When Justin bought the house I would eventually move into with him, he was very explicit with his realtor that he didn’t want a lawn to take care of. We’d been dating for a few months and I’d left to go on a six-month theatre tour, and when we chatted about his house hunt over the phone, it was obvious he was in love with a little spot on Knight Street. He was especially delighted with the spit of concrete that served as a “backyard”. Enough room for a table, two chairs, and a barbecue, no lawnmower required. I came home that summer and moved in with him immediately. I mean, the house was literally a stone’s throw from Moo Moo’s Ice Cream, and around the corner from Venice Pizza, so my part of town didn’t stand a chance against Justin’s, really. It also didn’t hurt that he had a killer set of dimples, and was the kindest, most decent dude I’d ever met. That combo AND being a 12-second walk to turtle cheesecake ice cream? I’m no idiot, friends.
Fast forward three years later, while he’s barbecuing a spatchcock chicken and I sit in the one of the two chairs that fit in our modest outdoor space, that spit of concrete is the place where I tell Killer Dimples we’re about to add another person to the household. And just like that, the sheen wore off the maintenance-free backyard.
It took a few years, a lot of paperwork, and mountains of patience trying to explain to banks and mortgage brokers how self-employment in the arts works, but as of four months ago, we are the owners of a new house. Sort of in the burbs, but not really, shut your face I can walk downtown in 50 minutes. It came with a front and backyard that were very obviously loved and cared for by the previous owner. And while I hope we can do it justice…we know nothing. Like, what even are all of these flowers:
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F7473c3db-7a84-4e1d-9e5f-cbcce6ecd3aa_4032x3024.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F2b25f406-4459-42b0-83d0-b5b8812feb31_4032x3024.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F11eddd85-7e8d-44a4-8f27-ae3329ef566c_4032x3024.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fbc1457ca-0666-4584-9eca-24efb303c146_4032x3024.jpeg)
The good news is, we were gifted a big chunky rhubarb plant from my friend Sandy’s mom (thank you Tineke!!) and chickens, it GREW. Grew so well we were shocked. Mostly because it started with the three of us standing next to our fence, staring at the ground in bewilderment. The rhubarb plant sitting in a big Tupperware container patiently waiting for us not to fuck up his internment. We shrugged, stuck in the spade, tore up some sod, and stuck it in the shallow hole we managed to dig in the rocks. And five weeks later we did our first official harvest. I won’t pat myself on the back too hard; from what I hear, rhubarb is the cockroach of the plant world and you have to work pretty hard to kill it. But still. We grew it, it counts. I’m a farmer now.
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fbb365339-f0b2-4082-8948-f8b04b30b02b_4032x3024.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F7c2bb0fb-eb07-4e37-876a-b3b3a10bdddb_4032x3024.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Ffcc3e553-1559-40b3-b426-c8c0caa4ce8d_4032x3024.jpeg)
I celebrated our modest bounty by breaking out my nan’s old Purity Cookbook. It’s been around the block, seen a few kitchens, survived a few spills, and after my family, is the one physical object I would rescue from a burning building. I wanted something easy, fast, and basic, and this fit the bill. Old recipes leave a lot to the imagination and force you to use yours, that’s for sure.
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fa95f9257-4e49-42bf-b16d-aa68217164c3_4032x3024.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F462ccbf2-18e8-46a5-a585-1c1b771d09f4_4032x3024.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F0a8ee772-8518-415b-b0b1-36072e7265c1_4032x3024.jpeg)
I think I messed up the topping, it wasn’t very crispy at all. But it was delicious and I ate it from a spoon straight out of the dish for days. Justin was out of town, but I put in a valiant effort.
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F9bde7738-d8d3-4962-8b2a-becb03c48806_4032x3024.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fec4ef920-daa1-4137-bdd4-1af8b0762c3a_4032x3024.jpeg)
Just enough rhubarb left for a little jar of jam! Not actual sterilize-some-jars jam; in addition to knowing nothing about gardening, I have canned nothing in my life. Those weird sounds you’re hearing right now? The thousands of bones of my outport ancestors rolling in their collective graves. I likely would have been the first one to succumb to scurvy waiting for the boat to arrive in the spring, I guess. But thanks to the modern day marvels of refrigeration, I make kickass fridge jam.
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Ffff01278-71a4-4a89-a1e1-237858b4b178_4032x3024.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F9544e6d2-c749-4b1d-ad4c-e728544e47b0_4032x3024.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F4856e25d-c5db-4f8d-a1d4-ef04291dd217_4032x3024.jpeg)
Rhubarb Vanilla Fridge Jam
2 cups chopped rhubarb
2 heaping tablespoons plus one teaspoon brown sugar
¼ of a vanilla pod, or ¼ tsp vanilla extract
A good pinch of kosher salt
(Ok, full disclosure, and this is embarrassing and mortifying to admit…but I have a small collection of vanilla pods that I forgot about for ages and they dried up. Devastated when I found them. I mean, the price of real vanilla, sweet Jesus. So I use them when I make jam…let them simmer a bit, take them out, slit them open, scrape out the beans, then back in the jam to finish, discard the pods or keep them in the jam for flavour, but I have to be honest they will look like dead preying mantises floating in your jam. I used three small cracked pieces for this batch, so a quarter of a fresh one should do it for a small batch of jam like this. Just make sure you put back the cut bit you’re not using in a container sealed really well so it doesn’t dry out and you end up like me, weeping in a corner because you have dried up vanilla bean pods. And listen. Don’t be afraid of the salt. Just a pinch, to taste, and make sure it’s kosher because it’s too easy to over season when you use table salt. Trust me. I know nothing about gardening, but I know that a pinch of salt makes the sweet SING. Yes, I just said that. Christ. Sorry, writing this with a cocktail on an empty stomach. Thanks for coming to my jam Ted Talk.)
Put rhubarb, sugar, and vanilla pod (or broken pieces of your forgotten-about pods, you godless jerk) in a medium saucepan and stir over medium heat, stirring occasionally until rhubarb has broken down a little, then turn heat to medium-low and let simmer for 15 minutes or so. By this time the vanilla pod (if using) should be softened a little. Remove it, cut down the middle, and scrape the seeds from both pieces. Place the seeds back in the saucepan, stir, and let everything simmer on low till most of the liquid has evaporated and jam has thickened. Add the pinch of salt, taste, and add more sugar and another pinch of salt if needed. Everyone likes rhubarb jam their own way, and you’ll know when you’ve hit the right balance. Makes enough for one small mason jar, and lasts a few weeks in the fridge.
Happy summer, chickens! And happy growing to the farmers, the backyard gardeners, and to those of us who’ve graduated from concrete to soil, over here quaking in our not-yet-broken in gardening gloves. xo
You are a farmer! I have a deadly rhubarb custard recipe. Super easy and delish. Happy to share it!