Memorial Day Rhubarb Crumble Pie

Yesterday was Memorial Day. It’s a day the Farmer and I (and our family) celebrate each and every year. It begins the same. We go get a coffee and head over the Farmer’s Father’s gravesite and put the urn I made from the flowers I bought on Mother’s Day. I usually stay in the truck while the Farmer has a quite moment or two. Paying his respects. After that it’s different each year. Sometimes we go to Memorial Services being held at a variety of the towns around us. But this year it was raining. Hard. At least when the services would be taking place, so we went to an Estate sale instead. I usually hate going to these. It feels so morbid somehow, going through someone’s property after they’d passed. I feel like the maids from The Christmas Carol, fighting over the drapes. But this one was different. I have no idea who the man was who lived in this small, meticulous farm house, the one painted mustard orange with a red barn just beyond the way. The one with the yard covered in fruit trees and flowers. We went inside. There was a small, very outdated kitchen—complete with a porcelain enameled farm sink and real wood cabinets and just enough space to make a good meal. On the stove stood five copper pots and pans, with their lids. I scooped them up. All of them. From there their was a small dining room with a bay window out the back. Not for the neighbors to see. Not for show. But for the view of it. Next there was a simple living room and the one bedroom on the main floor. Stairs let to the second floor, where there was only one bedroom. That was it. And I’m sure at one time a family of twelve lived there. Instead of a bed, the room held books. Lots and lots of books. I perused most. He was a World War two scholar. Like me and the Farmer. We picked up a few that peaked our interest and went back downstairs and outside to the barn, where there were more stairs leading to a loft with a wall of windows overlooking the farm. And in that loft there was a(nother) wall of books. Besides that the room held easels and other painting supplies. It was a beautiful, creative space. A space well used and well loved. We went back downstairs and I bought my pans (I’ve been wanted a set for years) and left. As I did, I turned and looked at the house one last time. He was someone I wished I had known.

This house was in Wilson, the site of the Memorial Day Fair, and as tempting as it would be to just go, we turned back home and got Hannah and Jacob. They would never forgive us if we left them behind.

By the time we made it back, the rain had abated, but it had done it’s dirty work. More than three-quarters of the vendors had either left or not shone up at all. We walked the long paths with wide open spaces between tents and in the end, bought nothing. Not even chicken.

Instead, we went home and I made a pie—rhubarb crumb—to take to my mother-in-laws house for a picnic she was hosting.

And this is how it’s done:

To begin with, the rhubarb must be gathered in–for us on the Farm that is a simple matter of going out into the yard and picking it. For you it might be a bit more complicated, but however it is you must go about obtaining your rhubarb, I recommend just doing it, You will be glad you did. For this recipe you will need four cups worth or rhubarb stalk, cut about a half inch long–so keep that in mind while you do your gathering.

And once gathered, the rhubarb is cut as mentioned above and washed and set aside. You’ll have more pressing things to do at the moment and those more pressing things involve making a pie crust. Now, don’t you worry. It’s not all that hard. Once you get the hang of it, it will be as easy as, well…pie.

To begin, you will need exactly one cup of flour (four and a half ounces to be exact) placed in a bowl with high sides. To that is added a half teaspoon of salt–this is stirred in and stirred in well. A stick (or half a cup) of very cold butter is sliced and put in the bowl with the flour, handling it as little as possible. It is then “cut” into the flour using many different methods, my favorite being the use of an old fashioned pastry blender. You can use a fork if you don’t have one. Once the butter is the size of split peas, three tablespoons very cold water is stirred in and the dough formed into a ball and set on a floured surface where it it is rolled the size and shape and depth that you want. Please see the pictures below.

Now. Once you’ve got your dough set, it’s folded in half and gently placed into a pie pan. It is then enfolded and tucked in here and there. Okay. Now we can get back to that rhubarb. It is placed in a bowl and stirred in along with one cup of sugar, a third cup of flour, a teaspoon of fresh orange zest, and two tablespoons of butter, cut into small pieces. This is tossed together until all is coated and coated well, at which time it is placed into the waiting pie shell. See picture below.

And now for that crumb topping. A cup of flour is placed in a bowl, along with a teaspoon of black pepper (for warmth), a quarter teaspoon salt and a third cup granulated sugar. This is all stirred together. A half cup butter is melted in any way you please and added to the flour sugar mixture and blended with that pastry blender again until it’s clumpy and loose. Once it is, it’s scattered over top the rhubarb, making sure to cover each piece. See picture below.

The pie-to-be is then popped into a hot oven (four hundred and twenty five degree preheated) and left until the juices start to flow–about fifty minutes. If your crumb topping begins to get a bit toasty-looking waaaayyy to early, you can top the pie with a bit of tinfoil. That will take care of that. Once done, the pie is taken from the oven and set aside until almost cool, and it is served that way, still a skosh warm and topped with vanilla ice cream.