Earlier this week I had to return my Marion Cunningham breakfast cookbook to the library. That morning, with my husband standing close by for moral support, I slowly, somberly, removed the florescent orange and green sticky notes from the pages. Thirty-five of them, to be exact. The brown scones, the steamed puddings, the Richest Bread Pudding in the History of Humanity (my title, not hers) would not get to materialize in my kitchen (yet). I was aggrieved.

I had contemplated calling the library to see if they’d sell me the book as long as I sent them a new copy, but that would’ve been foolish considering that I’d have to pay for installation fees or something. It’s just that I could hardly bear to rip out all those sticky papers, the bright indicators of my careful reading and wise discernment.

I caressed the plastic jacket cover and turned the book, now bald without its zany hairdo, sideways to study the pages. After their six weeks in my home, they were thicker and ripply, thanks to the splatters of butter, egg, and milk. Clearly, I had loved the book. I hoped the librarians would understand.

It was on the eve of the sticky-note removal ceremony that I made my last recipe from that book: caramel oatmeal topping. In other words, oats tossed in a caramel sauce and then baked in the oven until crispy. The end result is, well, caramelized oatmeal, crunchy bits of buttery, vanilla-scented oats. It’s as good as it sounds.

What could a person do with caramelized oats? It’d be a better question to ask, what couldn’t a person do with caramelized oats. They can go anywhere, and go they should. Sprinkle them on ice cream, yogurt, applesauce, roasted peaches, cooked oatmeal. Use them in place of streusel on a peach-white chocolate-ginger muffin. Add them to a bowl of cornflakes and granola for—miracles of miracles—homemade honey-bunches of oats! They’re good plain, too, eaten out of hand, but once you go there you might not be able to stop.

Caramelized Oatmeal Topping
Adapted from The (much-loved) Breakfast Book, by Marion Cunningham

These golden flakes of sweetness could be adapted out the wazoo. Instead of vanilla extract, add maple. Stir some cocoa powder or cinnamon into the caramel, or add coconut and almonds to the oats before coating with the hot caramel. Other additions might include puffed rice, dried apples, cacao nibs, etc. This could get dangerous, no?

Note: I can’t remember if it’s a quarter teaspoon salt, baking powder, or baking soda and Google is not coming to my rescue, blast it all. Next time I go to the library, I’ll look it up and get back to you. In the meantime, a little salt is always a good thing…

On second thought, I’m pretty sure it’s not salt. I think it’s baking powder. Maybe?

Updated: I bought the book and it is indeed SALT.

2 cups rolled oats
1 stick butter
1 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla

Melt the butter in a saucepan and add the brown sugar and salt. Bring it to a boil and cook for one minute, stirring continually. Remove the pan from heat and stir in the vanilla. Pour the hot caramel over the oats and toss till coated. The mixture will feel grainy.

Spread the oats into a greased 9×13-inch baking pan and bake at 325 degrees for 15-20 minutes, stirring every five minutes. At first it will slump into a solid sheet of caramel during its five-minute stints in the oven, but eventually it will become more brittle and flaky, which is one sign that it’s almost finished baking. The other sign is that it’s a dark golden brown.

Store the cooled oats in a glass jar. Sprinkle on everything.

Yield: 4 cups

This same time, years previous: oven s’mores, dreaming, on our way, smartly

I adore the end of summer. I revel in its vivid blue skies and sharp, cool nights, so tangy and sweet like fresh apple cider. I luxuriate in my sated cellar and freezers and call up my friends to come pick the tomatoes and red raspberries and take them away because I’m done with them already. I dream no longer of cucumber salads and ice cream, but of spicy chilis and cinnamon rolls. And there’s gradual realization that I am ready—and eager!—to spend time with my little pipsqueaks doing cozy inside things.

It’s invigorating, this shift from hot to cold, from outside to in, from hustle to hunkering down.

Most mornings, I’ve been going for walks. During the heat of the summer, my husband would be up and out of the house before the sun crested the ridge, but these days I’m often the first to rise, leaving him to savor the warm bed for a few more minutes before having to face a day filled with hammers, saws, and poopy toilets or new shingles, or whatever it is the brave man has to face. (If I were in his shoes, I wouldn’t get up.)

This morning the skies were crystal clear but there was mist in the valley. I had to run back inside for my camera.

I don’t exactly look forward to heading outside as soon as I wake, but once I’m out there (and the compulsive yawning stops), I enjoy myself. Sometimes I give my mind free rein to wander, letting it nibble at a variety of ideas, and other times I force it to go where I want, slogging over rocky terrain or through the thick muck, so to speak. I always come back energized.

(Not all my walks are pleasant. Last week I had two bad ones. One walk involved two skunks—one of which was in heart-stoppingly close proximity to me—and the other involved a full bladder, a sneeze, and a cornfield.)

When I get back from my excursions, most of the kids are still sleeping, so I fix my coffee, check emails, and plan my day. This morning I made the kids eggs-to-order for their breakfast. For myself I made Oatmeal Jacked Up.

Every other morning I cook a heaping half cup of rolled oats in a salted cup of boiling water. When it has finished cooking, I scoop half of it into a bowl and the other half goes into the fridge for the next day’s breakfast.

