Yesterday was apples and I forgot to show you the fluffy apple ‘mousse’ that I cooked yesterday. If you look carefully you can see the cubes of the ‘other’ apples that are soft but not as fluffy as the cookers.
But today I was learning about rhubarb – not only how to spell it (I keep starting ‘ru..’) – but about the fruit itself. Did you know that you could have green rhubarb? We are so used to seeing the pure red sticks at the green grocers , and our home grown variety is part red and part green with a pink core, but a wholly green plant just looks unripe.
But not so, it’s a true rhubarb. Apparently it is just as delicious as the others. But I still like the red kind.
This was my job today, and here I am chopping the green end of a red rhubarb. Pete cut the sticks yesterday and I showed you a basket full of this yummy fruit in my blog about chopping apples. There must have been more than 100 sticks! So I began. Chop, chop, chop. Slice the very thick stems in half and then chop, chop, chop.
The pieces are to be frozen so they are packed into plastic bags, approximately 2 kilos each; I filled five bags. Chop, chop, chop. You can see the mix of red and green – the green ones have a pink center. Such a pretty fruit, and very versatile.
For instance, rhubarb and ginger ice cream (which we had with the end of the apple crumble), and rhubarb chutney. My son requisitioned half a bag of pieces that I had just chopped and without delay whipped up the chutney ingredients, from his own recipe, and it proved really delicious.
Here’s the wonderful mixture boiling up, and then cooked to perfection. The test for readiness is to make a shallow ‘trench’ through the top of the mixture; if the groove remains, it is ready to pot up.
All the rhubarb has been harvested, it will grow up again next year. But the apples are still falling; I could hear the thuds as I was chopping them, and will continue to ripen, then the plums will be ready.
A gardener’s work is never done; it’s a continuously learning experience, too. But you can’t say it isn’t rewarding. For, no matter how much my arm might ache tomorrow, I’ll relish (literally) the results of my labours.