4160 Tuesdays was one of the first niche perfume brands that I wore. My earliest purchases, from House of Matriarch and Slumberhouse, were dark and brooding (to match the turmoil of my life at the time). But I found that they affected and sustained my melancholy mood so much that maybe the opposite would be true too — and went in search of something comforting and uplifting. I was drawn, at first, to the names and the stories. “4160 Tuesdays” reminded me that I didn’t have time to waste wallowing in self-pity.

Sunshine and Pancakes became my fantasy, a carefree day at the beach with my children. A day off from the darkness. And it worked, like a tonic for my tired soul. When I wore it, I felt lighter. Hopeful. It took a while, but eventually we got to where we needed to be, and we’ve had lots of happy days on the beach since then.

A few weeks ago, I made an Instagram post talking about how I wanted to spend July learning and talking about perfume brands that don’t give away bottles for reviews or do “collaborations” with influencers. This was not an attempt to drag anybody down, but rather a hope that I could learn and grow, and make my future purchases as a more educated consumer. Sarah McCartney (the perfumer and owner of 4160 Tuesdays) showed up and wrote candidly about some of her experiences, and how they’ve informed her decisions.

I don’t know Sarah personally, but I read her blog voraciously , as it’s both delightful and eye-opening at the same time. She’s a real advocate for true indie and artisan perfumers, and a treasure to perfumery IMHO, so I wanted to support and recognize her during July. But, sad to say, while I have a bottle of her Clouds project with Eau My Soul on order, I didn’t actually have any full bottles of her perfumes at the time. So I decided to order something new (yay – we both win!).

What I chose to order, a 100mL blind-buy, was Rhubarb & Custard 1:29. Not because I love rhubarb fragrances, actually, quite the opposite is true — they never work for me. Too tart, too bitter, too green… but when I saw this one, I just knew I’d found “the one.”

MY RHUBARB MEMORIES

My paternal grandmother lived in a small Midwestern town about 5 hours from where I grew up. My dad left town directly from his high school graduation, so he wasn’t particularly fond of the place, I guess. We went there to visit his mother two times a year while I was growing up.

She had been raised in the country and was quite different from my maternal grandmother, who I saw several times a month. She liked things that were “homey” and “old-timey” (her words), and every meal she cooked was country comfort food. She cooked with lard and plenty of salt, made absolutely everything from scratch, and never needed a measuring cup or spoon. She made biscuits every morning, and gravy with every meal. Chicken and dumplings, fried chicken, soup beans, country ham… (I didn’t appreciate any of this as a child and mostly lived on iceberg lettuce with Russian dressing and those almond cookies shaped like windmills.) She kept a jar of sorghum on the table to spread on the cornbread and put in her coffee.

For dessert, it was always rhubarb pie. Days before leaving to visit, my dad would start talking about how he couldn’t wait to eat some rhubarb pie, which always made me wonder why we never had it at home? (Looking back, I’m not sure that my mother ever liked it either, much like the sweet tea that she dutifully drank when we were there).

A ROUGH START WITH RHUBARB

Every night during our visits, after dinner, my grandmother would say “Who wants dessert?” And I would sit there, hoping against hope, that it would be ice cream. But it was always rhubarb pie. I would watch the adults spoon heaps of sugar from the sugar bowl on top of it, and shovel it in, washing it down with sorghum-coffee, while I ate my crumbly windmill cookie.

I was always offered pie, but a little voice inside me kept warning me not to take it. I’d had the experience of helping Grandma pick rhubarb from her backyard garden, and it left a sour-green smell on my hands. I remember asking over and over again what rhubarb tastes like. The answer was always the same — “it tastes like rhubarb.” All I knew for sure was that it looked green and slimy and smelled kind of funky, and for years I wanted no part of it.

