It’s rhubarb season. I just had a fantastic margarita made with rhubarb tea, which is best consumed on a rooftop terrace, which is where I happened to be.
You may be wondering about such an odd-sounding name. If you thought that that initial RH marked a Greek origin, you would be right, but the etymology is more curious than you might expect. When Carl Linnaeus went about giving scientific names to plants, he chose the Latin Rheum for the rhubarb genus, from the Greek rhon (plural: rha). This term in Latin referred to a type of rhubarb root used medicinally, also known as rhapontic, with “pontic” referring to the area around the Black Sea. Rha in fact was an ancient Scythian word for the Volga River, which flows not into the Black Sea but rather in the Caspian Sea. The convergence of words for this root attests to the fact that this variety of plant originated in Asia Minor.
But the pontic (or Volgic) sort of rha was not very highly regarded. It just wasn’t as good as some of the other varieties of rhubarb being grown further east, in China and Tibet. When this superior version of the tangy plant made its way to the Roman Empire, delighted consumers called it after its foreign origins: rha barbarum, the root that also gives us the word “barbarian,” which linguists think originated as a way of making fun of foreigners for speech that sounded to Roman ears like a garbled “bar bar bar.” The shift to “rhubarb” in English seems to have occurred around 1578, as evidenced by statement in Henry Lyte’s Niewe Herball, or Historie of plantes “There be diuers sortes of Rha, or as it is nowe called Rheubarbe.”
By the time Linneaus got around to codifying the term rheum for rhubarb in 1753, the European version plant was already long widespread in England, primarily used for medicinal purposes. The Scottish philologist and physician Christopher Irvine, in his Medicina Magnetica (subtitled: “The rare and wonderful art of curing by sympathy: laid open in aphorismes; proved in conclusions; and digested into an easy method drawn from both wrote”) wrote “Thou mayst also in all diseases of the liver, and the meseraicks use with good successe, an extract of Rhubarb,” referring to problems that might arise with the mesenteric veins, which supply blood to the intestines. But if rhubarb was good as medicine for the digestive tract, it was even better as food: the culinary uses of rhubarb soon followed. The 1797 Encyclopedia Britannica noted that “The Rhaponticum, or common rhubarb… grows in Thrace and Scythia, but has been long in English gardens… The plant being astringent, its young stalks in spring, being cut and peeled, are used for tarts.”
Rhubarb, which is one of the first plants to be harvested in the spring, has been the subject of a variety of local traditions. A 9-square mile area in West Yorkshire is now known as the “Rhubarb Triangle,” after the successful rhubarb cultivation in the first four decades of the twentieth century, which at one point covered 30 miles. The particular variety of rhubarb grown there, Yorkshire Forced Rhubarb, (referring to the practice of “forcing” the plant to grow in winter or early spring by subjecting it to frost and then moving it into a heated space) is typical of this area. Farmers successfully applied to have the name protected under the European Commission’s Protected Food Name program, adding Yorkshire Forced Rhubarb to an exclusive club of locally produced foods that includes champagne, asiago, gorgonzola, camembert cheeses, and Vidalia onions. On June 7-8, Aledo, Illinois, hosted its 22nd annual Rhubarb Festival, offering consumables ranging from rhubarb pie to Rhubarb wine, and took a great deal of pride when Governor of Illinois, Pat Quinn named Aledo the “Rhubarb Capital of Illinois.”
There are quite a few other rhubarb festivals around, most in the United States, which a rhubarb enthusiast has conveniently mapped for you. Enjoy!
Tags: history, linguistics, liora halperin, rhubarb, words of summer
I love rhubarb more than anything, so much so that I will order rhubarb-based desserts, and I think that fruit-based desserts are a colossal waste of your time.
Relevant to my interests!
“…delighted consumers called it after its foreign origins: rha barbarum, the root that also gives us the word ‘barbarian,’ which linguists think originated as a way of making fun of foreigners for speech that sounded to Roman ears like a garbled ‘bar bar bar.'” Faaaan-tastic.
I just learned about Linnaeus yesterday, after finally getting the nerve to crease the spine and besmirch the pages of a gorgeous coffee table book I got for pennies at the Boulder Bookstore (!), Herbarium Amoris: Floral Romance by Edvard Koinberg. It’s based on Linnaeus’ floral calendar and is full of sexy flowers on velveteen-black backgrounds and gorgeous seasonal markers and, now, my oily, fervid fingerprints.
Ugh, I love you, Toast, wish I’d taken your class, Liora, and happy Monday rhubarbarbarbaring, everyone!
Fascinating. My grandparents grew rhubarb in the garden of their old house. I hated it so much that to this day I avoid all rhubarb foodstuffs. BUT: 1) my grandmother is a terrible cook (one of many downsides of growing up in wartime/postwar Germany) and I don’t even remember what she made with rhubarb and 2) my grandparents moved out of that house, the one with the expansive rhubarb-containing garden in, um, 1988. So maybe I should give it another chance?
YES. I suggest beginning your journey into rhubarb appreciation with this cake: http://smittenkitchen.com/blog/2012/05/rhubarb-sn…. I made it late last night, and found it difficult not to eat the entire cake for breakfast. When I returned home from work, I found that my family had scarcely managed to save me a square the size of a postage stamp. It is that good.
Fond memories of my Intro to Ancient Greek class where we all went “bar bar bar bar” around the room. Etymology!
If you can still get rhubarb in your area, may I recommend these rhubarb cream cheese hand pies? They are ridiculously good.
rhubarb cream cheese hand pies
They take time, but they’re sooooo worth it. (That buttermilk pie crust is also a winner, I may give up on any others.)
oh my.
Fond memories of a community theatre project in which, ordered to make “background noise”, repeating the word rhubarb turned into an involved conversation on rhubarb, the care and uses thereof, and we all missed our cues to react to the main action.
loves it! I heard as a child that the green leaves are actually poisonous though, and the stalks are the only edible part, is that true?
True! The leaves contain oaxlic acid. I have to admit, that’s always added to rhubarb’s appeal for me.
I am seriously jealous of all of you guys who are still in rhubarb season this late in the year. It’s strictly a spring thing in my neck of the woods. This spring I couldn’t get it together soon enough to do any baking while it was in season, so just made a couple batches of rhubarb liqueur and called it a day.
I thought it was the Greeks, not the Romans, who invented the term barbarian (barbaros). Classics professor told me “bar bar bar” was the sound of dog barking.
It was Greek – βάρβαρος, or barbaros. Never heard the dog barking explanation though. Probably both origins are apocryphal.
How has no one brought up the Crazy Rhubarb lady in this thread? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PdLASQAJ3Yw
wait a goddamned minute: does “rheumy” as in “rheumy eyes” mean “rhubarbishly pink eyes” rather than “gross and mucusy eyes,” you guys?
“It’s rhubarb season. I just had a fantastic margarita made with rhubarb tea, which is best consumed on a rooftop terrace, which is where I happened to be.” UUUUGGGGGGGH.
That definitely beats frozen hershey kisses on the floor of the darkened living room because it is TOO HOT TO MOVE.
Apologies. Last summer I was in Pittsburgh. This summer I am in Louisiana. And now I know what I’m missing.