I WANT TO COOK SOMETHING AND DON’T KNOW WHAT. STOP. SEND INSPIRATION ASAP. STOP. (P.S. Thank you.)

That was what I tweeted two Fridays ago. Shortly after that outburst I channeled my angst, entered my kitchen, and made the following:

Green lentil hummus
Granola
Brownies
A large pan of roasted sweet cherries (with bourbon and sugar)
Blueberry almond baked oatmeal

There may have been some other stuff, but I can’t remember it now.

I’ve made this particular kind of baked oatmeal two times (the first time with red raspberries) and I am in love with it. It’s mildly sweet with an extra kiss of lovely from the tart-sweet berries. The almonds give it a delicious crunch. And as for the cinnamon-flecked, buttery oatmeal itself, it is less cake-y and more solidly oatmeal-y than my other baked oatmeal. Just a small serving fills me up completely, giving me enough energy to make it all the way to lunch, no problem. (Except for the problem of eating too much because I just can’t stop myself.)

The weird thing is, my family doesn’t like this oatmeal. It’s a highly controversial dish, with my kids loudly moaning and groaning, my husband mumbling (to me) under his breath, “It just doesn’t have any flavor,” and me throwing up my hands and wailing, “WHAT? No flavor? It has TONS of flavor! It’s so buttery and cinnamon-y and sweet and…and…PERFECT! What is wrong with you people!”

I’ve resigned myself to the idea that I might not be able to win my family over to this breakfast delicacy but I am not relinquishing my firmly-held belief that this is indeed a perfectly delicious breakfast feast. And their unsophisticated palates are certainly not going to stop me from blogging about it.

So now I turn the dish in question over to you. Make it and tell me what you think, okay? (But only if you love it. For I can handle no more controversy.)

HELP NEEDED IN THE BAKED OATMEAL BATTLE. STOP. SEND REINFORCEMENTS ASAP. STOP. (P.S. And thank you.)

Berry Almond Baked Oatmeal
Adapted from The Hazel Bloom who in turn got it from Heidi Swanson’s book Super Natural Every Day

A double batch gives me a week of yummy breakfasts. That amount fits my 7 x 11-inch pan quite nicely.

I get as much of the work done the night before by mixing up my dries and wets and then storing them separately (on the counter and in the fridge, respectively).

1 cup rolled oats
3 tablespoons sugar
½ teaspoon baking powder
3/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup milk
1 egg
2 tablespoons butter, melted
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 1/4 cup berries (raspberry, blueberry, etc.)
1/4 cup sliced almonds

Combine the first five ingredients in a small bowl and set aside. In another bowl, beat together the next four ingredients and set aside.

Put 1 cup of the berries in the bottom of a smallish, greased baking dish (about 5″ x 8″). Sprinkle the dry ingredients over the berries. Pour the wet ingredients over the dry, making sure that all the dry gets wet (but don’t stir). Sprinkle the remaining berries over the oatmeal and then the almonds.

Bake the oatmeal at 375 degrees for about 30 minutes, or until your kitchen smells heavenly. Serve warm, topped with milk.

This same time, years previous: cottage potatoes, fruit cobbler, orange julius

In the past three days…

I traveled by:
*airplane…

*air train
*subway…

*bus
*car
*elevator
*escalator
*foot…

I slept:
*on the 29th floor of The Westin Hotel…

*not enough

I bought:
*a pop-up map
*a pretty-itty-itty bracelet
*dried plums
*sesame candy
*a bag
*scarves
*little Japanese dishes
*a book about Hamlet
*a bunch of ridiculously expensive candy
*some presents that must not be named

I saw:
*life-size transformers for a promo for the new movie (and struggled through the massive crowds of people mobbing the celebs)…

*a man on a unicycle…

*boys doing flips on the street…

*lots of women in excruciatingly high heels
*horn players (not car horns) tootling up a brassy storm
*a man beating the crap out of an old spackle bucket and making it sound like something beautiful
*huge lines at the Broadway discount ticket booth
*the top-side of a thunderstorm…

*giant lampshades…

*lots of garbage…

*my reflection…

I ate:
*lots of bread and coffee…

*Italian
*Mexican
*a roasted marshmallow milkshake
*a chocolate cupcake…

*cheese, cheese, and more cheese!
*bread dipped in super-expensive olive oil
*an almond croissant

