Love, love, love rhubarb pie.
My mother used to stew it with a ton and a half of sugar. I was a suspicious kid and didn’t like to eat anything that looked (mince pie*) or sounded (mushrooms**) strange. So I dodged it even though my sweet-toothed father adored it.
As an adult, though, I gave Marie Callender’s rhubarb pie a try, and sure enough, I’d missed something. It was wonderful. One night I ate half a pie, warm, with a generous scoop of Baskin-Robbins French vanilla on top.
Wouldn’t dare eat it now, though, in all its sweet-and-sour magnificence. I’d die of the sugar.
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* If it were any good, why would it look like that?
** If it were any good, why would they give it a name like “mushroom”?