My Sister-in-Law asked for my granola recipe...and all she got was this lousy blogpost

A couple of months ago, my sweetie was boasting to her sister in TN over the phone about my granola, which elicted a request for my recipe. It's a simple enough request that left me completely flummoxed. How did I make granola, exactly? How to describe the experience into something quantifiable? Obviously, this is granola, not atomic fusion.

For years I wondered how people who were able to have recipes in their heads, who could say "Oh, I don't measure, just take a little of this, a little of that, I go by feel..." were able to work in the kitchen with the confidence that their dishes would come out successfully. I don't know why I clung to exact measurements and printed recipes for so long; probably a lack of confidence on my part, coupled with a very long learning curve. Periods of intense interest in the kitchen alternated with periods of equally intense indifference. I now know that being able to put together a recipe intuitively is not a mysterious quality born in the genes (although the interest in cooking, like any other interest or inclination, may well be); it's simply a product of practice, of work and repetition, as is anything else in life that requires mastery.

My first attempts at granola several years ago were guided by two recipes from the 1993 edition of Uprisings: The Whole Grain Bakers' Book, edited by The Co-operative Whole Grain Educational Association. A collaborative effort and a collection of whole-grain recipes from co-operative bakeries across the country, this is one of my most well-worn and well-loved cookbooks. (A former member of the Association, Lee Trampleasure, is keeping the spirit of the original project alive here and here ; there is a newer book with the same title but different authors that I have never read and so can't speak to.) Specifically, I relied on the "Almond Date Granola" and "Raisin Nut Granola" from the Uprisings Bakery Collective in Berkley, mashing the two recipes together. Notes and stains on the pages are evidence of my holding it open with oil and molasses on my hands.

Any granola recipe is essentially a template; you can put just about anything into it, although some ingredients can increase the cost considerably. I couldn't afford dates when I started making granola, so I used raisins instead. It's not really "baking" in the sense of a bread or a cake, but more of a process of drying. It takes a little time and attention but it tastes so much better than anything than I can buy that I literally have not eaten store-bought granola (even from the local organic food co-op) for over a decade. In addition to the obvious qualities - cheap,tasty and fresh - I also wanted granola that was actually healthy, i.e., the real thing, inspired by the WGEA and countless other health food pioneers from the last century; not the over-processed, white-sugar and hydrogenated oil-filled bastardization that "granola" had become in the grocery stores.

I always used raisins because they were cheaper and more readily attainable than other dried fruit at the time; most recipes called for dates but the price was out of sight for me. Lately dried cranberries have gone down in price (or raisins have gone up in price) to make them a still-economical choice. I only use liquid sweeteners because those initial recipes did (and because conventionally processed white or brown sugars were banned from our household.) Originally I mixed honey, maple syrup and molasses together, sometimes adding warm water to thin it out; eventually I found that molasses was too "heavy" a flavor note, and that I preferred a more delicate taste to my granola. I now prefer maple syrup, or maple syrup and honey in combination if I'm short on the one. (Honey tends to burn faster, however, so I have to adjust my oven to a lower temp.) Maple syrup is expensive, however.

About a year ago I experimented with adding 1 part tahini to two or three parts maple syrup before pouring over the dry ingredients. My ulterior motive was to make the syrup go farther, as I was probably nearing the end of the jug that day. The result was better than expected; in addition to economizing on my sweetener I got a stronger binder, more flavor and heartiness, without losing the delicacy in the process. It's probably my one and only true "innovation" to granola, in that I wasn't inspired by a cookbook recipe but simple want and curiosity. (And no doubt dozens if not hundreds of people have come up with the same idea on their own. Allow me to cherish my illusion just a wee bit longer.)

Yesterday I made a new batch, in a bit of a rush before I headed out the door to an appointment. I had sort of planned in advance, which is to say, I wanted to make a batch of granola using dried cranberries instead of my usual raisins, and that was about as far as my planning got. I suspected that the cranberries would make a bright color and flavor contrast to the cardamon. I forgot to add bran, which I usually add along with the oats; and I substituted the delicate coconut chips I buy from the local co-op for thicker, sturdier strips I had dehydrated from fresh coconut meat for the first time just days before (and having no idea if it would crisp properly.)

The result was what you see in the photo above and, if I may be allowed to blow my own trumpet, is probably the best batch of granola I have ever made. Not "Oh, this is tasty" but "Oh! Wow, this is scrumptious!" I left the trays to cool in the kitchen while I ran my errands; when I returned three hours later, the entire apartment still smelled fragrantly of cardamon, like the scent of cardamon cookies baked by a grandmother I never met in reality. Something from a dream or fantasy of an ideal childhood.

But- a problem remained. I still couldn't tell my sweetie's sister the exact recipe, as I only measured three of the ingredients - the oats, and the liquid ingredients (sort of). Otherwise I did what I always do, sprinkling on the spices and tossing in handfuls of the other stuff with what appears to be wild abandon, asking myself along the way, "Does it look like enough nuts? Can I smell the cardamon?" and so on. I shall do my best for her sake, however, to describe what I did.

