I’m making granola again today. It seems I need a new batch every couple of weeks, maybe less than that. My son and I eat a lot of it and I usually give a container to my daughter who’s living here as well.
I get a big pot, empty a 1 kg bag of rolled oats into it, add a 300 g bag of coconut, littler bags of almonds, pecans, walnuts and pumpkin seeds. Then I boil 1/2 cup sunflower oil with 1/2 cup maple syrup and pour it over the oats, mix really well, sprinkle with salt, and spread some of it out on a couple of baking sheets lined with tinfoil.
Or not. Tinfoil is optional now that I’ve run out.
Bake at about 275 degrees on the upper rack in the oven for a while, then try to turn it so that the top gets as toasted as the bottom. Then empty it into another pot to cool while you continue to bake the rest. It tends to work out to two baking sessions with two baking sheets for each session.
Then add cranberries and raisins. If you’re a millionaire, add a bag of chocolate covered popped quinoa.
Serve with almond milk if you’re a real granola chomping chowder headed hippie like I’m becoming.
I want a guaranteed annual income so I can continue to make my own granola.
Today’s my day off and of course I’m questioning my job in retail now because it’s unbelievably pointless and stupid. I’m also exhausted from the sudden change in weather, and ridiculously overwhelmed by a couple of simple sewing projects. I’m converting a dress to a skirt and top, and I’m making a skirt.
Is anyone buying this command performance by Rob Ford? Not to tell tales out of school, but that’s not the language of AA he’s using, it’s the language of Rehab. There’s a big difference, you know, because AA is free, not just of money, but of ego. Rehab? Not so much. I think that may be what the money is for, actually, ego protection.
Someone who’d been to AA, for instance, and who’d admitted to herself and others that she’s an alcoholic, would say, “I’m an alcoholic.” She wouldn’t go on and on about having a disease, the disease made me do it, and I have to live with this disease every day until I die.
And she sure as hell wouldn’t appear on national television sipping her water from a Molson’s beer mug.
Yes, you are correct, it’s my one year anniversary.
There but for the grace of the group go I.