Rhubarb is a prominent part of my culinary psyche. When I was growing up, my great grandmother had a rhubarb patch in the back of her house, and whenever I would visit we’d cut the stalks, cook them with sugar into a gloriously pink and viscous mass, and eat with a spoon. When I was in college and studying abroad in London, I discovered the unique joys of rhubarb jam, and now every time I am in England or France I pick up a few jars of the stuff, which doesn’t seem to be available in the United States.
