Double my pleasure.

Strawberry and Rhubarb. A common pairing, seemingly age-old even, but not for me. Like so many other treats steeped in Americana, those of the strawberry-rhubarb variety never made it inside my home growing up. Our sandwiches were made with Oroweat Masters' Best seeded and nutty breads and always made a bee-line for the soda fountain when we stopped in to the family restaurant because we weren't allowed to keep it in the home. Instead, my mother encouraged the consumption of a new-fangled just-add-water-to-powder concoction at the time - Barleygreen, or a fermenting, yeasty drink whose curds would be recycled for the week until I don't even know when. On very rare occasions, Thrity Butter Pecan ice cream, Sara Lee cheesecake, or a Twinkie would appear, but as far as goods from an actual bakery went, unless it was a mango mousse cake from Sheng Kee (just sweet enough), I knew nothing of it.

Along comes my friend, or, rather, along goes my friend. My dear friend Liz decided a couple years ago to leave the sunny skies and congested streets of Los Angeles for green pastures (greener pastures being Sacramento), and as a farewell gesture, made her one of her favorites -- strawberry rhubarb pie. It was my first attempt with this flavor combination, not quite sure what it should taste like, and I never got to know it any better as off she went with the lattice-topped thing of beauty. Digging in to desserts before gifting them just isn't my thing, though time and time again, I wish it was.

This week's Tuesdays With Dorie pick by Sarah of teapots and cake stands could be considered my first official foray into strawberry-rhubarb desserts (because we all wonder, if a tree falls in the woods and no one is there, does it make a sound?), and having tasted it, I can vouch that it really did happen. And I loved it.

Crisps are magical things to begin with, and that this was a double crisp?? I'm going to have to change all my crisp recipes into double crisps now, because as much as I love naturally sweet, seasonal fruit, the oat-flour-butter-nut-spice amalgamation is my favorite part of a crisp, and I know I'm not alone. A top and bottom layer of crisp?! This may just be better than pie!! The crystallized ginger also added an unexpected perk that would go well with plums, pears, peach -- it has to be my new favorite dessert addition (and Dorie's trick of steaming aged, hardened ginger over simmering water is genius)!!

I'll see my incomparably hilarious, wonderfully self-deprecating, and now, amazingly happy friend soon, and when I do, this is the winner I'll be toting.

Crust and plum.

I've always been a fan of the rustic. Modern, streamlined homes -- I find them cold and uninviting. Ergonomic Aeron chair? How about a painstakingly crafted cherry wood mud bench?? I picture exchanging wedding vows (that may or may not ever be recited to anyone) on actual leaves outdoors in a grove of trees rather than on a paisley or cornucopia-patterned carpet in a stuffy hotel conference room (not that there's anything wrong with that). And as much as I appreciate new flavor combinations and techniques in food, the way to my heart is through long braises, Old World comfort food, east and west, and handmade "imperfections". I will devour a 7 course tasting menu with all manners of French flavors and techniques, proclaim dish after dish as inspired, unquestionably pleasing, and maybe even the most delicious thing I have ever put in my mouth, but in the end, I will want anise-scented beef noodle soup in a stained plastic bowl, a craggy currant scone, or mushroom/pork soondubu over mixed rice with adzuki beans.

When I first came across Molly Wizenberg's plum crumble in late September on her blog, Orangette, there was no doubt I'd be trying this dessert out. The beautifully golden, nubby topping with the fruit juices oozing out from the sides called my name in its unevenly browned and family-style dessert splendor. Soon, I was hunting for the Italian prune plums that she touted so highly. As luck would have it, a week later at Gigi's Farmers' Market, located in the Americana at Brand in Glendale, I came across a basket of these plums from Ha's Apple Farm and nearly jumped out of my skin. My market-frequenting self had never noticed these prune plums before and had pretty much dismissed them as a variety that was nearly mythical in Southern California (much like sour cherries for making brandied cherries) but there they were, in the flesh, at such a newly established farmers' market! (I have since found these plums, as well as the French prune plums, at Ha's Apple Farm stalls at the Silver Lake, Hollywood, and Third Street Promenade Saturday markets.)

The recipe is ridiculously simple, and its appearance may convince you of that, but the end taste would not lead you to believe so. The fruit becomes so soft and yielding, ever so lightly sweetened with brown sugar, and given a gentle zing with both ground ginger and candied ginger. The real star of the show, however, is the crust. Fruit lovers may disagree because the plums shine too, but the crisp shell is buttery, crunchy, juice-softened, and plum-scented all at once. I've intended to make this with any variety of fruit, but with the Italian and French prune plums still readily available, I haven't yet been able to bring myself to stray. Many friends have had the chance to sample the crumble now, and even during a week when my kitchen was churning out a whole slew of desserts, this dessert has come out on top.

Creme fraiche isn't at all necessary as the crumble is so lovely in its unadulterated state, but with a dollop of tangy goodness, the dessert becomes a revelation.