Growing up, lazy weekends were spent at my Memere and Pepere’s house. (That’s Grandma and Grandpa to some of you.) We invaded their home and their lives, an intrusion they welcomed with open arms.
In their basement was a framed photo of John F. Kennedy, carefully hung on the dinged wood paneling. My brother and I would play “Bartender” in that basement for hours, clanking bottles of bitters and olives together, dusting off the bright green stirrers that had sat in dirty tumblers since before we were born. A rickety exercise bike, squeaky from years of neglect, sat in the corner. My brother and I would put on “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” and peddle as fast as we could as the record player skipped.
Their house was our house. I can still feel the smooth, gold knobbed, birch furniture in the guest bedroom and hear the low murmur of “The Price is Right” every time I think of that house. When I stayed home sick from school, Memere would make me grilled English Muffins in her ancient case iron skillet, slather them in butter and strawberry jam, and we would watch her “stories” together.
Summers were spent running around their neighborhood, cavorting with the kids on their block. I learned to ride a bike in their driveway. I also promptly fell off that bike for the first time on the withered, cracked pavement; my brother swiftly kicked a pile of gravel in my face. As my Pepere grilled on hot days, I would “assist” him, assaulting him with a stream of endless chatter. Along with my younger cousin, I would climb the swing set they had erected for us, shoving her out of the way for my turn on the slide. We would wander over to the rhubarb bush in the far east corner of their yard and sprinkle sugar on the stalks, eating stick after stringy stick in the sun.
That bush produced an abundance of rhubarb every year; strawberry rhubarb pie quickly became one of my favorite childhood desserts. The contrast of the tart vegetable (yes, it is a vegetable) with the sweet berries drowning in sugary syrup was pure heaven. I always enjoyed the filling much more than the crust, which is why I jumped for joy when I found this recipe for Strawberry Rhubarb Crisp. I didn’t think it could possibly get better, but when I saw this version called for cardamom, I was sold. Cardamom is one of my absolute favorite flavors; aromatic and fragrant, it makes anything just a bit more special. This crisp was excellent; it is truly one of the best things I have made in months. The orange was just perfect to balance everything and the nutmeg complimented the cardamom perfectly. The vanilla frozen we served with this yogurt made it simply divine. I promise if you make this for any of your summer parties, people will lavish you with compliments. It is easy enough for even a beginner to make.
Strawberry Rhubarb Crisp with Cardamom
from Bon Appetit
Topping
1/2 cup old-fashioned oats
1/2 cup all purpose flour
1/2 cup (packed) golden brown sugar
1/3 cup sliced almonds
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
Generous pinch of salt
6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) chilled unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
Filling
5 cups 1/2-inch-thick slices fresh rhubarb (from about 2 pounds)
2 cups halved strawberries
3/4 cup sugar
1/3 cup orange juice
2 tablespoons all purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons grated orange peel
1/2 teaspoon (scant) ground cardamom 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
For topping:
Mix first 6 ingredients in medium bowl. Add butter; rub in with fingertips until moist clumps form.
For filling:
Preheat oven to 375°F. Butter 8×8 dish. Combine all ingredients in large bowl; stir to blend. Let stand until juices form, about 15 minutes.
Add rhubarb mixture to an 8×8 pan. Sprinkle topping evenly over mixture. Bake until topping is golden brown and crisp and filling is bubbling thickly around edges, about 45 minutes. Serve warm with sweetened whipped cream or frozen yogurt.
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YUMMMMM. I love strawberry-rhubarb desserts. My favorite version of all time was at the House of Pies in Houston, Texas. However, for the low low price of shipping and handling, you could always send me your crisp and I’ll take the ol’ Pepsi challenge.
For you, the moon.
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mmmm…delish. That looks very good, and I am not a rhubarb fan. Perhaps this will convert me?? =-) I am always willing to be proven wrong where food is concerned.
My friend sassE is not either…she ate this and loved it. I think the cardamom helps a lot.
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So you learned your way around a bar at a young age! Naw, I really enjoyed reading this – you remember and write with so much detail, it makes for a well written story!
Thanks–I honestly think my memory is one of my bigger gifts. It is handy and useful for blackmail as well.
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There’s a great scene in the series Mad Men, in which Don Draper (Jon Hamm) pitches the Carousel to Kodak executives. I think the scene is becoming legendary ’cause by the end of the pitch, he’s got grown men in tears and I suspect the audience as well.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R2bLNkCqpuY
I guess for some reason this post reminded me of the meaning of nostalgia courtesy of Don Draper and my grandma’s raspberry crisp. Damn I love this recipe.
Wow, I almost just teared up at my desk. I need to start watching this show.
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My Papa had a huge garden… he made rhubarb pie every single summer/Thanksgiving. I will forever associate it with him, especially since he passed last year.
Thanks for the reminder… I’ll make this for my dad when I’m home in August. It will mean so much to him.
