Let’s play a game called “If you had been in my house for dinner last Saturday.”
I’ll tell you about the dinner and you have to guess what made it particularly noteworthy, ok?
Right, here goes.
If you had been in my house for dinner last Saturday:
What’s in a name, eh?
There have been several occasions of late where I have happened upon blog posts describing fruit compôtes and, each time, I have experienced precisely the same sequence of reactions, to wit:
- compôte – oooh, sounds fancy, quickly followed by…
- ah, you just mean stewed fruit
Now, don’t get me wrong, the compôtes described were lovely and more than worthy of gracing my web browser with their presence. It’s just that, in my head at least, the word compôte generated a mental image of something more ooh la la than an everyday bowl of stewed fruit.
So what’s with the rhubarb, you may well ask, it being well past rhubarb season hereabouts.
I had every reason to ponder this mighty vegetable today because I spent the afternoon excavating the roots of my one over-large rhubarb plant, splitting it into 4 and replanting the newly separated roots. In time, this will mean a lot more rhubarb in my garden, though it may take 15 months or so before the rhubarb recovers fully from the split. Knowing that I will have less rhubarb next year has made me all nostalgic for the rhubarb treats we were able to whip up during this years long season: stewed rhubarb with ginger, rhubarb crumble, rhubarb polenta cake, rhubarb almond torte. All but memories now.