My tryst with oatmeal is a saga to itself. I've always kept the oat at bay, primarily because I never enjoyed it, and also because the creation from my kitchen was always a clump of tasteless oatmeal, which after a few spoonfuls, would be left to fend for itself. But, as with many situations in life, the optimist in me stubbornly refused to give up. After some mortifying failed attempts, I mastered this morning, the perfect (read tasty) concoction that suits my palate. Here is my love story with what I lovingly call the Big O, riddled with disastrous moments in its dangerous learning curve.
When the going gets tough -
I was awake late in bed, straining my eyes with the white light, to read all the wondrous benefits of oats, and how it accounts for the perfect breakfast for mankind. I looked at the recipes too, which called for more that just dumping it in boiling water or heating it in the microwave. If I was going healthy, I was going to do it the right and wholesome way. My relationship with the steel cut oats in their pretty container in my cupboard, has always been a bit dicey. Doubts flooded my head on why it never worked for us - maybe it was me, maybe I needed to take some more efforts and do what was right. Maybe it was not the fault of the steel cut, which despite its name, always appeared quite harmless after all. There was no lack of content online on the perfect relationship other people out there seemed to enjoy with the oat, so I decided that the fault lay with me, and that I had to give this a fresh chance the next day.
With the sun shining in through my kitchen the next morning, I was mentally prepared for mastering this. I had all the extra ingredients on hand, that would make my oatmeal taste wonderful. It would mask a bit of the original that I was not fond of, and instead add a whole lot more. I watched the instruction recipe video, and tackled each step to perfection. As the oatmeal was cooking in the pan, I added the milk, and the secret ingredient of coconut milk. I was sure the creamy flavour would turn out just great. I sliced some frozen bananas, which would caramelise well in the mixture, and some honey. I let it cook and boil away, often finding that I had to add yet more milk into it, as it was getting too thick.
I gave it some time, for the simmering mess to turn into something beautiful. I even sprinkled some chia seeds on top. The moment never seemed to arrive. I was doing something wrong again, but i could not fathom how, since I was following the recipe to the letter. No 'cooking from the heart' this time, just doing the right thing that I ought to. I had suspicions by now that this relationship was heading for failure, and that there was no saving grace. Nevertheless, I took it off the pan, and into the bowl, hoping that it would taste better than it looked. I knew that high expectations lead to great disappointment, but nothing prepared me for the sigh of regret that escaped from my lips, after managing to swallow a clump of what could have been the grandest oatmeal.
I wanted to throw all of it away, but put on a brave face in front of my husband who was snickering internally, while declaring that he does not like oatmeal and that I could not make him change his mind. I felt a new sense of let-down. I was flabbergasted at how everyone else had the perfect bowl, while I had to stare at failure in every step.
The tough gets going-
I won't give up on us, even if the pots, they burn. The only outcome from the first attempt was extra work required to scrub clean the burnt bottom of the pan. Nevertheless, I wanted to try again, and spent countless hours envisioning the process. This time around, I had no expectations, except for a slight surge of hope that refused to be quelled. I wanted to believe that this was one time where the miracle would happen, but I kept the faith low, since I did not want to break down and cry again. So with a calm mindset and a peaceful heart, I went to the kitchen, quite enjoying the cool wind blowing in through the window I left open, and my own positive attitude of doing what it takes to begin the beautiful journey that a good relationship could cause.
I decided to skip the coconut milk this time. It did not add to the experience much the last time around anyway. And I had also taken the extra effort to soak the oats the previous night, so I was quite happy at the way this started. I added the oats to the pan and got the milk boiling. I cut up the banana and added them in early on this time. Around 5 round and thin slices, which my soul told me was just right. I could feel more and more of enjoyable instinct taking over, and less of going by the book, and I let that happen naturally. I remember reading that ground flax helps bind the mixture together, so I reached out for this. Only to find that mine were whole seeds, which were yet to be ground. I was not convinced that I should add them in that form, so instead reached out for my trail seed mix, which contained flax in them. And this was the hand of fate, I would like to believe, since this gave so much character to the final dish. So apart from the usual, I had bits of cranberry too to add a burst of flavour when I bit in. Though I did not know the exact time it took for the oatmeal to get done, here again I followed my heart, and turned off the stove when I felt it was done. I was beginning to enjoy the aroma that rose from the pan, quite a surprise to me. The consistency too looked good, and I my self-inflicted doubts vanished out the open kitchen window.
