Last weekend gave me other blessings beyond rest—things like roasted garlic hummus (twice! plus some roasted red pepper!) and a new cake plate I bought at the local antique store and, as a real surprise, an hour-long conversation with strangers who felt like old friends at a brunch in Eagle River Sunday.
Also, the morning that we left, just before Bailey and I walked through the forest one last time, I knelt by the same thick and leafy rhubarb plants that had provided the base for the crumble I made here recently, the one I ate with vanilla ice cream, after my parents brought back a bag of rhubarb Memorial Day weekend. I snipped a few dozen stalks, firm and strong, mostly green with flecks of pink at the bases, pulling away their leaves and arranging them in a white plastic bag.
As it turned out, the fruit was exactly what I needed to make this rhubarb coffee cake, or, now that I’ve eaten most of it, let’s just say THE rhubarb coffee cake. It’s honestly maybe the best I’ve had, so the definite article seems appropriate—beyond that, my mind gets all fuzzy and my tongue gets tied, and I’m all “mmm” and “wow,” scooping big crumbs from my plate.