Upping the Grain
By Nancylee Bouscher
"No food acts like this,” I dryly replied as I held my spoon upside down to demonstrate to my well-intentioned mom that oatmeal was disgusting and unworthy of my consumption. The clump of oatmeal remained suspended in space, hovering above the mound from which I had scooped it moments before – defying gravity and creating a lasting vignette my mom relishes in sharing to exemplify my stubbornness and a bit of my dry humor.
For years, I stuck to the belief that oatmeal was the most repulsive food and was always dumbfounded that people willingly ate this paste-like mush to fortify themselves, and within hours of waking no less. Every time I’d see a poor orphan cringe as they swallowed gray gruel on some PBS show I’d think: oatmeal. I understood that it was supposedly good for me just as the canned green beans, limp and gray on my plate, that my dad insisted I eat before I could leave the table because they were somehow essential for “putting hair on my chest.” Not a huge incentive for me at seven years old. Despite my parents’ best intentions, I rejected the flavorless oatmeal muck and fed the soggy, slimy beans to our loyal dog, Duke, perched in the front yard, eager to snack on the treats dispensed through a hole in the window screen beside our Formica kitchen table.
It wasn’t until I was in college – almost two decades later – sitting across the table at Old Town Cafe in Bellingham from a friend who ordered oatmeal (like they were going to pay for this torture?) that I witnessed the leveling up of this humble grain. The dish arrived with a bowl of steamy rolled oats, their leaf shape clearly declaring their actual natural origin, accompanied by a small pitcher of milk, another small pitcher of maple syrup, and two tiny bowls of walnuts and raisins. Transfixed, I watched the table transform into a laboratory of flavors as my friend created their own perfectly proportioned masterpiece: cascading the milk onto the mountain, swirling the syrup in a sweet stream along the ridges, raining the raisins into the moat of milk and sprinkling chunks of walnuts over it all. What was this sorcery?!
In each spoonful, they captured a representation of each element, balancing crunch and chew and warmth and sweet. This towered above the Quaker instant oats my mom had mixed with hot water and sprinkled brown sugar atop. These two dishes were barely related in my eyes, and (queue the inspirational music of your choice) the doors of possibility swung wide open, and a world of oatmeal was revealed in all of its grainy glory! Thus, began the love affair.
My current favorite, which I stock up on every time our bulk section goes on sale (hint: Earth Day and pre-Thanksgiving) is the 7 Grain Cereal Flakes by Montana Milling, with more textures and flavors than straight-up oats thanks to the rye, spelt, and barley. While I want to be a part of the overnight oat cult, I just don’t have the foresight for that level of planning. I’m the – water with a dash of salt, add the oats and frozen berries, then bring to a boil and cover – kind of gal. I don’t measure because finding where the measuring cups have been mistakenly stashed in weird places by my teen sons is fruitless, so I add more water or oats as needed. I throw in lots of other random things too: cardamom, cocoa powder, almond extract, any and all of the bulk goodies I have discovered over the years have played a supporting role in my breakfast bowl. Chunks of dehydrated apricots, goji berries, mangoes, cranberries, currants – yes, they go into the pot to soften and add their tart sweetness. The star of the show is the crunch factor with hazelnuts (let’s call them filberts, though, because that’s the nerdiest nut name ever, or you can call them cobnuts if you really want to confuse folks) and cocoa nibs, with their slight bitterness, complement each other in perfect harmony.
Personally, I am not an oatmeal mixer. And honestly, I judge you harshly if you are. I prefer the island and moat approach, clearly imprinted by my awakening. I sometimes add a bit of butter to melt on top because FAT IS FLAVOR, before I add the cold milk and syrup and toss toppings on with abandon.
Back when our boys were young, my husband decided in an early morning moment of wanting to help, to make the oatmeal and he mixed the oatmeal into a sludgy stew! He set the bowls down on the table, and I met the eyes of my eldest across the table. We exchanged the glance of “we are in this together,” and I found myself with that uncomfy conundrum of accepting an unacceptable-but-thoughtful-gift or having the perfect bowl of unmixed oatmeal. I thanked him profusely, showed him the correct way to construct our preferred oatmeal experience, and like lemons to lemonades we used the rejected oatmeal the next morning for muffin loving.
