The first time I had real rhubarb crisp was the eighth stop on a street food tour through the Exchange District in Winnipeg, in late May, when the trees were just starting to look like they meant it. Eight stops. I was full. I was sweating slightly in a denim jacket I had misjudged the morning for. And then a woman named Margit handed me a small paper cup of something pink and golden and still steaming, and I forgot every bison slider that came before it.
Margit’s Kitchen in Wolseley
Margit ran the tour as a side thing. Her real life was a tall, drafty house on Westminster Avenue, in the Wolseley neighbourhood, with a sun porch full of seedlings and a back garden where rhubarb came up faster than anything else every year. After the tour ended she asked if I wanted to come back the next afternoon and watch her make a fresh one. I said yes before she finished the sentence.
Her kitchen had a stove from the seventies and a window over the sink that looked into a neighbour’s plum tree. She wore a pale green cardigan with a hole at the elbow she had clearly stopped noticing. Her chef’s knife was small and slightly bent at the tip. She used it for everything.
The first thing she corrected me on was the leaves. I had picked up a stalk with a bit of leaf still clinging and she gently took it out of my hand. The leaves contain oxalic acid, she said, and people get casual about it because the stalks are so safe. Only the stalks. Never the leaves. I have repeated that sentence to friends a hundred times since.
What Rhubarb Crisp Actually Is
Margit was firm on the vocabulary too. A crisp is not a crumble. A real crisp has oats in the topping. A British crumble does not. And neither one is a cobbler, which uses a biscuit-style dough on top instead of streusel. She had grown up on the Canadian Prairies and was a little protective of the distinction. Fair.
The dessert itself is a North American thing. The earliest documented crisp recipe shows up in a 1924 cookbook by Isabel Ely Lord called Everybody’s Cook Book, and rhubarb crisp specifically became a fixture across the Midwest, the Great Plains, and the Canadian Prairies during the Depression and Dust Bowl years. Flour was rationed. Rhubarb thrived in cold, drought-prone soil. It was one of the first edible things to push up after a long winter, so it carried a kind of weight that strawberries never will. Church suppers. County fairs. School cafeterias. That whole world.
Margit’s grandmother had grown it during the war years in Saskatchewan. I remember her saying that and looking out the window for a second, not finishing the thought.
Bringing It Back to My LA Kitchen
Back home I had to wait. Rhubarb is not exactly a Los Angeles plant. I finally found good ruby stalks at the Santa Monica farmers market on a Wednesday in early April, from a stand run by a guy who also sells pluots later in the year. Six dollars for a bundle that was definitely more than enough. I carried them home wrapped in newspaper, which felt right.
Sunday afternoon. I had the kitchen window cracked open because the jacaranda on my street had just started, and the light was that specific late-afternoon yellow you get in April here. I put on a Nick Drake record, the one with Northern Sky on it, because Margit had played something quiet in her kitchen too and I wanted that feeling back. While the crisp baked I sat at my wooden table with a small glass of cold white wine and a plate of cheese and salted almonds, watching the timer.
I have made this maybe twelve times now. I am still learning what I like.
What I Used
- 6 cups fresh rhubarb stalks, leaves discarded, cut into 1 inch pieces (about 1.5 lb trimmed)
- 3/4 cup granulated sugar, for the filling
- 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour, for the filling
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon, for the filling
- A pinch of salt
- 1 cup old-fashioned rolled oats (not quick, not instant, I learned this the hard way)
- 3/4 cup all-purpose flour, for the topping
- 3/4 cup packed light brown sugar
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon, for the topping
- 1/4 teaspoon salt
- 1/2 cup cold unsalted butter, cubed
How I Make It Now
Oven to 350 F. Butter a 9×9 inch baking dish. I use the same chipped Pyrex I have had since I moved into this apartment, which is too small to be precious about anything.
Trim the rhubarb. Wash it, pat it dry. Cut it into one inch pieces. Toss it in a big bowl with the granulated sugar, the three tablespoons of flour, the half teaspoon of cinnamon, and the pinch of salt, gently, with a spoon, until everything is glossy and there is no dry flour left in the bottom of the bowl. Scrape it into the dish.
For the topping, whisk the oats, the three quarters cup of flour, the brown sugar, the other half teaspoon of cinnamon, and the quarter teaspoon of salt together. Break up any clumps of brown sugar with your fingers. Scatter the cold cubed butter over the top.
Now the part Margit was strict about. Cut the butter in with a pastry cutter or two forks until you have coarse, pea-sized crumbs. Do not overwork it. Do not press it into a paste. Scatter it loosely over the rhubarb. Loose is the whole point. Pack it down and you lose the crunch.
Center rack, 40 to 45 minutes. You want the juices bubbling thickly at the edges and a deeply golden top.
Let it rest at least 15 minutes on a wire rack. The filling thickens as it cools. I have served it too hot before and it ran across the plate like soup. Worth waiting.
A Few Honest Notes
If your rhubarb is screamingly tart, add an extra two tablespoons of sugar to the filling. Frozen rhubarb is fine. Do not thaw it. Toss it straight in with the sugar and flour and add five to eight minutes to the bake. Use old-fashioned rolled oats. Quick oats turn the topping into a wet biscuit and it is sad.
Leftovers keep three days in the fridge. Reheat at 350 F, uncovered, for ten minutes to get the crunch back. Cold for breakfast with plain yogurt is also entirely defensible. I have done it twice this month.
I sent Margit a photo of the first one I made in LA. She wrote back that the topping looked a touch too even and I should be looser next time. She was right. I am still working on loose.
Rhubarb Crisp
Ingredients
Equipment
Method
- Preheat the oven to 350 F and lightly butter a 9x9 inch baking dish.
- Trim the rhubarb stalks, discarding the leaves and any tough ends. Wash the stalks, pat them dry, and slice them into 1 inch pieces. You should have about 6 cups.
- Place the rhubarb in a large bowl. Add the 3/4 cup granulated sugar, 3 tablespoons flour, 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon, and the pinch of salt. Toss gently with a spoon until every piece is coated and no dry flour remains.
- Scrape the rhubarb mixture into the prepared baking dish and spread it into an even layer. Set aside while you make the topping.
- In a medium bowl, whisk together the rolled oats, 3/4 cup flour, brown sugar, 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon, and 1/4 teaspoon salt until evenly combined and any clumps of brown sugar are broken up.
- Scatter the cubes of cold butter over the oat mixture. Using a pastry cutter or two forks, cut the butter into the dry ingredients until the mixture looks like coarse, pea-sized crumbs with no large dry pockets remaining.
- Scatter the streusel loosely and evenly over the rhubarb. Do not pack it down — the loose crumbs are what give the topping its crisp texture.
- Place the baking dish on the center rack of the oven and bake for 40 to 45 minutes, until the rhubarb juices are bubbling thickly at the edges and the topping is deeply golden brown and crunchy.
- Transfer the dish to a wire rack and let it rest for at least 15 minutes. The filling will thicken as it cools.
- Spoon the warm rhubarb crisp into bowls and serve with vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, or pouring cream if desired.