On Feeding the Future

One of the greatest adventures in life has got to be raising children. It is a quest for truth in the company of small, clear-eyed, spunky, dear fellow students, who are linked inextricably to us like successive ideas in a great theorem.

We are not separate; it would make no sense.

Most children are born with strong affinities for accounting and law. They know what is fair, what is good, what is going to be gooshey, what is scary, what looks correct and expensive, what looks phoney.

They are aware that they are learning. A useful trait. They are outspoken and uninhibited, openly self-interested. They are, most of them, cheerful and resplendent with morals.

They also know what they like and what they profess to hate, and there may, at times, be little in between.

As adults, we are fully activated by their dependence and we tend to cringe as the glimmerings of sovereignty, long on the horizon, begin to take form and we find ourselves with young men and women in the house and furthermore they have our faces.

We look in the mirror and there, staring back at us, are the faces of our parents, bits and pieces of them both assembled randomly under heads of grey-streaked hair, in vaguely dated dos.

As we absorb this irony and grant them, as judgment allows, their independence, by degrees; as we cultivate courage and vast amounts of patience in both gardens, we clearly see the gravity of our position. We hold the torch. We also hold the car keys, the remote control, the credit cards, the vote. We are the ones. We are the cooks.

We make the stew; they surely stir it.

The household chef must be stouthearted. There is, in any home enlivened with people on disparate paths, an element of perversity to be processed on a daily basis.

Providing meals for individuals whose declared favorite foods are pizza, burgers, fries, spaghetti, tacos, and burritos, and who are opposed to mushrooms, eggplant, cooked vegetables in general, hot spices, and most of all, exotic names, can dampen the spirited kitchen maestros who harbor notions of nourishment, expansion of the palate, and edification of their charges over the family table.

Life is short, and fragile as well. It pays to keep things simple- Fresh, whole foods are the answer.

Most of the children I know would trade a large quotient of variety for a solid sequence of familiar meals. This can be limiting, but it does pave the way for certain strategies.

When summer rolls around, I purchase 25# of organic pinto beans and keep them cooked and refried for the masses of children who have grown so tall, browsing around my kitchen island, seeking both forage and respite from romping around outdoors.

I order brown rice by the bag and what I save over the bulk price goes into that organic label also.

With this artless base, my older children can be on their own and satisfied.

In the Fall, I buy freshly dug local russets by the box or gunnysack and encourage baked potatoes after school and as edible pocket warmers on cold outings.

Raw carrots and celery before meals, raw vegetables--even broccoli--year round at the table, served with a light dip or dressing are much more attractive than fancier, cooked side dishes. I yield to this.

Rolled oats, wallflower among today's commercial breakfast cereals, is still one of the finest ways to begin the day. It is a clean and thrifty grain, wholesome, and easy to slip in when everyone is still sleepy and receptive.

Oat Waffles will satisfy the gourmands, the rock and rollers, the protein cops, the indolent, the little ones, grandparents, the voracious, and any lucky puppies out cruising at the right time.

Serve these with warm applesauce, a variety of syrups, honey butter, and a sprinkle of chopped walnuts. If you double it for a crowd, five or more,and have leftovers, it keeps for an easy second round the following day.

If you plan ahead, soak the oats overnight, refrigerated, in water or milk and skip the first step.

Cook 3/4 regular, old-fashioned rolled oats in 1 1/4 C. water for about 3 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in 3 Tbsp. butter. Allow to cool to lukewarm.

(If you use quick oats, not instant, reduce the water to 1 C. and the cooking time to 30 seconds).

Sift together:

1 1/4 C. whole wheat flour

1 Tbsp. sugar

1 1/2 tsp. baking powder

1/2 tsp. baking soda

1/2 tsp. salt

In another bowl, combine:

1 C. buttermilk

2 large eggs

Beat lightly. Stir oatmeal into egg-milk mixture. Add oatmeal mixture to dry ingredients and stir just blended, do not overbeat.

Be ready to crank these out fast, batch after batch. You have love on the table. That's the idea.