In the years that I’ve shopped and worked at the Co-op, I have been able to up my oatmeal game to new staggering levels. Yes, I have even explored the savory side with curry and bacon bits. I double dog dare you to try it. I’m shameless in what I will attempt because I believe that with food, Curiosity is Queen and challenging the Things We Believe is always a good way to approach life. Plus, our bulk section makes the adventure affordable and fun.
While my parents grabbed what they thought was best, and perhaps what was easiest for them to access at the moment, we now have the privilege of organic and whole food options in almost every grocery store around. These days, you can buy farm-direct green beans and snack on them raw, the best way in my opinion. But is organic the highest standard? Some folks wonder if the spirit of organically-grown can be maintained as huge corporations continue to come into the light, usually lured by increased profit. Yes, using fewer pesticides is a good thing, full stop. Every single purchase of organic products is better for the person growing it, harvesting it, preparing it, and eating it. And yet, are monoculture (acres of one crop) the best way to preserve farmland and support biodiversity? Questions, questions.
At a recent staff training about Herb Pharm, a great regional company that formulates, grows, and produces our best-selling liquid herbal extracts like the very popular Anxiety Soother, I learned they were recently certified by the Regenerative Organic Alliance (check out regenorganic.org). Regenerative farming practices have been around forever, literally since the first seed sprouted because it is nature’s design to regenerate. Lots of folks continue to utilize these practices. Now, we just have a set of definitions and an agency to certify growers, so consumers can have more faith in their purchases. Things like companion planting, no-till, and cover cropping are some of the more familiar regenerative techniques intended to increase yields and reduce the need for other types of pest management.
We are seeing more and more larger wellness brands, like Gaia Herbs, Ancient Nutrition, and New Chapter, adopt these practices on their own farms or seek out farmers with this approach, and not just for the economics. Almost 20 years ago, a study was published (Science, June 2004) that estimated improving the quality of topsoil could offset up to 15% of global fossil fuel by sequestering more carbon. Even huge corporations are looking at ways to lighten their climate impact because of feedback from your shopping dollars, and to have a global impact we need companies like Nestle and General Mills to continue to build their support of regenerative farming.
There have always been companies with intrinsic values that saddle up close to their bottom line, like our newest local line in Wellness, Alluvial Farms from Everson, that grows hemp and hogs using regenerative farming practices. They use the lard from their pasture-raised hogs in their topical pain relief salves so you can feel good about supporting local producers and then feel even better after you use their pain-relieving products. Yes, you can find so many wonderful people who take the time to create products with integrity as their guiding light, and the companies more motivated by profit take note are shifting their focus to get your cash. It's often hard to know if it's a greenwashing marketing strategy or if they really do walk the talk.
This can feel disingenuous and a little slimy, not unlike a cold bowl of quick oats you don’t want to eat because it tastes like paste (come on, we all ate the paste at some point). And, you know what, sometimes we just got to eat it. We might flare our nostrils and grimace through each slow-mo chew of EWWW, but we eat it. Sometimes we can’t afford local and organic food. Sometimes we buy from a company that makes us cringe a bit. Sometimes we might even get a visit from a sly smiling van dropping off that obscure product no one around sells.
Lucky for us, we also have the opportunity to drop into the Co-op and show support for the very best option. You get to pick the next success story. You get to create conversations in money-meetings and sway corporations, and I appreciate that about you. Every dollar you spend at the Co-op is a vote for the world we want our great-grandchildren to experience, and that gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling because have you seen my great-grandbaby, Avani? She is the definition of warm and fuzzy, and she deserves to inherit a beautiful and bountiful earth. I can’t wait to teach her how to make oatmeal with added bananas fresh from her favorite place to shop, our Co-op.