I find rhubarb ambivalent. This is not to say rhubarb isn’t delicious - it is - but rather, it’s an easy win. Put rhubarb on your cocktail menu and I guarantee a top selling drink. This, of course, is not a problem, but the forward-thinking, curious person in me always feels like rhubarb is moving backwards - which is, in itself, intriguing. Some ingredients we use get tied to a time or place and for me rhubarb is one of them.

I have specific memories of the first time I saw, let alone tasted, rhubarb. Growing up in the industrial town of Stockport, I had everything I really needed, but my desire was for a garden, as ours was just a set of flagstones. In the summer, we’d grow tomatoes out of grow bags, but really, that was it. However, at the end of our road lived a lovely elderly couple, Dorothy and Heaven, with the most wonderful garden. If you’re wondering how Heaven got such an unusual name - well, his real name was Norman. I recently discovered we loved his garden so much we used to ask to go and see ‘Heaven,’ and the name stuck. Full of flowers, with a greenhouse smelling of sweet peas and a large apple tree in the middle, my mother, sister, and I would frequently stop by to check in on Dorothy and Heaven (well, my mum would), and we’d run around the garden, touching, smelling, and soaking it all in (in case you’re wondering, I’m now a sucker for botanical gardens).

There was a bit of a ‘wild’ patch at the end of this paradise - a mass of bushy leaves and earth. That was the first time I saw rhubarb ‘in the wild.’ With its fat green and red stalks, it seemed like a prehistoric plant was taking over, and something needed to be done about it. So, a bag of rhubarb was brought back to our kitchen and we set to cooking it - with a lot of sugar. A strange yet familiar taste, tart and bright, a little floral, a little hard to describe. I liked it because it was new and exotic to 10-year-old me.

40-year-old me still likes rhubarb. Ordering it in a desert, it takes me to a slower, calmer pace of life; in a cocktail, I’m in an English garden in the Spring. It’s often a nostalgic moment - a safe bet, an easy win, a little lazy. And maybe that’s why I find it ambivalent.

The Pull of the Past

Nostalgia can be a great source of pleasure - it taps into our emotions, pulling on the heartstrings of times gone by. Memories of people, places, and experiences can all be re-lived with a touch of ‘magical nostalgia’. Rhubarb, with its old-fashioned charm, has a way of doing that for many people. It’s the stuff of crumbles shared at family tables, of recipes passed down through generations. It belongs to a different rhythm of life - one where things took time, where flavours weren’t rushed, where sweetness had to be coaxed out with patience.

Maybe that’s why rhubarb feels like it’s moving backwards. It doesn’t just evoke a time and place - it tugs at the past itself, at a version of life that feels increasingly distant. But perhaps that’s also why it’s loved. In a fast-paced world that always seems to demand something new, rhubarb reminds us that there’s something deeply satisfying about revisiting the old, leaning into the seasons and allowing nostalgia to sweeten the present rather than just longing for what’s gone.

Thoughts on Nostalgia in Flavour

When it comes to food and drink, nostalgia is a powerful tool - a lens through which we can develop dishes or drinks that connect with our guests, giving them something familiar to enjoy. Finding a nostalgic flavour to work with can be incredibly playful and fun, but this approach has its time and place. Get it wrong and you risk a gimmick or being creatively stifled - hello conflicting feelings.

While I don’t believe we can - or should - eliminate nostalgia from flavour entirely, I do think we need to be mindful of its influence. Only then can we use it with greater creativity and intention - a thoughtful sprinkle here and there can be a wonderful thing. With that in mind, here are my four key considerations - or perhaps curiosities - about nostalgia. It’s a captivating area to research and a theme I’ll be revisiting in Statement Cocktails.

Cultural & Personal Identity

Nostalgia isn’t just about looking back - it’s about who we are. Traditions, rituals, and shared moments tether us to something greater, reinforcing a sense of belonging that feels both grounding and timeless. This is what makes nostalgia such a powerful tool in food and drink - industries built around connection and shared experiences.

Rooted in the Familiar

Some flavours don’t just taste good - they take you back. A single bite can conjure memories of family gatherings, childhood delights, or blissful holidays. In this way, food becomes more than sustenance; its memory on a plate, evoking instant comfort and approval.

Nostalgia as a Commodity

Nostalgia is no longer just a feeling - it’s a business. Brands, media, and even politics package and sell it, from movie remakes to ad campaigns promising a return to "simpler times." While nostalgia can be deeply meaningful, it can also nudge us toward the familiar instead of embracing the new. Case in point (though I do love this): You Can't Beat An Original 🔥

The Instant Replay Effect

The internet has made nostalgia instant, endlessly recycling music, fashion, and cultural trends. While revisiting the past can be fun, and sometimes necessary, leaning too heavily on nostalgia can leave us stuck in a loop, replaying history rather than creating the future.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this week's Flavour Musings, I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

Zoe

RHUBARB NOTES

Pairs well with: Sweet, Sour, Salt, Gin, Whisky, Sake, Citrus, Green fruits, Pepper, Vanilla, Tea - a wide selection of.

My most inventive experience of this flavour: Rhubarb dressed fresh oyster - utterly delicious and inventive. I don’t remember where I ate this, just the dish.

If rhubarb were a piece of music, it would be: Debussy: Suite bergamasque, L.75:III. Clair de lune (Arr.Roelens for Violin and Piano)