(Nearly all my ingredients are organic or locally-sourced whenever possible, btw, but this is not a hard and fast rule. Start with what you've got and what you can get.)

Cranberry-Cardamon-Coconut Granola

The Dry Stuff:
- 5 cups rolled (not quick or instant) oats
- Chopped raw unsalted almonds, (pecans or cashews would be fine, too)
- Raw, unsalted hulled sunflower seeds
- Dry, unsweetened coconut chips or flakes (not sweetened or unsweetened "shredded" coconut for making macaroons)
- Cinnamon and Cardamon to taste (About 1-2 tablespoons of the cinnamon and 1-2 teaspoons of the cardamon)
- Finely ground grey (or pink, if you have it) sea salt
- Slightly sweetened dried cranberries, about a handful or more.

The Wet Stuff:
- 1/4 - 1/3 cup tahini (I prefer a Lebanese brand I tracked down at a "middle eastern" food store, over the store-bought brands. Homemade would no doubt be insanely good.)
- 1- 1/14 cup (approx) Grade B or Grade A Dark real maple syrup


Preheat oven to about 345-350 degrees. There really is no exact formula for this one; granola simply needs a medium-low heat. My oven runs hot, so 345 for 25-30 minutes does the trick. Lightly oil two or large, dark baking sheets, at least 11x17" or 12x19", with 3/4" sides (not flat, sideless "cookie trays" sold nowadays. The side are important, you'll need them.)

Pour the oats into a large mixing bowl, followed by about a handful each of the sunflower seeds and the nuts. (I don't think you can overdo either one, can you?) I chop the almonds by hand, lacking a food processor or electric chopper; leave the brown skins on, you won't notice them. Add the coconut chips, however much seems right to you, or about a handful. Mine were freshly dehydrated and a bit thicker than the health food store ones, so I broke them into pieces; thinner strips can be left whole.

Sprinkle with a respectable layer of powdered cinnamon, and about a capful of powdered cardamon. (Cardamon is a spice you do not want to overdo; I guess I put in about 1-2 teaspoons.) Add a sprinkling of finely ground grey or pink sea salt if you have it, and mix well with a wooden spoon. You want to have a mix that seems well-distributed, and all of the ingredients (nuts, seeds, coconut) balanced with the oats as the main player; if you can't see them, add some more. Take a whiff inside the bowl; the spices should be gently fragrant, not overwhelming. If you can't detect them, add more. (Cinnamon is something that I find it hard to overdo, but cardamon is not so forgiving; too much can have add a sharp flavor note.)

Measure in a "wet" cup the tahini; make sure it is thin enough to pour easily and there are no solid lumps. Add enough maple syrup to make 1 full cup, blend together right in the cup; then pour over the dry ingredients evenly. (I find it helpful to brush the inside of the cup with a wee slick of oil first so the syrup slides out more easily.) Stir all ingredients together with the wooden spoon until the wet ingredients are evenly distributed, making sure you scrape the bowl along the bottom occasionally. If the mix seems too dry, (and/or it's too much effort to mix) add a drizzle of additional maple syrup as needed. The entire mixture should be bound together lightly, with a glistening coating of syrup, but not sopping wet; all the liquid ingredients should be thoroughly absorbed with no pools at the bottom of the bowl.

Spread the mixture on your prepared baking pans, distributing evenly between the two trays; the granola will be about the height of the sides of the pan. Allow a little room between the granola and the sides of the tray all around, as the edges burn faster. Pop the trays in the oven on centered racks (I use two racks, one above the other with some space in between. Don't have the two racks right on top of one another as it prevents proper heat circulation.)

Set your timer for 15 minutes to bake; then remove trays and stir slightly to redistribute (that word again) the edge bits to the center, etc. the granola should still be pretty pale at this point, just starting to become golden brown, and still soft. I turned down my oven by ten degrees to 335-340 at this point, then put the trays back in for another 10-12 minutes, or until golden brown and the granola is beginning to harden (crisp) slightly. It will continue to harden as it cools. Remove the trays and right away, while the granola is still warm, toss the cranberries over it, stir the trays to incorporate the fruit. Allow to cool on the trays, several hours or overnight, before storing in airtight glass jars or tins.

Keeps indefinitely, or at least a couple of months - if it isn't consumed way before then. Perfect with milk, soy milk, yogurt or what have you (especially homemade yogurt). Pack in baggies or containers for a snack to-go; sprinkle on fresh fruit, ice cream or pudding; top warm applesauce or poached fruits and berries for a quick "fruit crisp"; spread an even coating over a one-crust fruit pie at the beginning or halfway through the baking process for a glamorous version of "crumb crust".

Regarding baking temperature - I have set my oven to as low as 295 degrees and dried it longer with success, but I'm generally not that patient. (My first year of making granola saw a lot of over-baked, too brown batches.) My oven runs on the hot side so some adjustments will be necessary for yours. I have heard of people using their dehydrators to make granola - and in fact, I used mine to make those incredible coconut chips, but never to make granola.

