When we bought this house in 1986, it came with an old fridge (which the DH promptly killed, story later), a portable dishwasher (which was awkward to use, so we sold it) and a large rhubarb plant. The previous owner told us that they had invited the neighbors to come and take some of it, and one elderly couple did come into the backyard to retrieve some. But there was too much for just mere cuttings to do any real damage.
So every year it comes back. I always thought that it was an odd vegetable - after all, all the recipes seem to include something that is designed to take over the taste of the dish. Hilda, our sweet next-door neighbor who passed away about five years ago, would make good rhubarb-strawberry pies. But all you would taste were the strawberries.
But Hilda is gone and we are left alone with the monster rhubarb.
DH decided that this year he would do something with it. I thought he was making rhubarb-strawberry pie, but I was wrong.
He was busy for so long in the kitchen, and the smell that was coming wasn't all that great. I made a comment about it. Then left to run some errands.
When I returned, the aroma of cinnamon weighed heavily all over the whole house.
hmmm ... what did that mean? Turns out that he took my comment about the smell to heart and thought that cinnamon would help.
Help what, you ask?
Rhubarb Jam - that's what he made. It's green. And he made me try it. Shamed me right into taking a taste.
So, feel free to come on by, cause there are several jars in the fridge, and he'll be the only one consuming it.