The Oat Boat Has Sailed

Some foods' reputations are just entirely wrecked.

Let's think about foods that make us squirm. Liver and onions, gruel, boiled beef. For some folks, it's Jell-O or fruitcake. Up until somewhat recently, before most of us understood their true beauty and usefulness, Brussels sprouts and anchovies had worked their way onto that list as well. Often, it's the traditional preparation that becomes outdated, or it's the idea of thing (organ meat, gelatinous textures) that gets people worked up. Then, of course, there are the historical implications that really do us in. Granola, with its hippie skin that it's frantically trying to shed, is one such food.

I've spent at least 18 years trying to figure out granola, trying to connect with it, attempting to get to the heart of it. You'd think that it'd be easier, what with the fact it's merely a cereal, for crying out loud. Somehow, though, it's not. It's like perfecting scrambled eggs: so simple, yet never-endingly complex. So many factors, and so much trial and error, go into getting some very simple dishes completely perfect.

The thing I've learned about granola recently is that oats are entirely unnecessary. In fact, I think oats sort of (yes, I am about to actually say this out loud) ruin granola. Agh! Gasp! What am I saying!? I am, in fact, saying that the oat boat -- at least for me -- has sailed. But, wait. Listen. Yes! Give me oats in my oatmeal! Yes, give me oats in my cookies, cakes, bread and pancakes. Even give me oats in my granola bars. Just don't put oats in my granola. I love you, oats, but I can't be bothered.

I was given a gift of granola at the end of the summer from one of my students, which I actually set aside for about a month or so. I tend to see granola as a food I don't love, even though I've had some amazing granola in my day. It's just that I've had so much terrible granola: granola with tough bits of dried fruit that break my teeth off, granola that is undercooked or overcooked, granola that tastes like absolutely nothing, granola that is cloyingly sweet, granola that should actually be called muesli, granola that is comprised of nothing but oats, granola that has odd things in it that don't belong there. I am wounded, you see.

The gift was in a beautiful jar, though, and it looked to contain all sorts of things I love: almonds and coconut and other gems. And yet I didn't open it. Until, one day, when I did, just to sniff it a bit. And that is that day everything changed. That is the day I started re-loving granola. That day stacks up right next to the day I realized anchovies were one of the best-kept secrets of incredible cooking, or the day I realized that Brussels sprouts could be, if treated properly, turned into absolute gold. The smell did it for me. I poked at it, tasted a bit (still with extreme trepidation) and, then, sold. SOLD. I was in. All in.

The contents of the jar disappeared within a few days, and I was immediately clamoring for more. I'd stare at the empty jar and feel sadness that confused me. I was pining for granola, and it wasn't the type of granola-feeling I was used to having. In my granola-deprived stupor, I wrote to the kind mother who had gifted it to me. Must. Have. Recipe, I frenetically typed, and then finished the email, trying to sound clear-headed and civilized, but clearly coming from a state of horrid deprivation. I was quite close to driving to the grocery store and camping out in the parking lot until I received the recipe from her, all so I could be closer to cooking up this crack for myself.

The recipe came back soon, and I scanned through it, calculating quantities and flavors and anticipating the process. I knew there would not be oats in the recipe, and I had prepared myself. The whole thing was, actually, endearingly simple, which sort of surprised me. There really isn't anything super funky in this granola. It's just simple ingredients: no granulated sugar, no actual oats, no weird fruit.

The nuts and seeds are all raw, which is key. Nuts or seeds that have already been toasted or processed in any way have either had oils added to them or have already produced oils that will, when baked, oxidize and burn. We don't want this. We want raw, and we want simple. We want to look up granola on the Internet, hope that it's not married yet, and set a date to reconnect. We want to meet granola again after a decade-long hiatus and notice how beautiful it looks, how impeccably groomed it is, how well-dressed and well-mannered it is. We want to rediscover this creature that we thought had quite possibly ended up in the loony bin or prison. We want to realize that this, this is what we've been waiting for. No obnoxious quirks, no disgusting habits, and certainly no unnecessary ingredients. Just the pure love we've been hunting for. We want to find happiness. We want to find this granola.

The Good Granola
Thanks to Denise for this recipe and the gift that started it all.

