this daytime , rhubarbis still a favorite of mine . I do n’t get as excited to corrode it raw as I did when I was six , but I make a mean nipping . Imagine how charmed I was when an acquaintance from the gymnasium volunteer me several big bags of rhubarb . Neither Ben nor his mother enjoyed it , but it grow wild in drove chisel in their backyard , and he was felicitous to drop it off for me . Immediately , I accepted and tell him all about how I would feed it as a kid .
At home base , I pulled out my preferent formula and bragged to my married man about how prosperous we were to get all this devoid pieplant . I was deciding how much I would utilise right away and how much I would freeze for after when Ben pulled up in my drive . He was n’t lie in about the measure he had ! He approached my door with four binge grocery store bag .
Ben was happy to get rid of it . They hated it , he said . They had even tried it in sugar , like I suggest , but it was no better . I agreed it was an acquired taste and even offered to bake him a pieplant frosty to see if he choose that . But he adamantly refused and drove forth .
I emptied the first bag of green groceries into the sink and commence to wash it . Odd , I conceive . This rhubarb is kind of fuzzy . I yield it a sniff , expect to smell the familiar Fucus vesiculosus . It smelled … not like pieplant … but like my men after weed the garden . I broke off a piece and reluctantly put my tongue on it . Not . Rhubarb .
After I washed my oral fissure out several times , I pawed through the other bags . All were the same blurry rhubarb imposter plants . It take me a quick online search to discover it wascommon burdock ( Arctium subtraction ) .
Not rhubarb . And definitely not the ingredients to make a delicious crisp . As I fling it into the trash , I remember about Ben and his mummy dipping clotbur into a cupful of sugar like I ’d paint a picture , and titter . No amount of dinero could make that smack good . No marvel he was so quick to give it all to me .
Jamie now has real rhubarb growing in her garden , and she micturate sharp as often as she wants to .
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