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Rhubarb: Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell

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Consider the humble pie-plant. That’s what rhubarb is sometimes called. Like tomatoes, it belongs to a small group of identity-challenged fruits, I mean vegetables, I mean fruits. Apparently rhubarb got into some legal difficulties in New York back in 1947 and had to go to court to prove its fruitishness.

Rhubarb is a card-carrying member of the genus Rheum in the family Polygonaceae. Now doesn’t that make your mouth water? Its leaves are toxic and its roots are perennial. Its green-to-reddish stalks, however, are the stuff of childhood memories. At least the stuff of my childhood memories.

My grandpa on my mother’s side was an insurance salesman. But he spent all his free time in his beloved garden. Now when I say garden I mean backyard farm. He was a beekeeper and organic hippie without the beads and long hair. He was cool and didn’t even know it. Nor did I at the time. Rhubarb reminds me of him.

Apparently there is something called the Rhubarb Triangle in Jolly Olde England. If you have nothing better to do, look it up. No ships have been reported missing; however, local residents apparently harvest rhubarb stalks by candlelight. Are they Rhubarbarians? Nobody knows for sure.

My sister-in-law compiled a family cookbook a few years ago. On page 47 is a recipe for Sour Cream Rhubarb Pie. The recipe actually came from an old newspaper clipping my mother found. Although it calls for a cup and a half of sugar, that’s not a big deal because the recipe was written back in the days when sugar was good for you.


2 cups diced rhubarb (more or less)
1 cup sour cream
½ cup flour
1 teaspoon vanilla
pinch of salt
1 ½ cup sugar


Put rhubarb in unbaked pie shell. Mix remaining ingredients and pour over rhubarb. Bake for 10 minutes at 400 degrees and 40 additional minutes at 375 degrees. Pie will begin to set up as it finishes baking.

Sister-in-law Becky adds this note: This easy recipe makes a very rich dessert. I have often used other fruit such as blackberries, raspberries, or peaches. It’s especially good when made with the first rhubarb from the garden in early Spring.

Spring is still a long way off, but don’t let that stop you. Rhubarb, with its cheerful shades of red and green, is also a Christmas fruit. Or vegetable.

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About Ron Hendricks

  • I enjoyed your article. I love that you wrote that your grandpa was cool and didn’t even know it!

  • Loved this article, Ron. Reminds me of my Nana’s rhubarb pie. I just might try the recipe to see if I can fulfill the memory of it. Thanks.

  • Jordan Richardson

    Very cool, Ron. Appreciate the humour, even if some sourpusses don’t.

  • Actually, it is a story about a pie recipe. You are the one that is putting a “them and us” spin on it. In truth, there is only “us.”

  • You’re laughing at yourself only if you are gay and serving in the military. Otherwise you’re ridiculing people who don’t deserve it.

  • Actually, I was poking fun at people on life support. You know, vegetables. Come on down off your P.C. high horse and join the rest of us. If we can’t laugh at ourselves, who is left?

  • Seeing your title listed among BC’s fresh articles, I clicked on “Rhubarb: Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” expecting to find something about the rhubarb (i.e., quarrel or squabble) now prominent in the news relating to the U.S. military’s Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy forbidding gays and lesbians from serving openly. Instead it turns out this rhubarb is the plant, not the argument.

    Fine. All well and good. Except that in your first paragraph, you seemingly try to justify your gratuitous “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” subtitle with a tasteless reference to “identity-challenged fruits.”

    I hate to come across as a Scrooge of political correctness, spoiling your scrumptious holiday. But connecting “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” with “identity-challenged fruits” is not humorous, it’s offensive. I suppose next you’ll be sharing another of your family’s beloved recipes with your forthcoming Blogcritics article “Blackberry Pie: Kwanzaa Delight for the Racially Challenged.”