Of time and memory

and a recipe for the best rhubarb cake

Joy and sorrow play tricks with time in equal measure.

A snatch of a song on the radio can flood us with happy memories, taking us back to exactly a moment in time as clearly as if it were yesterday. Then, just as quickly, we’re pulled rudely to the present when we realize that song is 30 years old. Those trippy jumps in time can be triggered not just by a sound but also by a smell, a taste, a colour—the sensory touch points that define and shape our histories.

Loss acts in the much the same unpredictable way. A dear one, long gone, taps on our shoulder through a photograph found, notes scrawled in the margins of a cookbook, a birthday reminder on our phone. Presence made real in the here and now by the flotsam and jetsam left in the wake of a life once intertwined with our own.

As we get older, that treasure chest of experiences and emotions often feels so full as to threaten to burst wide open and scatter its contents far and wide. In hoarding every precious memory, is there room enough for every moment? And does that tenacious grip on the past take room away, even just a little, from new treasures born today?

Having it both ways

I’d like to think we can have it both ways. The trick may be in learning that you can take joy from the past and also reach forward to grasp the next rung in the ladder of experiences.

I’m especially reminded of this today, which marks a year since we lost our dear furry companion Trixie. While our grieving hearts still ache and miss her, I also know that we have much love and care to give to another special friend.

And so does she. Trixie is curled up, snug and warm, in the treasure chests of our hearts, leaving enough room for a friend or two to snuggle beside her. And with a lazy yawn and stretch, she seems to be saying to us, “What are you waiting for?”

Rhubarb cake

Diana Henry, Cook Simple

serves 4-6

I’m a huge fan of Diana Henry, her wonderful and always delicious recipes and especially her beautiful writing. With every recipe, Henry tells an evocative story, recreating a moment or experience so vividly that you feel you were there, too.

This week on Instagram, Henry shared a recipe and photo for a favourite rhubarb cake from a cookbook she’d written years before. In the post, she reminisces about that photo shoot, noting that “if you write cookbooks, you can end up with pictures of your life that are quite poignant—the hands in the picture of the cake being eaten belong to my mum and dad.” Spontaneous and unplanned, the photo unlocks both a lovely memory and also serves as a reminder that the joy of continuing to make that simple delicious treat can create even more moments to treasure.

With rhubarb season finally here, I can think of no better recipe to make than this one, with hopes that you will make it and share with loved ones too.

Note: I used an 8” square baking pan, liberally buttered and lined with two large strips of parchment paper for easy pan removal.

Ingredients

½ cup (125 g) granulated sugar plus 4 tablespoons for the rhubarb

1½ pounds (700 gr, about 6 cups), rhubarb, trimmed and cut into 1-inch dice

4½ ounces (125 g) butter, room temperature

3 large eggs beaten

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

1 cup (4 ounces, 125 g) self raising flour

2-3 tablespoons milk

Icing sugar to dust, optional

1. Heat oven to 325F. Butter and line an 8-inch springform pan.

2. Put the rhubarb in a medium bowl and toss with four tablespoons of sugar. Set aside.

3. Beat the sugar and butter together until pale and fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition.

4. Add the vanilla, then fold in the flour with a spatula, adding enough milk to give the batter a barely perceptible drip. Pour into the prepared springform pan.

5. Spread the rhubarb over the top of the batter. Bake for 40 minutes or until a skewer inserted into the middle comes out clean. Don’t worry if the rhubarb is singed lightly in parts.

6. Leave to cool in the pan, then carefully remove the ring and base. Dust with icing sugar before serving.