This just made me feel really warm…please let me know what you think. Also, I am sorry about your grandfather.
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Rhubarb’s a strange plant … part of it is delicious, part of it is poisonous.
But playing with fire is fun…you could end up dead or very satisfied.
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Thanks, he was 86, a wonderful man surrounded by 6 children, 24 grandchildren, and a loving wife. We should all be so lucky
Agreed; my great grandfather was 96 when he died; had lived an awesome life, great famly, fulfilling career he loved. Sad when we lost him, but his life was a good one.
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In 59 years, I have never picked or purchased a stalk of rhubarb. I may just have to get acquainted with this colorful vegetable and try this recipe. It’s interesting that rhubarb is so often paired with strawberries, a fruit of pretty much the same hue.
Could you elaborate on the poisonous part of the plant?!
As long as you stay away from the leaves you are fine! Since they sell them without leaves (generally) you should be able to enjoy this, poison free.
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I don’t even know what a rhubarb looks like. And I’m a pretty daring eater (which is how I know raw ants taste better than fried ones).
It looks like an oversized pinky red stalk of celery…very fibrous and stringy.
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I have never had rhubarb – must try it at some point. That looks very good.
How is the hair doing?
It is doing ok–still getting used to it. It kinda feels like I am wearing a wig.
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Nom Nom Nom (borrowed from Jordan Baker).
I think she has it copywritten…watch out. Could have a court case on your hands.
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I realize we haven’t actually met, but I really think we ought to get married as soon as possible. Because any woman who can make rhubarb like that must be mine forever. I am not kidding! Mostly not, anyway.
My grandmother’s house in Indiana had berry bushes around it, and she would make fresh jam all summer. Oh, dear!
An e-marriage proposal…I think this may be my first.
I have been to Indy…good times. Bloomington, awesome, Indianapolis, ok. Evansville, kinda scary.
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Looks great. I’m a bit confused about the need to butter the custard cups even though the mixture is baked in a single 8×8 pan.
Whoops, when I did the conversion and tweaked the recipe, I missed this edit. Thanks for pointing this out, SD.
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With regard to the toxicity of rhubarb, it’s not as if munching a bit of the leaves will be a guaranteed dirt nap or anything. It’s actually a fairly mild poison, causing digestive upsets but no major damage.
Right, good point.
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What’s all this food crap? Let’s get back to the subject of my huge coxswain.
Maybe another time.
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Mmm strawberry rhubarb.. I’ll have to try this.
it is super duper simple and easy.
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I’m sorry. After the previous post, all I read was “hung” “dirty” “smooth, gold knobbed” “slather” “erected” “bush” “stalks” “moist” and “whipped cream”.
Construed as dirty even when I don’t mean it…
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Lemmy,
I’m sorry I’m a little late here but this is in regards to your last post and your hair….
I never knew you were so serious about the band. I mean I was just throwing out some suggestions but damn I never knew you’d go through with my suggestion. WOW. You are committed to your craft…. Now about the blue streak we’re going to need
As the manager of Heavy Sack, what you say goes. You tell me to cut my hair, I cut my hair.
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Memory test! Where does the line “Never rub another man’s rhubarb” come from?
answer below
.
.
.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=zn0ecHHHUGo
Guess what? I didn’t know this…I am woman enough to admit it.
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It’s from an action movie based on a comic book, so I guess as a female you only lose 5 cred points instead of 20.
But I guess I can give you 3 bonus points back for honesty.
I am still a bit disappointed in myself though…thanks for pitying me.
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Boy, you’re lucky you don’t come from a long line of diabetics. I ended up learning about the benefits of adding Nutrasweet to spaghetti sauce.
I want to say “ew” but I know that’s rude. So I will just think it…
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“Thanks–I honestly think my memory is one of my bigger gifts. It is handy and useful for blackmail as well.”
Believe her when she says this, folks – while my memory may itself be a bit sub-par, hers is, like, child-savant good. It’s more than a little scary, and it always gets me in trouble, when I have no recollection of scenes from our mutual past that she remembers with photo-realistic detail …
I am sorry. Sometimes I have to use my powers for evil, B.
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This sounds yummy – I am going to have to break down and – gasp – cook from scratch. No nuking, no quick mix into a pan. Bet it’s worth it though.
It is definitely worth it. Promise.
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No, no, it’s definitely an ‘Ew.’ Although it does knock down the tartness of the tomatoes. Now I use honey instead.
Yeah, or real sugar…but fake sweetner? No thanks.
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“I am sorry. Sometimes I have to use my powers for evil, B.”
Don’t be too hard on yourself – I wouldn’t even call it evil. Calling me out for forgetting major, emotional scenes from our mutual adolescence doesn’t count as evil, I don’t think. But thanks.
I am glad you see things my way.
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You had me at “my grandparents had a picture of John F. Kennedy hanging on their wall…”
Was there mention of dessert?
I will never forget that photo…loved it.
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