Who can resist the sweet tartness of a rhubarb pie? One that’s still warm from the oven with a flakey crust that sparkles with the promise of sugar granules generously sprinkled across its lattice top? Not me and certainly not Dad.
Recently, at work, they were serving a rhubarb custard pie. I had never in my life had this, but had to give it a try since it had been ages since I’d had anything rhubarb. While the creamy texture of the rhubarb custard was a taste treat, I was reminded how much Dad loved rhubarb desserts. And sitting there with my coworkers it was difficult not to laugh out loud as I remembered a story from last summer.
Mom had picked a bunch (and when I say a bunch I’m not talking about a fistful, or an ice cream bucketful, but a 5 gallon pail full) of rhubarb one morning. Unfortunately it was on one of her work days and she didn’t have time to do anything with it before she had to get ready and leave for work. So in an effort to give Dad something to do she told him that if he cut up some of the rhubarb that she would make him a pie the next day. He gave her a funny look and she thought that was the end of it and nothing would be done with the rhubarb.
Much to her surprise, when she got home that night (at almost one in the morning) she found that the largest bowl she owned was overflowing with cut rhubarb. Now I’m when I say a large bowl, I’m talking about one of those stainless steel bowls you could practically use as a swimming pool. After getting some rest, Mom spent all of the next morning baking pies, and bars, and rhubarb sauce, etc. A few days later, TheHusband and I were there to visit and Mom sent bars and sauce home with us. We (meaning me, because it turns out TheHusband isn’t too fond of rhubarb) would have loved to have brought some of the pie back as well, but my brothers made sure that that didn’t happen.
I guess Dad liked rhubarb pie more than any of us knew.