A note on adding pumpkin seeds in granola - sure, you could, if you wanted to. I tried for years, I swear I did, but pumpkin seeds don't "play nice" with the other ingredients the way sunflower seeds do. Save those for roasting with a bit of salt and cayenne.

"Good Cook" - A Gift from a Friend

One of my favorite kitchen utensils is my "Good Cook" manual can opener. It actually has the words “Good Cook” in a little silver decal up top, like one of those fashionable “positive thinking” mantras, or a command to one’s dog.

As it happens, I have become a “good cook”, lately, if not a great one. I certainly don’t assume the can opener’s optimistic brand name had anything to do with that, nor is it why I like the item. Made of smooth white plastic, it feels balanced and comfortable in my hand, unlike it's predecessor (one of those large, rather squarish manual openers that are functional but rather clumsy. Or perhaps they are simply not designed for lefties like me.) Unlike it's predecessor, or my mom's 1970's countertop electric model, it does not serrate the top of the can, but cuts the can in a very clean line just under the top seal. I have yet to injure myself on the cans once they are opened.

The opener also has a bottle opener, and a place to try and wrench open stubborn olive oil caps, but I always forget about those functions. I don't open cans very often but when I do, I want something that will cut the can without leaving me bleeding on nasty bits of metal. And this item has worked just fine on that count for at least five years.

I also have an odd fondness for thing, if it is possible to be "fond" of a kitchen utensil, because it was a gift from a friend who has sinced passed out of my life. (Although not, thankfully, from her own.) Cooking was not something we shared or discussed all that much, as I did not do as much cooking then as now, nor was it yet a passion for me, or at the very least a hobby. My Sweetie and I shared the task more equally, and yet it was simply a chore that needed to be done.

The passions my friend and I shared at the time were writing, Moulin Rouge (the Baz Luhrmann version), and history, amongst other things. I am sorry, though, that I wasn't more of a cook then, because I'm sure we would have shared that as well. (I know we both loved to eat, loved culinary pleasures, even if our specific tastes diverged.) In fact, she did send me, among other recipes, instructions on roasting a turkey that involved soaking cheesecloth in pomegranate juice, draping the bird in the fabric, and then at some point in the roasting process very carefully peeling the cheesecloth off before finishing the bird. Time-consuming, possibly dangerous, and damnably delicious.

We have not spoken in at least five years, as best as I can recall. Since that time it is cooking, not writing, that has become my primary “passion”; it’s in the kitchen, not at the computer or writing desk, where I am able to focus my mind, to put aside fear, anger, sadness, or simple confusion, where I am best able to “be in the moment”.

I don’t know what caused my friend and I (for I still think of her as that, despite the years and the silence between us) to drift apart, although I have no trouble believing the fault was mine. Was I critical when I ought to have been supportive? Should I have talked and argued less, and listened more? Was I abusive, without meaning to be?Thoughtless? Or simply annoying and tiresome? A bit of all of the above?

Or perhaps there is no “fault”, per se, and it’s just the way life is. I suppose friendships can die, of their own accord, like love affairs, like flowers, like children and other loved ones. I don’t know.

I have lost many friends in my life, foundered more than one potential friendship. Making, and keeping, friendships is not a skill that I have ever mastered, Whereas I am well-practiced at self-isolation; and the proof is in the pudding, or why else would I be sitting here at the keyboard, essentially talking to myself? I cannot, however, blame the computer, blame the seductiveness of the internet, for my unability/unwillingness to connect; it only intensifies traits and habits that manifested themselves in me since I was in kindergarden, at the very least.

I would like the think that I am not, however, a hopeless case. After all, I have learned how to be a good cook, not through any particular practice but from simple repetition, I suppose, and too much time on my hands. In ten years I’ve gone from someone who followed recipes slavishly, to looking around at my kitchen and asking “Would this go with that...and what happens if I put this together and...?” And the result is, more and more often, something very good indeed.

Therefore it seems ironic to me that I am more isolated than I have ever been, now, because it would please me to be able to share what I make in the kitchen with others. There is an egotistical side to that, of course, a need for praise and attention. But I like to think that it is not only about self-centered gratification. (Although I may be fooling myself on that account.) To me, cooking is not only a necessity; it is and can be an art and it is certainly a pleasure, a form of meditation, and a form of love-making. A meal, lovingly prepared, says “be well, be healthy, be welcome” to those who receive it.

If I can learn to cook, then, can I not learn to connect with others? Can I not learn to make friends more easily, to keep them in my life, and increase the fullness and joy in my life thereby? I hope so - although I don’t think I’m quite so optimistic as my can opener. Perhaps I ought to embroider my oven mitts, or my apron, with a postive mantra: “Good Friend”.

Nonetheless, I do think of my lost friend every time I pull out that can opener. I can’t help myself. It’s one of the few tangible, physical traces of our friendship left to me, aside from a few books, and a very soft, beloved, t-shirt from her trip to Rome.

I hope she is well, that she is happy, that she has forgiven me and, if she thinks of me, does so with fondness. And I wish she could taste the "mexican hot cocoa" cookies I baked last week, or the bean and spinach soup simmering on my stove this afternoon. I like to think she would enjoy them.