*daughter struggling to slice mostly-frozen bread for her lunch sandwiches (that’ll teach her to think ahead)
*also, naughty girl is wearing her forbidden S.K.s (shit kickers) in the house
*husband reading, always reading, while eating his standard bowl of granola—this time around it’s Fahrenheit 451 that he happened to pick up
*frosted mini-wheats from Costco—all bought cereal is only ever allowed to be eaten a-top a generous portion of the homemade granola
*two jars of granola on the counter to choose from: regular and French chocolate
*freaking impossible-to-pour jug of milk, also from Costco
*hand towels tossed about: on the table, in the drainer, etc
*at least the drainer is empty
*coupon flyer to Tractor Supply waiting on the table because my daughter has yet to decide if she’ll take advantage of their store discount for her lunge rope and sheep feed
*random apple on counter
*sheet ice (and bowl ice) because it’s fun to make ice in random shapes, I guess
*thermos that is never used but still somehow gets dirty
*by the hutch, husband’s satchel and daughter’s backpack all ready to go
*dirty wineglass from my evening snack (I think I also had Dubliner cheese)

This same time, years previous: how to use up Thanksgiving leftovers in 10 easy steps, the quotidian (11.25.13), a big day at church, a Thanksgiving walk, right now, cranberry pie with cornmeal streusel topping, pasta with creamy pumpkin sauce, apple rum cake, chocolate pots de crème, steel-cut oatmeal, potato leek soup, and feminism part two.       

I already have two, no three, bran muffin recipes on this site, but it’s time to add another. I don’t know what it is about bran—maybe the dry, toasty flavor?—but I love the stuff. Eating food with bran makes the whole eating experience more worthy, like my life has greater intensity and purpose.

It’s a lie, of course. My life is worth the same if I’d be eating a blueberry muffin with cinnamon streusel. But some days I’ll take any validation I can get. If it happens to come in the form of a muffin, then so be it. Go, bran.

I actually had to go buy a box of bran to makes these muffins. I used to have something like eight pounds of bran in my freezer (that’s like eight pounds of feathers—it’s way more than it sounds), but then I started dumping it into my granola and it quickly got gone. So then when I wanted to make these muffins, I had to go to the store to get more bran.

The last time around making these, I doubled the batch (and now I have no more bran). I made a bunch of mini muffins which were absolutely perfect for snacking: I could space out my validation boosters all day long and never feel full!

I have a few more regular-sized muffins in the freezer. Most days, I eat a small bowl of granola for breakfast and later I thaw a muffin and fix a mug of tea for a mid-morning snack. If I’m feeling feisty, I split the muffin and spread it with way too much butter (in other words, just the right amount).

Apple Raisin Bran Muffins
Adapted from Luisa of The Wednesday Chef

Luisa uses blueberries in place of the apples and raisins. Since I didn’t have any on hand, I used red raspberries once (very good) and grated apples the next time (also very good). Pick whatever fruit you like and/or have on hand and run with it.

Also, Luisa says that the original recipe calls for ½ cups of sugar and honey, but she cut back to 1/4 cups of each. I took the middle road—1/3 cup each—and was happy.

2½ cups bran
1 cup flour
1/3 cup sugar
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon each baking soda, baking powder, and cinnamon
2 eggs, beaten
½ cup oil
1/3 cup honey
1 cup plain yogurt
1 teaspoon vanilla
1½ cups grated apple (peeled first)
½ cups raisins

In one bowl, combine the bran, flour, sugar, salt, baking soda and powder, and cinnamon. In another bowl, combine the eggs, honey, oil, yogurt, and vanilla. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry and mix well. Add the apple and raisins.

Divide the batter into greased muffin tins. Fill the tins all the way to the top and even a little higher—the muffins don’t rise much. One batch makes about a dozen regular-sized muffins.

Bake the muffins at 350 degrees for about 25-30 minutes.

This same time, years previous: sock curls, candid crazy, new clothes, orange cranberry bread, smashing for pretty, Swiss chard and sweet potato gratin, and feminism: part one.

*unusual quietness since we are listening to NPR (was it this TED radio hour? can’t remember)
*prepped: my lunch salad of greens with gourmet balsamic vinegar and olive oil, cucumbers, nuts, dried cranberries, and feta
*peanut butter and jelly for the kids
*blender full of spinach for the kids’ green smoothies
*empty loaf pans from the freshly-made bread that is cooling just outside the frame
*boy washing up the breakfast and cooking dishes
*in the pot: sauteed spinach, onions, and sausage for the supper quiches
*pile of grated cheese, also for the quiches
*daughter a-waiting the perfect moment to snitch the cheese
*also, still wearing the now-too-short gym uniform pants from their school in Guatemala
*math work waiting to be checked
*soiled food processor from making the lard and egg pastry (my favorite for quiches)
*gaping cupboard door from whence I was pulling the vinegar for the pastry (and other things, probably)
*pumpkin pie candle that I begged from my son (that he, in turn, got from an entering-high school, coming-of-age event)
*dirty glass jar that had been full of bubbling sourdough
*shower cap, used to cover one of the loaves of bread, air drying on the window opener
*through the window, little boy entering the barn (uh, no he’s not—that was in the other photo, oops)

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (11.18.12), the quotidian (11.16.11), red lentil soup with lemon and spinach, three things, SSR, and brownies.