Tart rhubarb balances sweet, jammy strawberry flavor in this irresistible springtime dessert. If you can find rhubarb, you’re in for a treat!

This simple crisp recipe requires only some chopping and stirring and yields delicious results after a 40-minute bake. I’ve modified my original recipe to call for my favorite oat and almond flour-based topping, which happens to be gluten-free.

This flavor combination was inspired by my friend Stephanie. She makes the best strawberry rhubarb pie, and I’m still daydreaming about the pie that inspired this recipe over ten years ago. Stephanie has her flaky pie dough technique down pat and bakes pies for all occasions. Maybe you are lucky enough to have a master pie maker in your life, too.

I am not Stephanie and I do not bake pies. I barely have the foresight or patience to chill pie dough, though I’ve been working on my technique over the years. Crisps are gloriously easy. No waiting. No fuss.

Bring your strawberries and rhubarb home and turn on the oven. This recipe is ready to go! Make it while you can.

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It’s rhubarb season, so it’s time to make this cake! It’s basically my gluten-free almond cake, but infused with fresh orange flavor and topped with the most delicious roasted strawberry and rhubarb topping. Make it once, and you’ll want to make it again every year!

This dessert is perfect for special springtime occasions like Mother’s Day, dinner parties and birthdays. I created this recipe over ten years ago and it’s still one of my favorites, so I’m sharing it again today with updated photos that show off its true beauty.

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I made another batch of rhubarb jam as the sun went down yesterday, so I could share the recipe with you this morning. I finally captured a bunny and a couple of squirrels outside my window in the process—proof that I really do live in Bunnyville.

Sometimes I judge recipes too quickly, as was the case with this rhubarb jam. It’s lovely, pink, sweet-and-sour goodness. You can spread it on toast or swirl it into yogurt or oatmeal.

I based this jam on my strawberry chia jam recipe. Chia jams are really easy to make. They’re made of fruit, mostly, and naturally sweetened with honey, so they’re healthy, too. The chia seeds are rich in Omega-3s and help the mixture thicken into a nice, jammy consistency.

I’m going to keep this post short because it’s a beautiful day and I want to get out and enjoy it. I hope you’ll get a chance to try rhubarb chia jam before rhubarb season is over!

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Will my fellow perfectionists please raise their hands? I know I’m not the only one who chases perfection and suffers for it. In its more mild form, perfectionism can be a good thing, a steady drive to improve. I’ve taken it to the extreme lately, though, into never-good-enough territory. At this point, I am my own harshest critic and my own worst enemy. Whenever a surefire recipe concept fails me, or I don’t like what I see in the mirror, or the crumbs and splatters take over my kitchen countertop, my disappointment spirals downward until I hit rock-bottom defeat.

Eventually, I drag myself up and put on Cookie’s leash so we can walk it off. Those brisk walks bring perspective. I remind myself that perfection is entirely subjective. Not to mention, impossible. Nothing will ever be perfect. So why am I bothering with such an impossible pursuit? My drive to be the best only succeeds in making me feel worthless, jealous, even bitter. That’s not me! To that end, I’ve hired a professional to help me. I want to learn how to accept less-than-perfect with grace rather than defeat.

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My first experience with crêpes was in high school. I took French back then, and joined the French Club for something to add to my college application. I even became the secretary of the French Club, meaning that I did, basically, rien. Nothing. It was the perfect role for my nerdy, lazy, 17-year-old self. Anyway, we had an annual French Club party, and Madame Gordy would bring in her crêpe maker so we could all enjoy sweet crêpes together.

A few years later, I spent a semester in Bordeaux, France. We visited Paris often, and we liked to stop at street vendors and order crêpes for a treat. I always admired the elegant swoop, swoop movement of the vendor’s hand as she spread the batter around the surface of the crêpe maker. She (or he) would hand us our crêpes, filled with Nutella and folded into quarters so they were easy to hold. I distinctly remember this day, when I was meandering through the Latin Quarter by myself. I sat on the edge of that fountain with a crêpe and watched families and tourists go by, and admired the old streets, the bookstores and the bridges across the Seine.

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