Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Magic Oatmeal Thing

I've written before about the sweet little satisfaction of eating from a bowl I made myself. This is one of the roughly seventy thousand 'pinch pot' bowls I made in my last semester of ceramics. 

This morning while I was making breakfast, I thought I'd use a photo of the bowl rather than the food, because the food is not pretty food. Magic Oatmeal Thing is a comfort food. It is not a thing you post on Pinterest. It is not to be Instagram'd. This is food for munchies after the kid falls asleep, or for a Netflix marathon snuggling in bed with your snuggle partner. 


It's lovely for a chilly morning after the school bus has gone and the husband has left for work and you're bloody starving but don't feel up to cooking actual food.

This is food for when you're one unit of energy up from eating Froot Loops out of Tupperware because washing dishes is hard.

I invented this one evening during a craving for sweets. Shane wrinkled his nose at its chunky un-prettiness. After I told him what it tasted like, he tentatively tried a bite. Family tradition was forged a few nights later, when he asked me to make him some of "that magic oatmeal thing." It's a little like raw granola or oatmeal cookie dough. It is magic.

Here's whatcha do:

Plop some butter or margarine, and/or peanut butter into a bowl. Like... a rounded teaspoon or however much you want of each: This is junk food goo surrounding healthy oats, y'all. 
Add honey or brown sugar or syrup, unless you're using the instant shit with sugar and flavor already, which I did today. 
Microwave for 30 seconds or so, and then add the (dry) packet of oats or a large handful of real oats. Stir into a delicious glob that looks like cookie dough. 

Consume with black coffee. That detail is mandatory. 

Now is what you DO NOT FUCKING DO:
Do not eat the peanut butter version in your beloved, handmade ceramic bowl and then walk away for more (mandatory) coffee, leaving your puppy downstairs with a bowl covered in smears of leftover peanut butter. He will get the bowl, and he will break the bowl, and you can't even be mad because you're the flaky brained human who Did the Bad. Finn was just a Usually Good Boy who lives for peanut butter and could have hurt his wee puppy tongue on ceramic shards. (He is okay and maybe invincible because he ate disposable razor blades yesterday, again. Yes, AGAIN.)


Interestingly, I also did a small installation of broken vessels in that year's senior art exhibit. So I my bowl can go live with the remains of those broken pieces in an abandoned flower bed on my porch that just holds pretty rocks and old bits of pottery.

Until later tonight, my b'leaders. Last night I was lying down with Birdy and it was the first time I'd been comfortable all day. I was debating whether to try to stream-of-consciousness my way into a post or say "fuck it", and I fell asleep. So my body won, and today was far better than the rest of the week, so I'm happily doubling up on #NaBloPoMo posts today.

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