Finally, one time when I was maybe 9 or 10 years old, I accepted the offer of pie. I’d eaten pie at home by this point — apple and pumpkin — and, while pie wasn’t cake, it wasn’t unpleasant either, so how bad could this be? It couldn’t be any worse than the sorghum on cornbread…. right? My mother probably gave me a look, but I bravely took the pie, sprinkled it with sugar, and took a bite. I was immediately repulsed. It tasted so vegetal, like braised celery, but with the tartness of granny smith apple peels, and a bitter aftertaste like sucking on a Tylenol tablet.

That was the end of rhubarb for me, for decades. When I got older, I learned that most people cut it with sweet fruit, but I wasn’t convinced. I made it well into adulthood before daring to taste it again, and finding that it was something palatable. I felt that it might even have promise, if prepared in just the right way.

Because rhubarb is so quintessentially a spring and summer thing, I really wanted to have a rhubarb dessert to include in my Easter/Ostara/Beltane celebration menus. In my family and my husband’s family, my desserts are legendary. Everybody has a favorite, so I get lots of requests. (I swear. some of the party invitations I receive should probably be addressed to “Dessert,” with me as the guest.) So there was pressure to not just make something passable, but to achieve perfection.

MY RHUBARB FANTASY

I searched and searched and searched until I found the perfect recipe. It’s a super-creamy vanilla bean cheesecake, topped with a charred rhubarb compote. As soon as I tasted the first bite, I was immediately converted. It is SO good. Like eating fluffy forkfuls of the promise and magic of spring. One of my absolute favorite tastes is “char” and it works absolute magic in this cheesecake. The balance of the char with the tartness and sweetness of the rhubarb compote, and the creaminess of the cheesecake — it’s absolutely divine. You have to try it.

Here’s a photo of my first attempt. As you can see, it’s not the prettiest of desserts, although I’ve managed to improve improve the look of it a bit with practice. However, the heavenly taste definitely redeems its homely appearance. I wish I had a better picture of a more attractive attempt, but what’s good about this one is that you can really see the contrasting textures here, the thick, sticky, almost fibrous compote, and the light and fluffy cheesecake. I can also imagine the perfectly balanced flavors, and I hope you can too.

The original recipe is from Saveur magazine, and I’m posting it, along with a link, at the end of this post. Their cheesecake is much better looking than mine. It looks to me like they might have added some red food coloring to their compote, because while I’ve managed to get it smoother and prettier, it’s never been the same delectable shade of red.

I have come to really love this dessert, it’s the flavor of spring and early summer to me. It’s more than a dessert though — it’s a bridge between my childhood and adulthood. It’s the perfect blend of tart and sweet, rustic and refined, technique and simplicity, comfort and elegance. For me, it’s about what happens when you treat something with love and put it in a place where it can really shine.

I really wanted to make a cheesecake especially for this review, try to get it as perfect-looking as possible, and photograph this wonderful perfume alongside it. But I’m not going to, for two reasons. First of all, my husband is out of town, and I don’t need to eat a whole cheesecake (but I would). Secondly, having a great idea for a perfect picture that takes hours to execute has halted my progress in writing and publishing reviews more times than I care to mention. As I’ve just written a blog post vowing not to derail myself with “good intentions” anymore, I’m giving up on that kind of above-and-beyondedness. After all, this is a perfume review, not a cheesecake review. So, enjoy this photo from the pros at Saveur, and please do check out the recipe and make one for yourself.

RHUBARB & CUSTARD 1:29

Rhubarb & Custard 1:29 is described as “The most British of fragrance puddings, in a wearable version.” The website explains that it was inspired by the childhood chewy sweet inspired by the pudding. Now, I’m not British, and I had never heard of the candy (although I do have some on order), nor the pudding. But I got to thinking about my own experience, and decided that if British children are eating rhubarb-flavored candy, the adults must be doing something incredibly right with rhubarb over there.

Rhubarb & Custard 1:29 is the result of a project that Sarah did with a British Facebook group called Mrs. Gloss and the Goss. I don’t know the whole story of the project. (My monkey mind says “spend three hours researching and tell the whole story here,” but I am learning that this is the precise reason that most of my review ideas never make it to completion, so I won’t.) But when I was choosing the perfume, I saw a short description that says 8 members of the group went to the perfumery and experimented to choose the exact perfect blend of rhubarb-citrus to creamy vanilla. The final decision was 1 part rhubarb to 29 parts custard, hence the name of the perfume.