2 C sliced or chopped raw almonds
2 C large unsweetened coconut flakes
1 C raw sunflower seeds
1/2 C raw pumpkin seeds
1/2 C chopped raw pecans
1/3 C maple syrup
1/3 C coconut oil
2 t vanilla
2 t cinnamon
1/2 t salt

Preheat oven to 300 degrees F. Combine first 5 ingredients in the biggest bowl you have. Combine the remaining 5 ingredients in a saucepan over medium heat. Whisk constantly until coconut oil is melted and everything is combined. Mix the wet in with the dry and toss to coat.

Spread out mixture in an even layer on a parchment-lined baking pan and bake 15 minutes. Stir, shuffle, and toss the granola on the pan. Put back in the oven for another 15 minutes, then stir again. Return to the oven for another 15 minutes, watching carefully. You'll want it very golden and toasted, but not burned. Cool in the pan. When completely cool, store in an airtight container. Makes roughly 6 cups, which should last you about one hour.

You can certainly add dried fruit or freeze-dried fruit once the granola has baked. The original gift-batch I received had dried blueberries in it, which was lovely. I tend to just add extra bits and things to each serving, rather than committing to a fruit-theme for the entire batch.

Serve any way you'd like! I love it with coconut milk, but I've also eaten it with just a giant spoonful of almond butter. It's found its way onto salads and soups lately, too. There are very few places I wouldn't put this granola, in fact. It's just that good.

Excuse Me! You Seem Like Such A Nice Customer.

Dear Customer,

Welcome to my farmstand at this farmers market! I can see this is a very important day for you. This is, after all, the only day of your whole life that you will be able to buy vegetables. Ever. In fact, after today, all the vegetables and fruits will be gone from the world and you will have to subsist on pieces of meat and glugs of Diet Rite. You know, like prehistoric people. It's going to be awful. You'd better get ready. You'd better get focused. You're smart and nice, so I know you can do it!

Since there are really only a few hours left before the apocalypse, you'd better hustle through this farmers market really quickly and angrily. Everyone here at the market, myself included, would really prefer if you could figure out a way to push everyone with your body while managing to also block everyone from getting anywhere by standing really still in the middle of the pathway. If you could take a minute out of your super busy Saturday to figure out how to do that, it'd be great. You're such a good helper!

You're also asking so many great questions, like Why does this cost so much? and Why does this apple have spots all over it? Then it's so neat when you whip around to your friend who is wearing a spandex athletic outfit that matches yours and you say in a really loud voice, THIS PLACE IS TOO EXPENSIVE. WE SHOULD HAVE JUST GONE TO THE GROCERY STORE. And while you're whipping around in your athletic outfit which also includes a full face of makeup and spotless $300 sneakers, make sure that you're extra careful! You'll want to make sure your two gigantic matching Bernese mountain dogs, your two wayward Golden Retriever puppies, and your excitable, yipping Chihuahua-Pomeranian mix stay nowhere near you, because their job is to assault the other customers by licking and jumping on them so that they want to be nowhere near my farmstand. Thank you!

Moms and dads of the market! I'm so glad you're here, too! The thing you really contribute to the farmers market is a sense of community. You're really special because you make this place so close-knit and fun. When you bring your six kids, all under the age of six, to the market, it makes everything so much more exciting. I always go home at the end of the day thinking, I'm so glad those parents all bring those four-seat strollers with 24-inch tires. You're so prepared for the crowds, narrow paths, and rugged urban terrain! And when your crying, screaming kids just hop right out and you're pushing around an empty stroller the size of Steven Spielberg's yacht, it just makes so much sense. Could you also remind your kids as they run around yelling their faces off and charging into other people that it's best if they squeeze all of my tomatoes, and not just twenty of them? I really think all the tomatoes are better for selling when they have puncture wounds from two year-old fingernails. Thanks!

Oh! And also! See this corn here? I grew it all by myself, after days and months and years and decades of hard work and planning. What I really like is for customers like you to stand at the corn bin for at least 20 minutes while shucking each and every ear of corn before you decide if you want to buy it or not. It's a good thing I have you here to shuck all this corn for me! Phew. In fact, I purposefully brought to the market all of the most damaged corn that I grew, so everything you see here is either ridden with small insects that will kill you or already rotten down to the cob. I think the other customers like to watch you shucking all of my corn and then tossing each ear back into the pile with disgust, as though it's full of rabies and scary doll heads. My favorite thing is when you shuck my corn for a really long time and then decide to not buy any at all!

