Rhubarb crumble

Last night we had a rare night in, so we curled up on the sofa with the cat and a bottle of pinot noir, watching cheesy dramas (Robin Hood and Desperate Housewives) while the wind and rain howled and hurled outside.

On the menu was Lancashire hotpot and rhubarb crumble. I love rhubarb crumble, and it is my husband’s favourite dish. Okay, so I know that to some people rhubarb is ‘war food’ but I admire its honest simplicity and its ubiquitous durability. My husband laughs that he had never eaten ‘posh people’s food’ – avocados; olives; cherry tomatoes; guavas – until he met me. But he had always eaten rhubarb.

My granddad used to grow it in the garden. We would ‘help’ him to dig over the vegetable patch when we were children. I was easily distracted by the worms and the archaeological finds I made. I was convinced I had discovered treasure once when I slammed a spade into one of my brother’s toy soldiers, buried during some long-forgotten military campaign.

And crumble – well, it’s just edible perfection, really isn’t it? It has to be made with butter and the texture as you roll it between your fingers is satisfying to the soul before you even eat it. I’ve never been fond of pastry – it’s too fiddlesome and sticks to things when it shouldn’t. My hands are never the right temperature to mould it and then roll it out, and it just never looks right. But crumble – well, any fool can make that!

Rhubarb with strawberries or ginger or coconut or orange peel – but rhubarb every time. And then the addition of cream (preferably double) or icecream (Kapiti gingernut is a current favourite). I’m not a crème brulee or a tiramisu girl. I’m not interested in pavlova or pannecotta – but I’ll take the rhubarb crumble for an effortlessly sincere taste of home.

I used a recipe from the BBC Food website, and the above image is from the kitchen gardens website.