Grab your rhubarb and rinse it under cold water. You don’t want dirt in your future crumble; that’s not “rustic,” that’s “garden surprise.” Pat it dry with a towel like you’re burping a very long, angry baby.
Now, chop off the leaves. Seriously, those big, floppy leaves are poisonous. Don’t eat them, don’t compost them if you have nosy pets—just toss them. The stalks are your friends; the leaves are that one relative who causes drama at Thanksgiving.
The Chop-Chop Decision
Cut the stalks into one-inch pieces. Think of it like dicing up string cheese, but if string cheese looked like a traffic cone. Don’t make them too small, or you’ll end up with rhubarb confetti. Nobody wants confetti that tastes like a tart lemon battery.
You can leave the skin on. The skin is where the color lives, and you want your frozen stash to look like a sunset, not a beige nightmare. Plus, peeling rhubarb is the kind of busywork that makes you question your life choices.
