Rhubarb, Rhubarb

When I was a child we moved into my grandmother's old house after she died. She had a small garden in the back yard and in it was a large rhubarb plant. I used to go out into the back yard and take stalks of rhubarb off the plant and eat them, straight from the garden. My mother had drilled it into me that I. MUST. NOT. EAT. THE. LEAVES. so I wasn't in too much danger.

When I was a budding thespian in high school, my mother used to tell me that actors in background crowd scenes would say "Rhubarb, rhubarb" so that they would sound like a real crowd.

In the eleven years that I have lived in Japan, I haven't had rhubarb. I haven't really missed it, to be honest. Until this year. I saw rhubarb compote in the store and started thinking about how much I liked rhubarb. I did buy the compote but it's just a bit too sweet and soft to give me the tangy sour taste I miss.

Suddenly this year I am surrounded by rhubarb. My friends in Britain talk about making rhubarb pudding. A Japanese blogger writes about her experiments with rhubarb. And today, the New York Times food columnist wrote about cooking with rhubarb.

My problem? I can't find rhubarb. My dear husband has no idea what it is. He's never eaten it. Local stores don't sell it, and I don't have any friends with it growing in their gardens. Sigh.

I know it's much ado about rhubarb, but sometimes the weirdest things are the things you miss the most. And for today, this month, it's rhubarb!