Word: rhubarb
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1950-1959
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...Creek, Poorman and a hundred other placer gold camps, packed the glint-eyed prospectors in search of a glint in the sand and gravel. In the villages of the Panhandle in the southeast, the red salmonberry blossoms fluttered, and the Indians spun out to gather wild celery and Indian rhubarb, came home for feasts of delicate herring eggs (cooked in seal oil, garnished with soy sauce). Spring yawned in the lower valleys, and out popped the arctic poppy, shooting star, lupine and forget-me-not (Alaska's official flower). And now, after a long winter's self-imposed...
Eggs a la Russe with Caviar . . . southern Bisque . . . Baked Stuffed Filet of Sole Marguery, Parslied Potatoes, Harvard Beets . . . Combination Salad . . . Rhubarb-Strawberry Pie . . . Coffee...
...celebrated gaming booths of NBC's Twenty One last week rocked under a rhubarb that had even the head croupiers puzzled. Playing their sixth tie game in four weeks, at a husky $3,500 a point, Greenwich Village Artist Jim Snodgrass, 34, and Medical Research Consultant Hank Bloomgarden, 28, both answered correctly a ten-point question on European royalty, then went for the tough eleven-pointer: Name the five groups of bones in the human spinal column (see diagram). A onetime pre-med student, Snodgrass began with a noun, "sacrum," was ruled out by M.C. Jack Barry, whose answer...
While the authorities were busy hopping on Hoak, the Braves and Redlegs were chewing up another old rhubarb: Does Milwaukee Pitcher Lew Burdette throw a spitball? Even Burdette does not deny that he wets his fingers while he fidgets on the mound. But when Cincinnati's Manager Birdie Tebbetts accused him of serving up a spitball, Burdette put on a look of innocence. A spitter? Not he. He always dried his fingers before he pitched, said Burdette...
...year-old dwarf." A critic in Le Figaro said that her lines sparkled "with spontaneous sensations, new tingling images." Elle, France's biggest women's weekly, denounced her as a fake. They were all talking about nine-year-old Minou Drouet, whose poems launched a major cultural rhubarb in Paris (TIME, Nov. 28, 1955). Since then, Minou (a French pet name for "kitten") has fought back. When a critic sniffed that she should go back to her dolls, Minou answered: "Dolls are the dead. Have I no more to do here on earth?" More important in her defense...