My grandmother was right all along: You can't beat fresh strawberries and rhubarb in the springtime

Frannie, my maternal-grandmother and true Southern belle that she was, made rhubarb famous in my family, not only because of how much she loved Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie but because of the way she said it. It became part of my sister’s and my act when we impersonated her as children. With one hand over our hearts and one hand held up as if to stop traffic, we would say the line in unison, “Oh, hon-ney, Frann-ney doesn’t want a thing. I stopped in Merr-reh Est-ah for cau-feh and a piece of straw-berr-eh roo-bahb pie.”  

You see, she drove from Mexico Beach, FL to see us in Mobile, AL, and Mary Ester, FL was along her route, about halfway between us. Mary Ester was also where one of her favorite pitstops was — a quaint, out-of-the-way cafe with wonderful coffee and homemade sweets. In the spring, Frannie’s favorite was their homemade Strawberry-Rhubarb, and she all but sang about it once she arrived for her visit. 

Something about the way Frannie swooned over that pie made me think rhubarb had to be a delicacy, probably something exotic and hard to come by. Strawberries were already a favorite of mine by this time, but I had never seen or tasted rhubarb. My young brain reasoned that if rhubarb was good enough to be in the mix with strawberries, it must be supernaturally delicious.

I suppose I was both right and wrong. Turns out, people are fairly divided on rhubarb. Although beloved by some, it is reviled by many. In fact, just this week while at my local farmers market, I encountered a particularly talkative man who made a point to passionately tell me that the worst thing he had ever eaten in his life was a rhubarb pie. I believe has was triggered by the vibrant fuchsia-pink stalks sticking out of my grocery sack and made a beeline straight for me.

He apparently felt compelled to do whatever he could to dissuade me from bringing my rhubarb home and ultimately suggested I throw each and every piece over the fence, back into the farm from where it had come. He doubted even the field mice would be interested in it. Then reasoned something might possibly be hungry enough to give it a whirl, but only if the creature in question had never tasted it before. All of that plus more delivered rapid-fire in no more than a minute. Strong words from someone I had never met and would more than likely never lay eyes on again. 

Needless to say, I brought my gorgeous rhubarb home and made this wonderful crumb topped cobbler that my husband and I devoured like animals before it was even properly cooled.

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Rhubarb prefers to grow in cooler temperatures; therefore, we have a very short growing season where I live. Only during the early spring do we get fresh rhubarb because cool spring weather is fleeting along the Gulf Coast. The fact that it is available for only a few weeks makes it even more desirable in my opinion, as does its beautiful pink color. I make our rhubarb days last a little longer by saving some to simmer down with sugar and water for the prettiest simple syrup you have ever seen. It gives new life to a Strawberry-Mint Mojito, but it is equally good to prop up a vodka or gin and soda.  

I admit my love for the outrageously tart, ruby-colored, celery look-a-like rhubarb tracks back to my grandmother, Frannie, but I also wholeheartedly appreciate it. Cooked down, it adds interest to sweet fruit desserts, and it could not be better paired than with strawberries this time of year. The two make such a knockout team.

From pies, crumbles and cobblers, strawberry-rhubarb is my pick for the season when temperatures are still cool enough to serve a warm dessert. This is one of my favorites, made even better with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top.