Since we're clearly all in this together, and we're both such stewards of the land and celebrators of the earth, make sure you do a few last things for me. Make sure you always pay with 100 dollar bills and be sure to roll your eyes at me when I tell you we (still) don't take credit cards. If you enjoy a crepe or a tamale from the food vendors, be sure you don't tip them and get really mad at them because there's a line. UGH! I KNOW! I am also so mad that the farmers and vendors are all selling things and making money here at the market! It's the absolute worst. And if you turn and walk away from the line because it's all too much, I understand. On your way out, just stop back by my stand and grab my truck keys from me. You and your family can take a well-deserved nap (I'm sure you're SO much more tired than me) and when I'm done selling my wares, we'll all go back to my farm together and play some Monopoly. And don't worry. There might be a few more peaches left on a tree. And, yes, yes! Absolutely. They're all yours.

Love,
The Farmer

One Last Hurrah, One First Hurrah

August, you beast! You've contained multitudes, and you've done quite well for yourself. You should feel accomplished. September, go ahead then! It's your turn to shine and make us proud. With, you know, things like Labor Days and pancakes. And we're talking here about pancakes that make you feel like moving around and getting things done on your day off, not pancakes that make you feel like taking a four-hour nap at midday. And with all this recent talk about "summer's over," I think it best that we steer clear of anything that could be mistaken for hibernation. Onward!

Zucchini Bread-Banana Bread Pancakes
This pancake base uses oat flour, rather than all-purpose flour, and the almond meal is completely optional. I sometimes use ground flax or brown rice protein instead. Don't worry about messing these up -- it's pretty much impossible to do!  (photo viewable on Instagram link)

1/4 C grated zucchini, moisture squeezed out
1 small ripe banana
1 egg
1 t agave
1/4 C milk (any kind will do -- I lean toward unsweetened coconut milk)
1/4 C oat flour or ground oats
1/8 C almond meal
1/4 t cinnamon
1/2 t vanilla
pinch of baking powder
dash each of nutmeg and allspice
pinch of salt

Mash banana in a bowl. Mix in egg with a fork. Add zucchini, banana, milk, vanilla, and agave. Combine oat flour, almond meal, cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, baking powder, and salt. Add dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and mix until combined. Cook by 1/3 cupfuls on a hot, greased griddle and flip when bubbles appear on the tops and undersides are golden brown.

You can also make these with just the zucchini or just the banana. I've added applesauce and pumpkin to the batter before, and (as mentioned above) they just aren't very mess-up-able. As long as you have what looks like pancake batter, you should be just fine!

Stack pancakes sandwich-style with almond butter in between and anything you'd like on top. I lean towards apricots and apples lately, but nearly any fruit would do! These keep well in the fridge, and can be heated up nicely in the toaster or microwave. Makes 3-5 pancakes.

Tea Party

Spring is springing, you know, and that means we shall all put our kettles and teacups away! We're soon due, you know, for vats and vats of iced tea. Prepare your pitchers and pans and glasses! Prepare your ice (only the finest!) and assemble your tea bags. Most importantly, though, get your iced tea spoons ready! What's that, you say? You haven't any iced tea spoons? Sit down, then, and listen up. I'll tell you a story.

My maternal grandmother was by no stretch of the imagination a Southern belle. She did, however, take iced tea very, very seriously. In her house, there were iced tea glasses, iced tea spoons, and an iced tea pitcher. This is what you called them, and this is what they were for. Iced tea. When one set the table for lunch or supper (a job designated to me my entire childhood and beyond), one set the iced tea spoons and iced tea glasses in their proper places. Even if you weren't a sugar-in-the-tea person, you still got a spoon, since you never knew when someone might become a sugar convert overnight. I loved this job. I still do, and when I set my table or my mom's table now, a wave of quiet nostalgia sweeps through me, and I deeply miss my grandma's tables, her dishes, and her tea.

What next, you may ask? Well, the table-setter has been designated, and now the vote is cast: tea or water? Even if we weren't at my grandma's, and it was just dinner at home with my immediate family, a vote was always necessary. This is still the ritual: the cook tells the table-setter when the food is nearly ready, although sometimes the cook handles this task herself if everyone else is off galavanting around. Typically the vote takes place five minutes before the food hits the plates (because no one likes melted iced in their drinks). The cook's command is, take the drink orders! or more commonly, see what people want to drink! or sometimes simply do the glasses!, or if things are feeling more rushed, damn it! we still need drinks! someone?!

