Maybe I am just a pigger pogger. Or a porridge freak. Or, perhaps both. More mornings of the year than not I have porridge for breakfast. Not in proper Summer. But if there is a bit of a chill in the air, I can justify the porridge. Last time we stayed at Loch with Small Brother I made him, Small Z and I porridge and my dad could hardly tear his eyes from the pot on the stove.
…or his decimated jar of rolled oats. “You’re going to eat ALL that?” he asked.
I didn’t get it. “That’s what I make every morning.”
Small Brother didn’t say anything, but I saw his eyes widen as he took it in. He is fit and proteiny and secretly thinks I am a carb ingesting freakshow. I didn’t even know what a carb was until we shared a house with our fit friends, D&E and one night they looked at my favourite fried rice…with potato in it, and said; “You put carbs with carbs?”
CARB SCHMARB. Say the words, people. RICE! POTATOES! PAAAAAASTAAAAAAAA!!! (They’re the only ones I know. Oh no, hang on. BREAD!) They are all the bedrock of my existence. And I’m assuming oats fit in there as well.
Now I’m all off track. Here’s the thing. I have given up looking at ‘how to make porridge’ recipes because they inevitably have the same effect on me as shopping for clothing by size. Frustration. Who ARE these freaks who cook HALF a cup of rolled oats with TWO cups of water? Que? This is what it suggests in my slowcooker book – the only one of my three that has a recipe for it.
My measurements? I use one cup of oats for me, one cup for M and half a cup for Small Z. Followed by five cups of water. Once it has cooked I stir through some milk and give it another shot of heat on the stove. I like brown sugar or honey on mine. Small Z goes for blackberries. And at the moment we’re chucking in sultanas at the start as well. Sorry, I meant piranhas.
I have noticed on the days I have WeetBix or eggs on toast that I start flagging by about 10.30. Porridge (this makes it sound like some kind of marital aid) can keep me going until after midday. Such is the level of our consumption that I buy the Home Brand oats because they’re about $1.30 for 900g as opposed to the Lowan’s 1kg for $3.60. Yes. OK. Our budget is tight. M dreams of buying bulk bags of organic oats – which are about $5 a kilogram. I dream of being able to get different kinds of oats besides just ‘rolled’. Over in the US I saw steel cut oats. Didn’t get to ingest them, but I imagine them to be sort of chunkier and robust?
Anyway, in my quest for a home environment where I can imaginatively pretend I have a housekeeper (or butler, I’m not fussy), I have an urge to wake up to a bowl of porridge. Hot, already cooked porridge. The last two mornings I have made it the night before in my new Pyrex bowl. I have used my normal measurements and, after some research, whacked it in the slow cooker sitting in a few cups of water. It has made the Most Creamiest Porridge In The World.
Unfortunately, M does not agree with my definition of creamy. He says it is like eating paste. I can see his point – and actually have almost had my joy superseded by thoughts that maybe it is more pastey than creamy. Grrr. I am going to persevere. Tonight I’m going to add in more liquid, and so it will be composed thusly:
1 and a half cups of rolled oats
4 cups of water
Handful of piranha sultanas
The above will be for Small Z and I, and M can have WeetBix, which is what he did this morning while Small Z and I pasted our innards. I have also exhumed my Teasmade, thus automating my tea intake. My imaginary butler is taking shape…