I was a Fun Dip kid. Not the candy stick part. Just the powder. I'd tear the packet open and pour it straight onto my tongue, no delivery mechanism required. Pure sour, as fast as possible.

I didn't grow out of it. I just found something better.

Rhubarb is out right now. Those long, almost aggressively red stalks sitting in bundles at the Deering Oaks Farmers Market. Most people walk past it. They don't know what to do with it, or they assume it needs strawberries to be worth anything.

It doesn't. And honestly, the strawberry thing has done real damage.

Rhubarb originated in China, where nobody ate it for most of its history. It was medicine. The dried root moved along the Silk Road for centuries as a treatment for digestive problems, and at various points it was worth more than cinnamon or opium. It didn't reach European kitchens until the 18th century, when sugar got cheap enough to make eating something this tart feel like a reasonable decision. Cold climate, hard frost, minimal maintenance. Of course it ended up in Maine. It's basically a Maine plant that just took a long route to get here. You find it growing in the corner of old yards all over this state, outliving whoever planted it.

The sourness is oxalic acid. Concentrated enough in the leaves that they'll actually make you sick. Thats why we eat the stalks. Your mouth knows something is happening the second you bite in, tart, slightly astringent, almost coating. For people who are wired for that, it's hard to explain to people who aren't. You either want your face to do that or you don't. I always have.

Now. Strawberry rhubarb.

I know why it exists. Rhubarb alone is a commitment. It has no sweetness, no softness, nothing to meet you halfway. Strawberries are sweet, available at the same time of year, and they solve the problem fast. The combination makes sense as a workaround. What I can't accept is that the workaround became the whole story.

By the time you've added enough sugar and enough strawberries to make something most people will eat, the rhubarb is just texture. A vague tartness underneath all that sweetness. The thing that made it worth using got quietly removed. You're not making rhubarb pie. You're making strawberry pie with a footnote.

Think of it less like a fruit and more like a squeeze of lemon. That acid is the whole point. It brightens things. It cuts through fat. It makes whatever it touches taste more like itself. Pork and rhubarb chutney. Mackerel with rhubarb. Pickled rhubarb alongside something rich. I spent years food styling, and you learn fast in that world that acid is doing half the work on any plate worth eating. Rhubarb is just the most underrated version of that.

The season is short. It'll be gone before you're ready for it to be.

It comes back every spring anyway, same corner of the yard, same intensity, whether anyone shows up for it or not.

The city you're walking around today almost never existed.

The year is 1775. The town isn't called Portland yet. It's Falmouth, a busy working harbor full of people getting increasingly fed up with the British. Tensions were high everywhere that spring. Lexington and Concord had just happened. The colonies were tipping toward war.

Captain Henry Mowat sails his ship into Falmouth and anchors offshore, a British officer sitting in a Patriot harbor at exactly the wrong moment. One day, he goes ashore for a walk, and the local militia grabs him. Holds him hostage to send a message to the Crown. The standoff nearly turns into a battle before the town talks everyone down and lets him go.

He doesn't come back the next day. He sails away. But he doesn't forget.

Months later, the orders come down. Burn the coastal towns, causing trouble for the Crown. He's been given a list and his pick of where to start.

He comes back to Falmouth first.

Five ships. He anchors in the harbor and sends word ashore: the town is guilty of "the most unpardonable Rebellion," and they have two hours to get out. The townspeople send a delegation to beg him to stop. He gives them terms instead. Swear allegiance to the king, hand over your weapons and powder. They spend the night stalling, handing over a few muskets, hoping he'd soften by morning.

At 9:40, he runs a red flag up the masthead, and the fleet opens fire. Nine hours of bombardment. Three thousand projectiles, one every eleven seconds. When the cannons run low, he sends men ashore with torches to burn whatever's still standing. By evening, Mowat wrote, "the body of the town was in one flame."

More than 400 buildings are gone. A thousand people left homeless heading into a Maine winter. A visitor, a month later, wrote that there was "no lodging, eating or housekeeping" left in Falmouth.

It backfired. The burning did more for the revolution than most battles did. News spread through the colonies and made up a lot of people's minds. Congress moved faster on building a navy. His commander was relieved of his post that December, done in by a string of failures the burning hadn't helped. Mowat spent the rest of his career being quietly punished for it, passed over for promotion until he learned to leave Falmouth off his record entirely.

In 1786, the burned neck of land along the harbor broke off from Falmouth and incorporated as its own city. They called it Portland. Within a decade, hundreds of homes had gone up where ash had been. A whole city, rebuilt from nothing.

Two hundred and fifty years later, you're walking down Fore Street past the bars and the harbor view, and underneath all of it is a town that burned because one man couldn't let an embarrassment go.

There's one cookie I had recently that doesn't fit the chocolate chip list but needs to be talked about anyway.

Nicholas Violette, a baker at Solo Pane in Bath, grinds up toasted cornetti, the Italian croissant, and subs it in for part of the flour. Right before the dough is done, he folds in actual chunks of baked cornetti. Finishes it with a milk powder sugar.

It's one of the best cookies I've had. Bath is worth the drive for this alone.

🐶 Riggs – 2 yrs
A loyal, affectionate dog who’s happiest tagging along wherever you go. Loves walks, adventures, and hanging close by. Best in a home without cats.

🐶 Takeo – 2 yrs
A sweet, blind pup who doesn’t let anything slow him down. Loves people, zooming around the yard, and climbing into your lap for attention. Just needs a patient home to help him navigate the world.

🐱 Chicken Nugget – 3 yrs
A sweet-and-spicy cat who needs time to settle in and show his personality. Best with a patient, cat-savvy home that understands boundaries and lets him move at his own pace.

If the link doesn’t open anymore, it means they’ve already been adopted!

Pub Run @ Ri Ra | 6 pm | Free

Rayne Carroll Reads the News @ Space | 6:30 pm | 🎟️ $5

Good Vibes Wednesdays @ Thompson’s Point | 5 pm | Free

Summer Sunsets Live! @ Thompson’s Point | 5 pm | Free

Badminton @ Congress Square Park | 6 pm | Free

Wild Edible Walking Tour @ Winnick Woods ( Eastern Prom ) | 5 pm | 🎟️ $30

Italian Cookies In Conversation @ Print Bookstore | 7 pm | Free

Glow Rave w/ DJ Jams Forrever @ Live at Madrid’s | 8:30 pm | 🎟️ $12

The Portland String Quartet : Airborne @ PMA | 6 pm | 🎟️ $30

The Wizard of Oz @ The Hill Arts | 6 pm | 🎟️ $25

A Delightful Evening of Whimsical Yelling @ SPACE | 7:30 pm | 🎟️ $20

Book LaunchFor Someone you know @ Mechanics’ Hall | 6 pm | 🎟️ $10

SAW the Musical @ The Hill Arts | 7 pm | 🎟️ $35

Opening: Barkada @ 425 Fore Street | 11 am

WestFest 2026 @ 166 Brackett St. | 10 am | Free

Queer Club: Masquerade @ Geno’s | 8 pm | 🎟️

Emma Willmann @ Empire Comedy Show | 9:30 pm | 🎟️ $30

Club XCX @ PHOME | 9 pm | 🎟️ $15

Snell Farm Rhubarb Festival @ Snell Farm | 11 am | Free

The Merch Table Pop up @ Live at Madrid’s | 12 pm | Free

You Got Gold: A Celebration of John Prine @ The Hill Arts | 2 pm | 🎟️ $25

Until next week,
— Jake Newman