What I Ate: Oatmeal

My dad was not the family cook.

Gender roles at my house were fairly traditional. But, Dad also wasn’t often home for dinner. He worked a lot and often far away from our homes in the suburbs. He traveled a lot to New York and Toronto and he often had to take clients and traveling co-workers out. My parents valued family meals and would shoot for as many as we could get together, but sometimes it was only one or two a week.

It’s funny to think about my dad’s cooking. Not in the “LOL, dad can’t cook,” burnt dinners kind of funny. Or even because it was wildly interesting. It was novel because it was out of the ordinary… and because it was such a departure of what mom would prepare.

Mom had recipes, skill, and knowledge.

Dad was scrappy– likely a result of being one of eight kids– and used what he could find. He would grill for family meals and did the bird for Thanksgiving; but, if he was really “in charge” of the meal, he wasn’t often “cooking” anything, but rather putting things together. And it always really worked. He had a knack for flavors, combining jelly with cream cheese on our sandwiches, hot dogs and ketchup with mac and cheese, bourbon with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. We grew to love Dad’s “garbage salads” and “garbage pasta’s” where he would mix whatever he could find in with some cooked pasta or greens and call it a meal.

Peas? Cool.

Pepperoni? Works.

Leftover steak? Great.

The nubs of tortilla chips in the bottom of the bag? Use it up!

Strangely, the more odd the better.

The Garbage Salad is something I employ at my house at least every couple weeks. Adam says if we were to ever open a restaurant, a Garbage Salad– that changes every day– needs to be on the menu.

I think if my Dad were to pick anything he “cooked” for us growing up that he would want to be remembered for it would be pancakes and waffles on weekends.

My mom’s dad was an early riser and when visiting their home, breakfast was an event. Well, actually all meals were an event at Grandy and Poppa’s… But at least for breakfast, Poppa ran the show. When at their home in Charlottesville as a young girl, we would rise to the smells of bacon and coffee wafting through the long hall to the foyer and up to our rooms. Once downstairs in the kitchen, we would be greeted with freshly squeezed orange juice (something my grandfather did nearly every day!) and his famous pancakes on the griddle. It was cozy and special. I think my dad really liked it as a young man and wanted to emulate this ritual in our home.

And, he did! He got the recipe and worked hard to carry on pieces of the legacy of my mom’s parents– a very sweet gesture of love to my mom and to us. He even has made a fuss of passing the recipe down to Adam and my sister’s husband, Dennis, complete with the gift of a waffle maker and spatula.

These weekend breakfasts of pancakes and waffles were special and they were often one of the meals enjoyed as a family we could count on in those busy years of school, practices, and my Dad’s career.

They were memorable, but truthfully? I don’t *love* a pancake.

And, truthfully? There is another breakfast that holds a more special place in my memory of time with my dad.

Dad traveled what feels like nearly weekly when I was in middle school and high school and in those years, school started early. The start time being 7:25, if my memory serves me correctly. My mom is many things, but an “early riser” is not in her wiring.

Now, because she is reading this, I will say that she mustered it when she had to and will likely tell you all about early ice times and morning club meetings for me and swimming practices for Kerry and Dan. BUT… once I was a little more self sufficient and definitely once I was a driver, I was lucky to get a wave from her, still in bed, as I crossed the hallway to head downstairs in the 6:00 hour.

However, if Dad was home, odds are he was already in his office. Maybe working, but likely writing prayers, or “hanging out with Jesus,” as he took in a moment of stillness while we all slept. He knew our routines and knew I would be headed out the door, so often he crossed the house to meet me in the kitchen for a hug as I dug in the pantry for a Special K bar and a Diet Coke– my typical breakfast in high school, consumed on my drive in.

He would tell me he had started my (well, his…) boxy, hand-me-down Volvo and flipped on the seat warmers so it was warm.

But, on a few of those cold, dark Ohio winter mornings, I would find him already in the kitchen cooking a small sauce pot of oats.

I don’t know why it was oatmeal. Despite both my parents working for Quaker in their early careers, oatmeal wasn’t something we had a lot. In many ways, to me and the way we ate, it was random as a food choice. And, it was also a little random to see dad at the stove tending to this little pan.

It only happened a few times. But, everytime he would get two bowls, one for me and one for him, and we would sit and eat a warm, satisfying bowl of oatmeal– after he had sprinkled some brown sugar on top. The brown sugar would melt and ooze into the grain, giving each bite a little sweetness.

It wasn’t special or a “tradition” or the carrying on of a legacy, at least to my knowledge. But, I did know on those dark mornings, with a surprise bowl of oatmeal and my dad, the day was going to be pretty good and that I was loved.

Two great things to have bouying you at seventeen.

Directions for oatmeal on the stovetop can be found on any package of oats. Brown sugar makes a great topping. As does fruit. But, I also love to have a savory bowl of hot oats. They are just a grain and so sometimes I treat them as such with some herbs like thyme, a squeeze of fresh lemon, and drizzle of olive oil. Honestly, with a little kale salad, that’s my kind of breakfast. (See? Not a huge fan of a pancake…)

However, I have taken to overnight oats, especially when it’s warm. Here is the recipe that has been on repeat at my house this summer:

Peanut Butter Banana Overnight Oats

1/2 banana

1/3 cup uncooked old fashioned rolled oats

1/2 cup unsweetened chocolate almond milk (I use regular white milk often. It is what we have and works great.)

1 tablespoon PB2 powdered peanut butter

1 tablespoon chocolate protein powder

Pinch of Salt

Add half banana to a mason jar with remaining ingredients. Stir and cover, refrigerate overnight. (I often double the recipe and make two days worth to use the whole banana.)