Pickled Rhubarb

I remember my surprise when I first saw rhubarb at the farmers market on a Saturday in May of three years ago. It was the kind that grows outdoors and has big, bright green leaves and dark magenta stalks tinged with green and maroon. It was a beautiful thing to see, and I was excited to start cooking from it – not necessarily because the flavour excited me, but rather for the novelty it held. That same day, I made my first rhubarb crumble. Plain, immediate, uncomplicated and fulfilling. Followed by a rhubarb mess, and finally, a pot of stewed rhubarb and used to top yoghurt, muesli and porridge.

With the classics all pretty much covered, tried and tested multiple times, I recently started experimenting more with rhubarb preserves. I made a pretty nice jam, inspired by a pot given to me by my English aunt, who now lives in Italy, upon one of her visit to the homeland. I also made a syrup to mix into cocktails, particularly in gin tonics. It never occurred to me, however, that pickled rhubarb was a thing, which is a shame because it is so very good.

Lemony Chickpea ‘n Green Soup

The truth is, my home cooking career hasn't been that long. It became solid and ongoing only when I left my home to go to University, and even then, it was more of a 'getting by'. I have been fed most of my life, and when my turn came and had to feed myself, I always went for convenience rather than creativity. I have never been motivated enough to cook an actual meal just for myself, let alone experiment with new recipes. I bought things that came together into some sort of meal easily and with minimum time and use of pots and pans. The empty sink, rather than a great dinner, was my ultimate goal when eating solo. It wasn't before I had a boyfriend that I started to cook more solidly and more adventurously. And in time, I discovered that I loved to feed as much as I loved to be fed. I loved seeing a smile on the person sitting in front of me – eyes closed while biting bits of what I had just cooked. I found it sensual and attractive and deeply romantic, and beautiful and a warming. A feeling of belonging. I discovered why people love to cook for others, and why sharing a meal makes the food so much better, and the effort so much more worthwhile.

Of all things I love to make for others (and myself), soup ranks high, mostly because I think I am pretty good at it. After all, it is such a forgiving dish, and such a nourishing and loving one. People feel cuddled when they are fed soup – there's no fuss on the table but just simple, home-y, good food. When I put a bowl of soup in front of them they relax; and I, constantly stressed by other's judgment, always trying to make a good impression, relax too. The fact that I like to make soup so much is part of the reason why I have a lot of 'soup moments' punctuating my life. On our first few dates, Jesse and I romantically shared pots of soup and bowls of salads in my tiny kitchen in Bra, or in his messy one next door, while chatting away at the end of a long day at school. In the one-of-its-kind school we went to – the school that made us meet – eating was part of the learning experience. We were often overfed, though, at times treated to large quantities of fantastic foods for days and days. We didn't complain, but we were craving just greens and fibres afterwards. Wholesome bowls of steamy, pork and cheese-free soup. We ate a lot of it in those two years.