The first thing to say is that rhubarb is a member of the rheum family and rheum has a long tradition of cultivation in Europe for medicinal purposes stretching back into pre-historic times. When the strain of the plant that we know and love as an edible vegetable first arrived in Europe via the spice road from the Far East, the Greeks (who else?) were responsible for giving it the name by which we know it today. Their word for native rheum was rha (ῥᾶ) and they tagged on the word for a foreigner - barbaron (as in barbarian) - hence rhabarbara.
We've been munching it happily for nigh on a couple of thousand years, the stalks that is, for the leaves are slightly poisonous being high in oxalic acid, and I wonder who discovered that to their cost. Those ruby stalks may be consumed raw, just like celery, but they have a tart taste and so are usually cooked before eating, typically by stewing, and sweetened with a little honey or sugar. Rhubarb is high in fibre and in vitamins, so it is a good thing. And most of the rhubarb we eat in Britain is 'forced' rhubarb grown in Yorkshire.
Why Yorkshire? It's actually not even the whole county, but a small area of about 23 km2 in West Yorkshire between Wakefield, Morley and Rothwell, famously known as 'the rhubarb triangle', but more significantly referenced colloquially as 'the frosty pocket', wherein conditions are not dissimilar from the chilly Mongolian steppeland in which this strain of the plant originated. Rhubarb has thrived in the triangle's wet and frosty environment (with plentiful fertiliser in the form of 'night soil' from the nearby conurbations) since the 1800s.
Every February, the city of Wakefield holds its Rhubarb Festival, presided over by a high-priestess, three days of peace and music - no, sorry, that was Woodstock - three days in which the good citizens of the frosty pocket paint the town metaphorically rhubarby, with a large food and drink market extolling and selling local produce (including lots of rhubarb-related goodies), frequent cookery demonstrations (101 things to do with rhubarb), a rhubarb trail through the city, gardening and foraging workshops, arts and craft tents. sales of illuminated rhubarb stalks to light the up evening, lively street entertainments and of course demonstrations of how to strangulate rhubarb by candlelight, provided by a crack squad of ruthless rhubarbarian night harvesters.
Here I should probably pause, and concede that I got a bit carried away with the high-priestess thing and that reference to demonstrations of rhubarb strangulation - though the photographs do not lie, and there is music.
freshly strangulated 'forced' rhubarb (PDO) |
To grow it in the quantities required to meet demand (not just in the UK but on the continent, prior to Brexit), Yorkshire rhubarb is 'forced'. Rhubarb plants spend a couple of happy years out in the fields without being harvested, soaking up sunlight which they store in their roots as carbohydrates. The roots are then subjected to November's sharp frosts before being moved indoors into sheds where they are kept in warm but completely dark conditions. Such an environment encourages them to continue growing and they convert the carbohydrates stored in their roots into glucose, resulting in tender stalks with the sour-sweet flavour for which forced rhubarb is known. When ready, the rhubarb is harvested by candlelight. At one time, during the season (December through to March) there would be a special nightly rhubarb train running from Ardley station to London to supply Covent Garden with the precious crop. Nowadays the supply chain is more varied and road-based. In 2010 Yorkshire Forced Rhubarb from the triangle was granted Protected Designation of Origin status (PDO) by the European Commission's Protected Food Name scheme. And then the weirdness begins...
high-priestess Rhuby |
ruthless rhubarbarian night harvesters |
In conclusion, unlike Yorkshire Tea - which patently isn't grown in Yorkshire but is imported from Africa and Asia - Yorkshire Forced Rhubarb (PDO) is the proper job, the real McCoy, the dog's bollocks. Accept no substitute.
Rhubarbarians
Ruby shoes day for this year's
high priestess of rheum.
She has the stilettos heels,
her ceremonial light-wand
and teams of bloody stalkers
in her frosty pocket
rhubarbarians to a man
with their stainless Sheffield steels
and she's not shedding any tears.
It's open season
in the rhubarb triangle
and now is the hour
to cut those little beauties
down to size
ain't life unkind.
Here comes a candle
to light up your sheds
and here comes a blade
to chop off your heads
and this being Yorkshire
no one is minded
to notice the screams.
Thanks for reading, S ;-)
26 comments:
You had me going there, and now I don't know what to believe. I'm supposing the night-harvesting is true as they grow it in darkened sheds. You're very funny.
Rhubarbicide!
Love rhubarb, got some stewed and ready for my pudding later 😋😋😋
Every day is a school day and some how the Greeks are involved.
Love it Steve. ❤️
More rhubarb. Lovely. I did not know about the triangle! Enjoyed your amusing poem though.
I love Rhubarbarians but rhubarb is bloody horrible.
Ooh, the killing sheds! This was a most enjoyable and informative read and a fun poem.
How on earth did the Rolling Stones get in there? And we thought the farming of animals was cruel (lol).This was a lot of fun.
Nice one la!
Enjoyed the Gothic spin you put on this Steve, most entertaining post and poetry. 👏
A witty insight into Wakefield weirdness. I mean, harvesting at night by candlelight is pretty strange, isn't it. I like how you've incorporated an old Yorkist nursery rhyme into your poem of Rhubarbarism.
It's evidently a bloody business - those aprons! Well done with the poem, loved it.
Rhubarb: 'know and love', 'munching it happily', 'a good thing' ?
I love the idea of the special nightly rhubarb train to London.
The ruthless night harvesters look a dangerous bunch.
Love the poem. Just the right length.
How wonderful to know we have a rhubarb triangle, such an interesting post. I like the way you then give it a dark spin, almost "they came for us at midnight" sort of feel. Very clever poem.
Yes I've often wondered what the point was in calling it Yorkshire Tea! This was most entertaining, not least the clever poem. I'm guessing that "she's not shedding any tears" is a reference to rheum as well as to a callous culling nature?
Rhubarbarians. Genius idea!
Forced rhubarb has parallels with veal, but you try telling a vegan that! 😂
Nothing beats a lovely dish of stewed rhubarb and ginger. Just saying. Loved your rhubarbarians poem too.
Imagine Liz Truss (a Yorkshire lass) on the subject of 'foreign rheum'. 😉
Well I never! Fascinating rhubarb folklore and a great poem.
I loved this. Murder in the dark. Those rhubarbarians...how very clever of you.
A touch of the Stephen Kings there pal. Folk are strange on the other side of the Pennines.
Well, Yorkshire!
You have a wicked sense of humour. I love Rhubarbarians.
That 'high priestess' doesn't look old enough to wear stilettos! The analogy with forced labour camps and the midnight knock is a good one.
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