'Tis the season. The season for Rhubarb, my all time favorite ingredient for pie. RP (Rhubarb Pie) - that's what my grandma called it. She knew just how much I loved RP. Everytime we came over to visit her, she'd say "Oh Sarah, come look. I made you 3 RP's". Rhubarb is an acquired tasted. Most people have one of two opinions about it - they love it or they think it's gross. As the former of the two, I lose no chance to take advantage of Rhubarb harvests.
This weekend, I was lounging out in the sun when I heard a chainsaw right behind me. I looked up to see the tree that is growing between my fence and my neighbors fence was being cut down. Holy sheeez, I thought, that's our 73-year old neighbor Jan with a chainsaw! I jumped up and grabbed Warren out of his peaceful mid-afternoon slumber. We had to go help her, not that she isn't quite the most bad-ass elderly woman I have ever encountered, she is. But she was going to need to some help. Luckily, her neice was there but still. So, we arrived at her house and began helping catch the branches she was sawing off, dragging them to the front and loading them in the truck. When we finished, Jan disappeared for a few minutes. She came back with an armload of freshly picked, you guessed it, Rhubarb for me. Now I love receiving locally farmed food as gifts, but Rhubarb was an extra-special blessed delight. As I proudly walked home I could almost taste the RP I was soon going to make.
I searched epicurious and found 2 good recipes for RP. I combined them and rearranged them to my liking and went to work cooking. The recipe - Strawberry, Raspberry Rhubarb Pie with cinammon and orange peel and a butter brown sugar crumbling topping. I meticulously followed my recipe, enjoying every moment as I chopped my precious Rhubarb. I displayed my masterpiece to Warren and put it in the oven to do it's magic.
About a half hour later, I checked my RP and saw that it was going to possibly bubble over a little and since our oven is pretty new, I didn't want to have a mess. I got out cookie pan to slide under it to catch any drips. As I began to slip the pan under the tilting pie dish, something happened. As I look back now, it had to have been a blip in my common sense. I should have been more careful. I mean this was RP. Somehow, don't ask me how, the pie flipped over in the middle of the oven and as it did I jumped in horror knocking the pie straight to the bottom of the oven burner and bumped the oven door which slammed closed on my finger. A bundle of expletives followed along with painful cries and a heart crushed. After I could breathe again, I tentatively opened the oven door. There was my beautiful half cooked pie smooshed all over the bottom of the oven with bits of berry and rhubarb mash hanging off the oven racks and burning into charcoal and smoke.
Warren came running to see what on earth I had done this time in the kitchen. He helped me clean up the sticky mess as he said, "Oh I am so sorry Sarah, your Rhubarb Pie, Oh I am soo sorry. " You know he was thanking the good lord above that he would now not have to endure a taste testing of my pie for he was not born a Rhubarb lover. After I got over the initial shock, embarrassment and pissed offness of losing my beloved Rhubarb Pie, I finally laughed and figured so much for trying to be little Miss Pie Cooker Homemaker. I am a Betty Crocker from hell. Instead, I think I will have a glass of wine and walk down to our local cafe and buy myself a slice of homemade RP, I mean, the worst that can happen is they won't have any right? Ok, let's not go there.