Slow allotment gardening in the life of a busy family
Monday, 4 May 2009
...because no-one else in the family will touch it. I can't understand this. As a child the spring rhubarb was a very welcome fresh taste after a winter of tinned fruit and increasingly wizened apples. No imported raspberries from Guatemala in the north east of Scotland back in the 60s and 70s. But my children won't eat it, and my husband shudders at the sight, reminded of boarding school puddings. How can they resist? Look at those gorgeous pink stems. Compare them with the green tree trunks on sale in Tesco just now for £2.00 for not a very big amount.
However, I do have a weak point when it comes to stewing rhubarb. I put it on the gas on a very low heat, and I go away and read some blogs. Then, as was the case 10 minutes ago, it begins to dawn on me that there's a pleasant, if rather burnt smell coming from the kitchen. Almost in the same moment I remember that I have rhubarb cooking on the stove. Result - a boiled-over pan, a lake of pink juice in the well of the gas burner, and a sticky mess to wipe up. But it was worth it for the blog-reading episode I managed to fit in before starting some ironing.