The Kerry Sister and the Leitrim Sister on the hunt for The Rhubarb. The Kerry Sister is kicking spoor for clues. The Leitrim Sister prefers to sniff the air for that elusive Rhubarb scent. 
The Rhubarb has been spotted! Leitrim Sister says it is a lot of bollocks and that it is False Rhubarb.
The Rhubarb
Bert is horticulturally highly qualified and he thinks it is Rhubarb. Looks like, smells like, tastes like, smokes like Rhubarb.
Macy prefers to wallow in a moss hole.
6 comments:
Rhubarb! Food of the Gods! We got some last week and it was like eating sunshine.
I can't go to the moss any more because of the post-hard-labour-stress-disorder. You may be aware that this happens when you are made to go and fut turf, on penalty of not being allowed to lie in front of the hearth when the winter comes.
hmmm..?
a man once told me that the juice from raw rhubarb stems can kill a man and leave no trace in the body...
just a thought
mikey x
Oh, man, I LOVE rhubarb... especially in pies. :) I've never gotten a rhubarb pie as good as the ones my grandmother made when I was a kid and she got the rhubarb from her garden. Delicious...
Glad to see that Ms Leitrim has got over her aversion to the moss following that time you left her in her pram there for several hours to be slowly cooked, in the way that only a redhaired, freckled baby could be.
Sandra got it right when she says that rhubarb is the food of the gods. Tis also very bigged up by trendy food writers rught now and you wouldn't get a stalk for love nor money in Hampstead or Chelsea. Sorry to hear about your PHLSD Sandra. Bert's got a bit of an aversion to the moss for the same reason. His parents thought a day in the moss was better than a day at the Port.
Scooterdeb while I may not be your granny I too bake an awesome rhubarb tart or crumble.
Mikey - ye were misinformed. It's the leaves are 'rank pison' not the stalks. Don't know how many you'd need to kill a man. A hundredweight bale should do it. Dropped on his head. From a great height.
Ganching - funny how I don't remember all these bad things I did. Did you keep a diary of it? No doubt that would have been a good entry 'Boring mass today. We had rhubarb crumble for dessert. I read Prince Caspian. Nelly burned the baby. Mammy was raging...'
Last week my sister and I spent a good bit of time reading in bookshops and not buying anything. In one book, we were rather entertained by the quotation: "Nothing has a longer memory than a younger sister who has been tricked into eating a bug."
It is true, for she remembers all the times I was ever bad to her. What was even funnier was that I subsequently tricked her into finishing my bowl of the chilled beetroot soup (which we were fed at my cousin's house). Good manners prevents me relating how awful it was.
I think I will have to go and get more rhubarb today.
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