“Balance is a strange thing, and it’s not the same as equality.”

This is a quote from Sarah’s website, describing the process of creating Rhubarb & Custard 1:29. It’s also a supreme life lesson, and perhaps my next tattoo. When I saw this, I was like, OMG, “yesssss honey!”

Balance isn’t a formula, it’s a feeling — you have to experience it, and trust yourself, and through this experience over time you come to a sense of knowing. This quote is how I knew I would love the fragrance. (It’s also the reason I thought about getting out some measuring calipers and checking my cheesecake photo, or maybe making one so that I could weigh the cheesecake filling and the compote separately to check the ratio… maybe later).

FRAGRANCE REVIEW

Rhubarb & Custard 1:29 opens up with a sharp, citrusy blast of tartness. It smells like the color of rhubarb — a little green, a little pink. This is immediately washed over by what I can only describe as a sort of coumarinic, floral smoke. The first time I smelled this, I seriously squealed out loud with delight. THIS is it! It reminds me exactly of the smell of the rhubarb bubbling and charring under the broiler.

After about twenty minutes, the smooth, creamy vanilla base becomes more pronounced. It is silky smooth and just sweet enough, with a warm, balsamic vanilla. There are milky and eggy nuances, and something malty and toasty that reminds me of an oat-cookie crumble (or maybe a graham cracker crust???) This custardy, vanilla bean richness is perfectly counterbalanced by the tartness of the rhubarb, and the lingering floral smokiness is like a magical kiss that makes everything just perfect.

I really expected the rhubarb to be fleeting, but it persists throughout the wear. It does become less sharp and pronounced, but it continues to balance the sublime custard with its extraordinarily rich and natural vanilla scent. Like a smart and sophisticated dessert, it never gets too sweet. But it is also comforting and uplifting, in a fragrantly nourishing way, something simple made with love and intention.

The longer I wear Rhubarb & Custard 1:29, the more it feels like sinking into a cozy, velvety safe space. It’s a fragrant blanket placed over you during a carefree nap. A feeling of comfort and contentment. The continued balance after many hours, even as it fades from an experience to a memory, is just remarkable.

I will enjoy Rhubarb & Custard 1:29 for all of spring and summer. It’s a gorgeous perfume that does smell true to dessert, but not in an immature or unwearable way. But I think I might enjoy it even more in the dead of winter, in the dreary weeks after solstice when there’s no rhubarb to be found, and I need a breath of springtime to remind me that every day is getting brighter. I do wish that I could go back to my grandmother’s house and try her pie again., and get to know her better, and have more of her to remember. I wish I could go back and experience so many things that I didn’t understand or appreciate before. But this is the scent of my own version of rhubarb perfection, a new tradition for the present day.

After smelling this fragrance, I’m intensely curious about the British pudding, and this will surely become another quest for me to travel and experience the real thing. And, it’s just occurred to me while writing this that I should make some charred rhubarb cheesecake for my dad. We aren’t terribly close, so I treasure any connection. Maybe he will like it? Perfume works in mysterious ways.

RHUBARB & CUSTARD 1:29 DETAILS AND FINAL THOUGHTS

As often happens, because I write about things that I own and want to share with the world, my connection with this perfume is intensely personal. It is the hug I didn’t know I needed, in perfume form. I make desserts for people I love, and this reminds me of them. If I were having a bespoke perfume made, it could very well have been this one, and to be honest I wouldn’t have changed a single thing. I feel blessed to own it and wear it. So, can this be “a review?” I don’t know. I have described the perfume the way that I experience it, as accurately and completely as I can. I’m biased because I love it, but isn’t that the point of buying perfume? No, I can’t remain clinical and detached when I describe it, but at least my bias is the result of a deep, personal connection to the scent (not a “business agreement” or other such pervasive nonsense). As always, don’t take my word for it, try it for yourself.

