Tart rhubarb makes a great dessert but also marries well with pork, fish

If you’ve ever bitten a stalk of raw rhubarb, you’ve surely asked yourself why anyone would want to eat it. But when you sit down at the picnic table in the back yard, lift that plastic fork full of strawberry-rhubarb crisp to your mouth, and you can’t keep a smile from spreading across your face — then you know.

Palatable only when cooked and sweetened, rhubarb stalks have a super-tart, green apple-meets-freshly mown grass taste (minus the gasoline fumes).

My two older sisters and I would try to see who was tougher by pulling up and chewing on the raw, red stalks. The first one to spit it out lost. We would carry the leaves over our heads and declare loudly to be the Queens of Sheba. We were always the Queens of Sheba — it sounded exotic to our 4-, 6- and 8-year-old minds.

This knee-high stalk with umbrella-like leaves is a vegetable, technically, but it’s treated like a fruit, used mainly in summertime potluck pies, crumbles and cakes. But its tart nature also marries nicely with grilled pork and fish. Or maybe you’d like a slug of rhubarb wine?

Native to Asia, varieties of rhubarb were used for centuries as a medicinal plant, although the leaves are poisonous. Not until sugar became cheap and available did rhubarb gain popularity as a food, peaking in the middle of the last century.

Rhubarb, like asparagus, is a perennial. It likes cold weather and needs 40 degrees and under to break dormancy and cause new growth. It dies back completely here in our area and benefits from a thick layer of mulch during harder winters.

The clumps produce for eight to 15 years, but need to be divided every four. To keep the plant strong, never take more than half the stalks and stop picking in midsummer.

Commercial production of rhubarb is mainly in Washington, Oregon and Michigan, with only 15 to 18 tons harvested annually. It doesn’t grow well in warmer areas of the country.

Alas, I confess, I haven’t grown rhubarb yet at my current house, but have never needed to. My sister Heather, who lives in Birdsview, and my neighbor Marsha across the field give me more than I can use. I take it when they give it to me and freeze it to use later.

Right now, the leaves are unfurling and the stalks are growing up toward the sun — at least they would be if it wasn’t snowing in April.

Rhubarb pairs particularly well with the sweetness of strawberries, which not coincidentally ripen at the same time.

Lavonne Newel, my junior high art teacher, has a delicious recipe in her cookbook “Skagit Valley Fare” called Rhubarb Surprise. I’d like to credit many great teachers throughout my life for nurturing my interest in creative endeavors — or maybe it was the fact she let us play Supertramp’s “Breakfast in America” in her class.

Marinated pork steaks grilled on the barbecue with a slow-cooked chutney of rhubarb, caramelized onion, cinnamon and dried fruit is fantastic and couldn’t be easier.

Robert at the Star Bar says he likes his rhubarb in a tart with a gingery crust. They serve the tart heated, with a scoop of ice cream.

But I’ve never found any recipe to compare to the taste and memories associated with my Grandma Katie’s rhubarb custard pie.

My sister Heather is now the pie baker of the family, and this pie, which never results in leftovers, has been know to bring tears to people’s eyes.

I’m compelled to include the recipe.

Her crust was, of course, also the best in the world, but I’ll have to include it at a later date. The filling is easy, the crust is really hard to perfect.

You need one top and bottom pie crust

Filling:

11/2 C. sugar

1/4 C. flour

1/4 tsp. nutmeg

1/4 tsp. cinnamon

Pinch of salt

3 eggs beaten

4 C. rhubarb

2 tbs. butter

Mix first five ingredients, add to beaten egg and beat until smooth. Stir in cubed rhubarb. Pour in to the unbaked pie shell. Dot the top with butter and top with the other crust. Don’t forget to make slits in the top and always put a cookie sheet under a fruit pie. Bake at 400’ for 50 minutes. But keep your eye on the crust for over browning.

We always serve it with ice cream. I’m sure it will become a favorite of your family.

Erin Earles works at Epicure in Anacortes when she’s not tending her garden, family and horses in Bay View. If you have a column suggestion or comment, or a question about food or gardening, please e-mail her at .