Then comes the jacking-up part. I add a scoop each of flax meal, raw wheat germ, and nuts, in this case pecans. I sprinkle on a bit o’ sugar, either maple or brown, and, as a final touch, crown the mountain of goodness with chunks of fresh nectarine or peach. A glug-glug-glug of milk, and I’m ready to chow. It’s delightful.

What are your mornings like? Do you eat the same breakfast every single day, or do you like variety? Have you tried jacked-up oatmeal? If so, what enhancements do you suggest I try?

Oatmeal Jacked Up

Inspired by Aimee of Simple Bites

cooked oatmeal

raw wheat germ

flax meal

sweetener, like maple sugar, brown sugar, honey, etc.

nuts

fresh or dried fruit

coconut

milk

Top the cooked oatmeal with whatever you like. Enjoy!

This same time, years previous: why I don’t teach my kids science, losing my marbles

It’s Monday and I’ve brought you cake. A chocolate yogurt cake, to be precise.

Actually, this cake is No More. It was No More on Sunday, and it was No More on Saturday. (Yes, I use chocolate cake to mark the passing of time.) The last we saw it in these here parts was on Friday when it made a grand appearance at dessert time, mini-mounds of cream cheese-spiked whipped cream dotting its glossy top. All in all, it was a too-short visit—six eager forks were no match for its tender crumb. I remember The Cake That Is No More with great fondness and a touch of giddy because it was so darn good!

The time between the recipe discovery and the day of reckoning stretched pretty long, especially considering how I could hardly wait to make it. Since it’s a chocolate yogurt cake and we had just finished up the last of the homemade yogurt, I had to get to the store for plain yogurt to use as starter. That took a little while. Then I had to make the yogurt and that took another little while. The days whiled away. While, while, while, la-la-la. I got antsy.

I made the cake on a Thursday, the same evening I made a nectarine cobbler, drank a glass of red, and listened to NPR in the glow of the setting sun. It was Most Pleasant Indeed. But by the time the cake had finished baking (and resting for the prescribed 30 minutes—I set the timer), and I finally got to the cutting and tasting (mouth fireworks!), the sun had dropped out of our sky and I had to crank up the ISO speed on the camera to get a decent picture.

So that’s the story on the cake. Rather uneventful, I suppose. So let’s talk about the actual cake, shall we?

Like I said, it’s a yogurt cake. (I bet you could turn it into a sour cream cake, if so inclined.) It’s meant to be eaten un-iced, kind of like a sweet bread, like lemon or zucchini bread. The cake itself is a no-brainer to mix up—just the basics like flour, cocoa, eggs, and oil, no heavy machinery involved.

The special part comes after the cake has baked, when you pour a hot chocolate syrup over the cake, oh sweet heavens! The velvety dark liquid seeps into the cake, turning it even darker, shinier, and moister. It’s magic.

My non-chocolate lover of a husband scoffed at my feverish excitement, at all my oohing and aahing and prancing about. Oh-so-resignedly, he sat down at the table to eat the piece of cake I’d served him. He took one bite and a sheepish, oh-crap-now-I-have-to-eat-crow look flashed across his face.

“Whaddaya think, whaddaya think, whaddaya think,” I chanted.

“It’s … not bitter,” he said in his standard I’m-saying-something-positive-while-still-managing-to-be-negative manner.

“Yeah? You like it?” I egged him on.

“It’s … moist.” (Bless his heart, the man knows how to eat crow gracefully. He’s had a lot of practice.)

“I know! Isn’t it awesome?”

“Jennifer, it’s a cake. Calm down.”

The recipe hails from the blog Ideas in Food where they cook with centrifuges and dry ice and chemicals that I don’t know how to pronounce. But every now and then they put up a normal recipe, like chocolate cake. The only non-normal thing about this recipe was that it called for chocolate extract. I don’t think I’ve ever seen chocolate extract, let alone used it. (Have you?) So I did what any decent cook would do and added a large glug of coffee liquor. Because, you know, just because.

Chocolate Yogurt Cake

Adapted from Ideas in Food

You could make all sorts of variations, like spike the chocolate syrup, or add some instant coffee granules to the cake batter. However, I think the cake’s beauty comes from its unadorned simplicity, so embellish with caution.

By day two the cake was so moist it was almost wet. Which was not exactly a bad thing… no, no, not at all. But I think this cake is at its glorious peak while still slightly warm.

for the cake:

1 cup flour

½ cup cocoa

1 teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon baking soda

3/4 teaspoon salt

1 cup plain yogurt

3 eggs, beaten

1 cup sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 tablespoon coffee liquor, optional

½ cup canola oil

for the chocolate syrup:

½ cup sugar

½ cup water

1 tablespoon cocoa

Whisk together the first five ingredients (flour through salt) in a large bowl. Add the yogurt, eggs, sugar, vanilla, and optional liquor and whisk gently to combine. Add the oil and stir until incorporated.

Pour the batter into a greased, 9-inch springform pan. Thunk the pan firmly on the counter to remove air bubbles. Bake the cake at 350 degrees for 40-45 minutes.

While the cake is baking, combine the ingredients for the chocolate syrup in a small saucepan and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Simmer for a couple minutes, stirring occasionally, until the sugar and cocoa are fully dissolved.

Stab the freshly-baked cake with a toothpick—about 30 good pokes—and spoon the hot syrup over the cake. Allow the cake to rest for 30 minutes before serving.

This same time, years previous: roasted tomato sauce, pasta with sauteed peppers and onions