Everyone is asked if they want tea or water. This means you may have either tea or water. If you want an additional beverage, you can get it yourself. But everyone has tea or water. You can choose, but come hell or high water, we will all be properly hydrated. There's a reason that this system has worked for generations. I mean, the hydration has paid off -- 

we do all have really nice skin, after all! The votes are collected, and the drinks are poured. 

Everyone gets ice. The tea isn't flavored. It's regular black tea, although it's always decaffeinated if you're in my parent's house or my house. Sometimes you drink a lot of tea at a meal, and you don't want to be more affected than necessary (the liquor that you're drinking alongside your tea will take care of getting you affected). I do wish I had a nickel for every time I've asked tea or water?, as I've likely spoken this more than I've said anything else in my life. It's good to think about this; about how much good fortune has roared through me during my life; how many family meals I've been lucky enough to be a part of. 

                                                

As I set the table each time, I'd crack the ice cubes from their trays into the ice pan, and my grandma would remind me to put 7 ice cubes in her iced-tea glass and 8 in my grandpa's. Was this just a trick to make me learn how to count? Certainly not. You may recall that I tend to be quite particular about things like ice amounts, so it's no surprise. Precision runs in the family. To this day, I find myself counting the ice cubes in my own glass, perhaps taking one out, putting some back in, taking another out. It needs to be right. A good, properly crafted drink is a very important thing.

I don't really recall a time when I didn't drink iced tea at my grandparents' house, and my mother remembers it the same way. Was I drinking iced tea when I was two years old? It's quite possible. The iced tea at my grandma's, as well as the iced tea of my mom's, was and is straightforward. Black tea, or a black tea/orange pekoe blend, typically in the form of Lipton, is the name of the game. These days, my mom and I usually make decaf iced tea, and I tend to mix it up a bit; green tea sometimes, rooibos or herbal tea the next. Sometimes a mixture if I'm feeling adventuresome! 

My grandma made it incredibly strong and dark, and, back in the day, she'd doctor hers up with spoonfuls of white sugar. Later on, she moved on to Sweet n' Low packets, which she called pinkies. As in, Honey, hand me a few pinkies, would you? I loved it when I could beat her to the punch and offer her the pinkies before she even asked me to pass them.

The glasses were tall, and without iced tea spoons, you were completely screwed, because Lord knows you would never stir your tea with a table knife, lest you be sent away from the family forever. I have always taken my iced tea without sugar, although I love using iced tea spoons, so sometimes I will stir my tea in its glass and pretend that I'm making something happen. Occasionally, I will make a pitcher of sweetened iced tea, so the sugar will already be in it, but sometimes I'll add sugar to my glass of tea just so I can taste the syrupy sludge at the bottom of the glass.

I think often about long, elegant iced tea spoons, and other such utensils that basically only have one purpose. It seems crazy, and yet I am madly in love with this kind of crazy. My own iced tea spoons live in a drawer where they rarely see the light of day. And while they seem so elegant, one will read in any etiquette manual that they should never be part of place setting for a fancy meal. When the iced tea spoon has been used for stirring, I've learned, one should never place it back on the table. Either place it on a saucer or on an iced tea spoon rest. If there is no designated resting place for it, and it's a very informal setting, you may rest it on the edge or your plate, but if it's an affair that's a bit fancier, or you're surrounded by people you don't know very well, you keep the spoon in the glass and hold it to the side while you drink. Take notes, people! You never know where you'll end up and what kinds of things you'll be offered.

Iced tea spoons are often called soda spoons, too, and at my grandparents', they were the tool of choice for an ice cream soda, such as a purple cow, a Boston cooler, or a Coke float. If you order a milkshake or an ice cream soda at any restaurant, chances are very good that you'll be provided with an iced tea spoon to get the job done well. And if you're in the South and you're in the market for a set of flatware, you'll likely find iced tea spoons as a part of the set, as they will typically take the place of soup spoons. I mean, who wants to eat soup when you're soggy and melting? Head up north a bit, though, and it'll become trickier and trickier to locate iced tea spoons, especially in the winter. 

My iced tea spoons are from a thrift shop, and I tend to polish them even when they don't need to be polished. My mom and my grandma taught me how to polish silver, and when I open the jar of polish and wet the sponge, I suddenly feel like I'm doing something very useful and important, akin to the setting of the table. I'll keep on track with this system, I know, because our roots are divine. Our traditions hold us. Even now, when I eat lunch or dinner at home by myself, I always ask myself the question: tea or water? In the winter, I may lean towards water, but once spring and summer are upon us, I'll always always go for the tea.