London’s sky is “impeccably grey, a denial, really of the very concept of colour,” as Martin Amis wrote in Money. The de-saturation of English life reaches its peak in January and February. But there is one bright foodstuff fighting against the drab: winter-harvested forced rhubarb, a dazzling pink gem of British farming.
The first person to try to wrangle rhubarb into pleasing edibility was certainly an adventurous one. It’s a plant with large, poisonous leaves similar in appearance to chard, while its stalk is texturally akin to extra-stringy celery when eaten raw. However, with plenty of cooking, and plenty of sugar, it can be transformed into a distinctly tart culinary treasure, used in crumbles and sweet pies. It’s one of the few vegetables that has been retrofitted into becoming a de facto fruit.
