There may be no better spring dessert

(Frannie, my maternal-grandmother and true Southern belle that she was, made rhubarb famous in my family, not only because of how much she loved Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie but because of the way she said it. It became part of my sister’s and my act when we impersonated her as children. With one hand over our hearts and one hand held up as if to stop traffic, we would say the line in unison, “Oh, hon-ney, Frann-ney doesn’t want a thing. I stopped in Merr-reh Est-ah for cau-feh and a piece of straw-berr-eh roo-bahb pie.”  )

You see, she drove from Mexico Beach, FL to see us in Mobile, AL, and Mary Ester, FL was along her route, about halfway between us. Mary Ester was also where one of her favorite pitstops was — a quaint, out-of-the-way cafe with wonderful coffee and homemade sweets. In the spring, Frannie’s favorite was their homemade Strawberry-Rhubarb, and she all but sang about it once she arrived for her visit. 

Something about the way Frannie swooned over that pie made me think rhubarb had to be a delicacy, probably something exotic and hard to come by. Strawberries were already a favorite of mine by this time, but I had never seen or tasted rhubarb. My young brain reasoned that if rhubarb was good enough to be in the mix with strawberries, it must be supernaturally delicious.