Luverly juicy centre with crusty top.
Now for a bit of nostalgia (here he goes!) related to rhubarb.
When I were knee high to a grasshopper, many traders used horse and cart to deliver or ply their services.
Notable was the coalman, rag and bone man, greengrocer, baker and of course the daily milkman.
OK, so where are we going with this to get to rhubarb.
Well, not that I am an expert, but apparently the best was grown , when encouraged with a bucket of manure.
Keen gardeners laid in wait for a horse and cart to clip clop down the road, waiting for the rich aroma of a steaming pile of you-know-what.
Not sure it ever came to blows (sh1t rage!), but there was often a bit of a scramble to get there first and shovel it up.
Straight off to the rhubarb, or some said roses liked it, to either apply while fresh, or some would mix it with compost and let it rot down before digging it in.
Little did I know that in my dotage I would be running a small (very) farm with olives, grapes and vines, with no manure needed; but as it happens, at this very moment there are four twenty five kilo sacks of general purpose fertilizer granules, waiting to be put round every tree; just waiting for rain to be forecast so as to get it down before it can be dissolved and into the soil.