I learned (or, in some cases, relearned):
*to text
*I like grass and miss it when it’s not there
*that so many people packed into one place make me feel simultaneously claustrophobic, insignificant, and free to be me
*I don’t particularly like Times Square…

*bakeries make me super happy
*to bargain
*I want some flirty summer dresses
*I miss my family even when I’m having fun
*our little town has a really nice farmer’s market
*rampant commercialism and touristy attractions aren’t my thing…

*it’s therapeutic to take feet photos…

*when feeling overwhelmed, it is good to go to a coffee shop and do nothing but sip coffee from a paper cup and stare out the window at all the people scurrying across the concrete landscape…

A few little paragraphs in which I fill in the gaps:
The Fresh Air Fund paid for me (and two other volunteers) to travel up to NYC. They covered our costs for transport, two nights at a hotel, and food for three days.

In exchange, all we had to do was show up at Port Authority on the trip day and ride down with a busload of kids.

And now that I’ve been officially trained, I get to do it by myself next year, but with the co-escort of my choice. (Mr. Handsome honey—would you like to go on a little date with me?)

Dude, man, this deal rocks.

P.S. Many thanks to my Brooklyn girlfriend for a three-page write-up of off-the-beaten path attractions. It made for oodles of scavenger hunt-type fun.

P.P.S. My all-time favorite place: Murray’s cheese shop. The hyper guy behind the counter knew his cheese inside and out and stuffed us to the gills with samples. He wouldn’t let us buy anything without tasting it first, and there was nothing dainty about these samples either. He mounded a rose petal jam on the Fromager d’Affinois and poured a pile of mini chocolate chips on the Roomano, a kid-friendly gouda. I never would’ve thunk it, but really, chocolate and cheese go together famously!

Back home, I created a mini cheese bar with my three cheeses (a Tickler Cheddar along with the two I already mentioned), chocolate, red wine, baguettes from my early morning jaunt to the bakery, and leftover sausages, onions, and peppers from my Italian lunch. The kids loved the d’Affinois the best, especially with the chocolate.

I hereby declare that any and all future NYC trips will include a trip to Murray’s and an insulated tote bag. Amen.

And the end.

This same time, years previous: goat cheese whipped cream, how to dry apricots, red beet greens, linguine with shrimp and cilantro-lime pesto, spaghetti with Swiss chard, raisins, and almonds, yogurt

In spite of feeling like my kids bicker nonstop, there are days where they play together for hours on end. The past couple days have been an absolute dream. I savor this break in the thunder clouds and do my best to soak up the comradery. I’ll need the good memories to draw upon when the sibling love gets scarce.

Of course, what gets their jive juice going isn’t normal, calm, inside-the-box play, like building towers out of blocks or a jolly game of Parcheesi.

Or, say, simply swinging on our industrial quality swing set, oh no. That would be way too…normal.

The kids have to go and mutilate the set by removing extemporaneous swings and importing a huge slab of wood until they end up with a seesaw and merry-go-round hybrid.

The kids pad the board with mounds of old winter coats, arrange themselves just so (balance is key), and then order the Baby Nickel to spin them.

They scream a lot, and I have to keep yelling out the door at them to STOP SCREAMING. I HATE screaming. It ranks right up there beside whining and clock alarms. Yelling is fine, I say. Screaming is not. And then I walk away and the screaming starts up again. Perhaps it’s an uncontrollable side effect of spinning?

They like to just hang out on the board, too, dozing in the sun like the sloths I sometimes wish they were.

Eventually they tire of spinning and/or balancing and move on to making one enormous swing.

It serves dual purposes.

Purpose Number One: a perch for eating popcorn.

Purpose Number Two: a swinging stunt platform.

The younger two lay on their backs and pump the swing with their legs while the older two hang from swingless chains and do their thing.

As I was typing this, the swing set morphed into yet another structure.

They added a ladder and some old canvas and, voilà!, a tent was born.

Tomorrow our family heads in five different directions. When we return, the swing set may be a thing of the past. Or not.

In any case, it was a great diversion while it lasted.

This same time, years previous: beef empanadas, one whole year, reasons, lemon donut muffins, weird, honeyed apricot almond cake, brown bread, simple granola, fancy granola, French chocolate granola, oregano, garlic, and lemon roast chicken with asparagus and potatoes, and a sketchy character. Whew!