Oatmeal revisited.

Upon waking I knew that I had to eat. For reasons not given here, I have a love hate relationship with food. If alone, I've been known to eat a block of cheese instead of taking full advantage of the ingredients within the pantry and fridge. If someone else is in the house with me then I run towards the kitchen to make a meal, yet lately I've not been in the kitchen very much.

The kitchen represent everything that I love in truth. Food, nourishment, flavors and accents to marvel any pallet. Within the kitchen, I've made meals that express what I feel within. I've made chili con carne to inflame the soul, Alfredo with sweet scallops within a luscious bed of linguine. I've roasted pigeons, turkeys, and succulent beef to the wet any mouth who enters my radius of smell. If food my nourish the body, could it not feed the soul and inspire love?

To say that my emotions are connected to my culinary mood is to say the least. There have been many times in which I would rage with insult as to discover my omelet skillet scratched as failures of my attempts would only burn. I've thrown my share of tantrums and cutlery to discover other hands within my work. I've even prepare "poisonous" meals in which the unknowing fools angered me before or while at a hot stove only to taste why true feelings. I've gained many apologize after a spoonful.

And yet, I've discovered my passions had left me years ago as I stared into an empty kitchen and empty beds. there would be no reason to wake up sleepy faces with promises of French Omelets or toast. Pancakes would not take for of famous mice or other shapes that many would challenge me with milk mustaches. Laughter over meals only to be silenced with sounds of greed and gluttony are silent now.

Simply put I showed my love through my food.

My grandmother did the same as she would give food to families in need. So little to feed many and to make empty stomach filled with joy. So much effort and care would be behind her ingredients and motives. Even now I think of her and my heart aches. Perhaps I shall leave her memory in peace. It's still too fresh a memory.

Perhaps it was the rain throughout the night that caused me to enter the cold kitchen. I slept well and found myself hungry. I knew if I simply waited an hour more my hunger would disappear and I would not be bothered. Yet, the missing piece of my health is still food related as I fear of moment of not waking and continuing my sleep in a coma. No, I've made attempts to correct this and knew that it took a great effort to eat. Though this morning I felt hunger.

I stared into the pantry and decided on oatmeal. I would be kind to myself and heat water and pour over whole oats and be fine with my minimum effort. Staring over to three bad bananas I took two and left one behind. They remained green for most of the time, never ripening to their soft white flesh. They reminded me of plantains as they turned from green to tan without softening. No one would eat these. I might as well see to them.

Slicing diagonal after peeling the fibrous, stiff peal. Heat would make them better as I removed the nonstick pan. Within the pan they were soon joined by a few spoons of rich brown sugar and a pat of butter. The caramel melted slowly as I it lovingly enveloped the slices in a warm embrace. The cinnamon soon joined, as I cursed within for nutmeg. The smells warmed around me. Turning towards the fridge I reached for milk and a bit of cream. With a shrug an egg soon joined. While the bananas warmed and toasted in the caramel, a quick egg cream was made.

As the sugar slowly crusted over the pan the egg cream was added. The smells were awakened in the mixture as I opened the oatmeal. I mumbled a good morning to the Quaker and wondered where Baker and Candle stick maker went off to. As the cream went a golden color I added the oats slowly, quickly enveloping the oats into the mixture as I marveled how great of a cookie this should be. As soon as it reached the point where the starches melded, inspiration took hold and
shredded coconut was added. I shook my head towards the golden raisins knowing that everything now would compliment the oatmeal. I didn't need an upstarts. The oats were what I was after.

Heaping spoons was added into a bowl and a spoon added. I stared at the floor, remembering of oatmeal past. Thankfully the oatmeal placed on the table. I was good to wait a few minutes as the oat meal rested and cooled.

Bliss.

This was well deserved and worth the wait.