The fresh flavours of rhubarb and zesty blood orange light up dark February days
As children, we would always play in each other’s gardens. At the bottom of which, somewhere between the compost heap and the wheelbarrow, would be a patch of rhubarb; scarlet stalks hidden under vast emerald leaves and, occasionally, when everyone had enough crumble, left to sprout plumes of creamy white flowers. In winter, the crowns would sleep under upturned buckets whose bottoms had rusted to a lacework of tiny holes and would no longer hold water.
My current garden refuses to give a home to rhubarb, just as it does to wild garlic, and I am resigned to buying my stalks at the greengrocers. I crave the cosy glow of rhubarb on a grey winter’s day, be it under a crust, stirred into a cake or sitting in a pool of its own jewel-bright juice for breakfast. Rhubarb also makes an entrancing granita, served in a pile of glistening pink crystals with a spoonful of vanilla-infused cream as a contrast. Continue reading…
http://dlvr.it/TJ13HQ
