“The belly rules the mind” – Spanish Proverb
One Sunday morning, you will follow the usual routine of reading the New York Times and drinking café au lait with splenda. This just after a Saturday morning full of Wait, Wait...don’t tell me. You realize that you are the epitome of a pretentious North East liberal. You shrug and continue perusing until you happen upon an article about making your own granola, which you are far too lazy to do given your propensity to scour the Trader Joe’s frozen food aisle because cooking is something you do not have time for. So you go back to contemplating the meaning of life and the title of ‘President’ before the name Biden.
A few days later you will be cruising around Google Reader and notice that the lovely and talented Alice Bradley, has read the same NYT article and then decided to delve into the world of creative granola making. Much to your chagrin she details her experience and then speaks of her homemade granola with such enthusiasm that you feel as if you’ve missed something. You go back and re-read and then think back to your recent issues of Vegetarian Times and Food & Wine and briefly recall your personal resolution to cook more items that do not come straight out of a box (cough Trader Joe’s Mac & Cheese cough).
To wit you spend the remainder of the week thinking that if there were five ingredients you would put into granola, besides rolled oats, what would they be? Then your mouth begins to drool thinking of all the granola you could possibly make and all the possibilities of granola to be made. So with list in hand you march over to Trader Joe’s half drooling and admire the cashews and almonds and debate between dried cranberries or dried pineapple or perhaps some banana chips.
You go home with almond slices, dried cranberries, and soy nuts but you purchase the soy nuts with trepidation given their already roasted and salted status. The above is then mixed with some leftover dried coconut, walnuts and some delicious Lake Champlain honey. All will be cooked while you are decked out in your Christmas pajamas. While cooking, you deliberately clean up the kitchen and empty the dishwasher then load the dishwasher and organize the Tupperware in order to show your roommate how one properly cleans a kitchen after usage. There may or may not be heavy sighing and shuffling abound.
Then the lovely mixture is removed from the oven, toasted to perfection and your panna cotta and fresh pesto making roommate may or may not drool a little and say ‘yummy’. You will proceed to eat the fresh granola and char the inside of your mouth but oh my hell, you are a genius of epic proportions. Because you’re feeling good about your awesome domesticity you begin to slice avocado for lunch the next day and think good thoughts about Drew Brees and Peyton Manning.
It’s finally time to taste your granola and it confirms your previous suspicions that you are a culinary master whose talent has been hidden for far too long. You contemplate telling your tale to the Internet, because you’re just so freaking proud of yourself that you want to shout of from the rooftops. You don’t care if people will think you a granola eating, special interest pandering, vegetarian, pinko, commie, liberal, because holy hell that granola might be the best damn thing you’ve ever tasted. You will inevitably spend the remainder of the day periodically diving into a vat of granola. You are brilliant.