Rhubarb & Custard 1:29 was launched in 2018. The perfumer is Sarah McCartney. The fragrance lasted about 8 delicious hours on my skin, and the projection was moderate. The fragrance is gourmand but not too sweet, and perfectly unisex. I believe it is an EdP, although this is not specified on the website. It is available in several different sizes on the 4160 Tuesdays website. Because of shipping regulations, I was not able to buy directly from the webshop, but luckily there are shops in North America (and all over the world) that carry the brand. I purchased my bottle at full retail price from Perfumology. I have no sort of relationship with any of the brands or shops mentioned, and this unsolicited and uncompensated review represents my personal and honest opinion.

I would like to give a final commendation to Sarah McCartney for her continual commitment to customer service, community service, and advocacy for independent perfumers and perfume industry transparency. I am pleased to have options to buy perfume from her and other people like her, who are so deserving of support and success. Below, as promised, is the cheesecake recipe!

RECIPE

https://www.saveur.com/article/recipes/cheesecake-with-charred-rhubarb-compote-and-sliced-strawberries/

Pastry chef Anna Posey of Chicago’s Publican blackens rhubarb in a wood-fired oven for the cheesecake’s compote topping. A standard oven will also do the trick. Yield: serves 10-12, Time: 5 hours

For the Crust

• 5 tbsp. unsalted butter, melted, plus more for greasing
• 6 oz. graham crackers
• 1 tsp. sugar
• ¹⁄₄ tsp. freshly grated nutmeg
• ¹⁄₄ tsp. kosher salt

For the Filling and Garnish

• ¹⁄₂ cup sour cream
• 3 (8-oz.) packages cream cheese, softened
• 1 ¹⁄₄ cups sugar
• 2 tbsp. unsalted butter, softened
• 4 eggs, room temperature
• 2 tbsp. dark rum
• ¹⁄₂ tsp. kosher salt
• 1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise, seeds scraped and reserved
• Charred Rhubarb Compote (see below)
• Sliced strawberries, for garnish

Instructions

1. Make the crust: Heat oven to 375°. Grease a 9″ (3″-deep) springform pan with butter. Pulse graham crackers in a food processor into fine crumbs. Add melted butter, sugar, nutmeg, and salt; pulse to combine and press mixture into bottom and 1 ¹⁄₂″ up the sides of pan. Bake until set, 6–8 minutes, and cool. Wrap outside of pan with aluminum foil; transfer to a roasting pan.
2. Make the filling: Reduce oven to 325°. In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a paddle, beat sour cream and cream cheese on high until smooth. Scrape down sides of bowl and add sugar and butter; mix on medium until combined. With the motor running, add eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Add rum, salt, and vanilla bean and seeds; mix until combined and pour into prepared crust. Pour enough boiling water into roasting pan to come halfway up the side of springform pan; bake until filling jiggles slightly in the center when the pan is tapped on the side, 50 minutes to an hour. Remove springform pan from water bath and let cool completely; chill until set, 3–4 hours.
3. Spread Charred Rhubarb Compote over cheesecake and garnish with strawberries; chill 1 hour before serving.

Compote

• 1 ¹⁄₂ lb. rhubarb, trimmed and sliced 1/4″ thick
• 1 ¹⁄₂ cups sugar
• 1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise, seeds scraped and reserved
• 2 tbsp. fresh lemon juice

Heat oven broiler. Arrange rhubarb in a single layer on a greased, foil-lined baking sheet; broil until slightly charred, 6–8 minutes, and transfer to a 4-qt. saucepan. Add sugar and vanilla bean and seeds; cook over medium-low until rhubarb breaks down and sauce thickens to a jam-like consistency, about 30 minutes. Stir in lemon juice; let cool and discard vanilla bean

P.S. — the compote is meant to be put on the top of the cheesecake, but if you don’t have time to make a whole cheesecake, it is also wonderful on ice cream, or to make a shortcake with biscuits and whipped cream. Hope you enjoy! ❤️