Rhubarb

Him- It’s a crazy, ugly world out there.

Me- Yes but there’s sweetness mixed in with the sour.

Him- You mean like Chinese food…sweet & sour?

Me- I was thinking more like the rhubarb crumble I had yesterday.

Him- Rhubarb? Why would anybody eat those celery-like red stalks?

Me- You’re 87 and you’ve never tasted rhubarb? You have much to live for.

Him- My mother would either send me to my room or make me eat rhubarb. I always went to my room. It’s punishment.

Me- It is tart but just add sugar and as a crumble you get a good balance.

Him- Where do I go for this vegetable pie?

Me- It was officially declared a fruit to avoid a tariff. I got mine at the King’s Head Pub.

Him- Maybe it was the two Guinness you washed it down with.

Me- Actually I did have a large Newcastle ale but rhubarb carried the day.

Him- When Red Barber announced the Dodger games he called any on-field argument a rhubarb. I remember Leo (the Lip) Durocher going nose to nose with the ump and kicking dirt on his shoes… and this is what you want me to eat?

Me- Would you rather eat humble pie?

Him- No, I’d rather eat key-lime pie.

Me- Try rhubarb once with a side order of key-lime. Both have that necessary sour to remind us of Ukraine, Baghdad, Kabul, Gaza and Texas.

Him- Can’t I just read about them?

Me- No, you have to taste the experience in the rhubarb. It contains the sort of fiber you need to face the world.

Him- I’d rather plunge into a key-lime pie. Just call me when the world settles down.

Me- I remember reading somewhere that rhubarb is what people say as background noise in movies. Rhubarb, RhUbArB, rHuBaRb. It’s a stand-in for everything incoherent. Now you can have your crumble and eat it too.