Finally getting my rhubarb fix. The easiest way is stewed. Sent some down to my in-laws but forgot to warn them that it's a little tarter than the recipe called for. I like my face to suck in when I eat it -- in memory of Great Aunt Mildred and her (in)famous diabetic stewed rhubarb.
SOS'ed my friend Shelagh, she of the wonderful rhubarb cake that she allowed me to eat so much of one evening when my dad was dying. True friend, she. But she can't find the recipe, apparently hasn't made the cake since. There's something in that, isn't there? Some serendipity, some magic, some... je n'est sais pas. It stands as a special memory only, the ultimate comfort food. I know I ate it, I just can't prove it.
Tonight, on this cool, drizzly day, I am going to find a new rhubarb cake recipe. We'll see if this one lasts more than one evening. Not in so much need of comfort food these days.
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