Rhubarb Tart — The Sweetness That Comes After the Sharpest Things

March arrives and with it the anniversary — one year since Miya's second birthday, one year since the spring that became the last spring with Fumiko, one year since the cherry blossoms that I watched knowing, in the back of my body, that the blooming was also a countdown. The cherry blossoms are back. The blooming is back. Fumiko is not back. The contrast between the returning and the not-returning is the sharpest edge of grief — the world cycles, the seasons cycle, the cherry blossoms return every March without fail, and the person does not. The person is the only thing that does not cycle. The person is the only permanent loss in a world of temporary ones.

I took Miya to see the cherry blossoms on the waterfront. She is three now — almost three, a week away — and she understands beauty in a way she did not a year ago. She looked up at the pink canopy and said, "It is snowing flowers," and the description was so perfect, so precisely what cherry blossoms look like, that I wrote it down immediately on my phone. It is snowing flowers. She is three and she is already a better writer than me. I am competitively annoyed and bottomlessly proud in equal measure.

I made sakura mochi — the cherry blossom rice cakes, the spring sweet — and this year the mochi was right. Pink, soft, the bean paste smooth, the pickled cherry leaf fragrant and slightly salty. I made twelve of them and brought six to the waterfront in a bento box and Miya and I sat under the cherry blossoms and ate sakura mochi while the petals fell around us and I said, "Obaachan loved cherry blossoms," and Miya said, "Obaachan is flowers now," and I did not correct her because she was right. Fumiko is flowers now. Fumiko is flowers and dashi and rice and the chipped ceramic bowl and the recipe cards pinned above my stove. Fumiko is everywhere I cook. Fumiko is every meal I make. Fumiko is the flower that does not return in the spring but whose scent is in every pink mochi I will ever wrap.

I called Ken. He said the cherry blossoms in Sacramento are blooming early this year. He said his dashi is improving. He said nothing else. The nothing else was Fumiko. The nothing else was the year. The nothing else was everything.

I did not have it in me to write down the sakura mochi recipe this year — some things are too inside the body to fit on a page — but I kept thinking about rhubarb, which is the other sharp-sweet thing that comes back every spring without asking permission. Rhubarb tart is what I made the week after the waterfront, when Miya was asleep and I needed something to do with my hands that wasn’t crying. It has that same quality as the mochi: the filling is almost too tart on its own, and then the pastry holds it, and together they become something that tastes like the season itself — pink and fragrant and a little bit aching.

Rhubarb Tart

Prep Time: 25 minutes | Cook Time: 40 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 5 minutes (plus 30 minutes chilling) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• For the pastry shell:
• 1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
• 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 cup (1 stick) cold unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
• 1 large egg yolk
• 2–3 tablespoons ice water
• For the rhubarb filling:
• 4 cups fresh rhubarb, trimmed and sliced 1/2-inch thick (about 1 1/4 lbs)
• 3/4 cup granulated sugar
• 2 tablespoons cornstarch
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
• 1 tablespoon unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
• Powdered sugar or whipped cream, for serving (optional)

Instructions

1. Make the pastry dough. Whisk together flour, sugar, and salt in a large bowl. Add cold butter cubes and use your fingertips or a pastry cutter to work them in until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs with some pea-sized pieces remaining. Stir in the egg yolk, then add ice water one tablespoon at a time, mixing just until the dough comes together. Flatten into a disk, wrap in plastic, and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.
2. Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 375°F (190°C). Lightly grease a 9-inch tart pan with a removable bottom.
3. Roll out the crust. On a lightly floured surface, roll the chilled dough into an 11-inch circle about 1/8-inch thick. Carefully transfer it to the prepared tart pan, pressing it gently into the edges. Trim any excess dough flush with the top of the pan. Prick the bottom all over with a fork. Line with parchment paper and fill with pie weights or dried beans.
4. Blind bake the shell. Bake the weighted crust for 15 minutes. Remove the parchment and weights and bake for another 5 minutes, until the bottom looks dry and just barely golden. Set aside. Reduce oven temperature to 350°F (175°C).
5. Make the filling. In a large bowl, toss the sliced rhubarb with sugar, cornstarch, vanilla, and ground ginger until evenly coated. Let it sit for 5 minutes — the rhubarb will begin to release its juices.
6. Fill and bake. Pour the rhubarb filling into the par-baked tart shell, spreading it evenly. Dot the top with the small pieces of butter. Bake at 350°F for 35–40 minutes, until the filling is bubbling and the rhubarb is fully tender. If the edges of the crust brown too quickly, tent them loosely with foil.
7. Cool before slicing. Allow the tart to cool in the pan on a wire rack for at least 45 minutes before removing the outer ring and slicing. The filling will set as it cools. Dust with powdered sugar or serve with lightly sweetened whipped cream if desired.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 285 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 13g | Carbs: 40g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 95mg