Strawberry-Rhubarb Bars — The First Rhubarb of the Season

The garden saved me this week. Not metaphorically — literally. The garden gave me a reason to go outside, to kneel in the dirt, to put my hands in something living. The rhubarb is up. The peas are sprouting. The chives are thick. The garden doesn't grieve. The garden grows. I spent three hours in the garden on Saturday. Three hours of weeding and watering and talking to the tomato seedlings on the windowsill (I've started talking to plants openly now, without shame, because Paul can't hear me and Sven doesn't judge). The three hours were the longest I've spent doing something that wasn't cooking or crying since Paul died. The sun was warm on my neck. The dirt was cold in my hands. The rhubarb was red and stubborn. And I thought: I am Mamma's daughter. Mamma, who gardened through Pappa's cancer and through Lars's death and through fifty years of Duluth winters. Mamma, who gets on her knees in the dirt at eighty-nine because the weeds don't pull themselves. I am her daughter. I will get on my knees. I will pull the weeds. I will grow the things that need growing. Elsa helped plant tomatoes on Sunday. She came with gloves and her ranger enthusiasm and we planted the seedlings together — side by side, in the beds, the way we planted together two years ago when Paul watched from the porch. The porch is empty now. The chair is there. The man isn't. Elsa said, while planting: "I miss him, Mom." I said, "I miss him every minute." She said, "Does it get easier?" I said, "I don't know yet. Ask me in a year." She said, "I'll ask you in a year." I made a spring meal: rhubarb crisp. The first rhubarb of the season, picked from the garden, tart and red. I made the crisp the way I've always made it — rhubarb, sugar, the crumble topping of oats and butter and brown sugar — and I baked it and the kitchen smelled like June even though it's April and the smell was sharp and sweet and alive. I ate the crisp at the table. Two places set. One plate of crisp. One empty plate. The rhubarb doesn't know that Paul is gone. The rhubarb came back. The rhubarb comes back every year — tough, tart, red, stubborn. Scandinavian rhubarb. Johansson rhubarb. The rhubarb that doesn't quit. I won't quit either. Not yet. The garden is growing. The crisp is in the oven. The weeds are pulled. I'm on my knees in the dirt. I'm pulling. I'm growing. I'm here.

The crisp was the right instinct — but these Strawberry-Rhubarb Bars are what I’ve been making all the years before and after, when the first red stalks come up and I need something to do with my hands and something sweet to set on the table. The rhubarb I picked Saturday morning went straight into these: tart and stubborn, the way rhubarb always is, the way Mamma always said you want it. They’re easier to carry to Elsa’s, easier to leave on a neighbor’s porch, easier to eat standing at the counter when sitting down at a full table still feels like too much. The garden gave me the rhubarb. The rhubarb gave me these bars. That’s enough for now.

Strawberry-Rhubarb Bars

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 40 min | Total Time: 1 hr | Servings: 16 bars

Ingredients

• Crust & Topping:
• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 1/2 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
• 3/4 cup packed brown sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, melted
• Filling:
• 2 cups fresh rhubarb, sliced 1/2-inch thick
• 1 1/2 cups fresh strawberries, hulled and sliced
• 1/2 cup granulated sugar
• 2 tablespoons cornstarch
• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Instructions

1. Preheat. Heat oven to 350°F. Grease a 9x13-inch baking pan or line with parchment paper.
2. Make the crust mixture. In a large bowl, stir together the flour, oats, brown sugar, baking soda, and salt. Pour in the melted butter and mix until the mixture resembles coarse, damp crumbles.
3. Press the crust. Press about two-thirds of the oat mixture firmly and evenly into the bottom of the prepared pan to form the crust layer.
4. Make the filling. In a separate bowl, toss the rhubarb, strawberries, granulated sugar, cornstarch, lemon juice, and vanilla together until the fruit is evenly coated.
5. Layer and top. Spread the fruit filling evenly over the pressed crust. Scatter the remaining oat mixture over the top of the fruit in an even layer; it does not need to be solid.
6. Bake. Bake for 38 to 42 minutes, until the topping is golden and the filling is bubbling at the edges.
7. Cool completely. Allow the bars to cool in the pan on a wire rack for at least 1 hour before cutting. The filling will set as it cools.
8. Cut and serve. Slice into 16 bars. Store covered at room temperature for up to 2 days, or refrigerate for up to 5 days.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 210 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 9g | Carbs: 31g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 95mg