As the name suggests, this cake has earned itself an ardent admirer: dear Kadi.
The story began years ago when I baked a rhubarb cake more or less from pantry scraps — a little of this, a little of that — and brought it to work the next morning, simply because it was too large for home. Everyone enjoyed it, but I didn’t expect what came next.
Not long after, Kadi arrived at my desk with a box of fresh rhubarb and a smile: “Please bake that cake again for tomorrow.” That sentence made me laugh — and panic just a little — because I had no idea what went in the recipe…. After a bit of soul-searching (and ingredient-guessing), I managed to recreate it from memory. Apparently successfully, because Kadi didn’t notice a thing.
Some time later, she showed up again, this time with frozen rhubarb from her winter stash, and the same request. Eventually, I wrote the recipe down, scribbling it into my old Garfield notebook with a quiet smile. You know, just in case there would be a third time.
And there was.
Dear Kadi, if you’re reading this: thank you. For the rhubarb. For the lovely insistence. For inspiring a recipe that would otherwise have drifted into the fog with a hundred other forgotten cakes. These days, I’ve come to love this one just as much as you do. And every time I bake it, I think of you — bright, honest, full of laughter — and how we used to solve the world’s problems over tea and spreadsheets.