Carole’s Golden Corn Bread

I recently mentioned that I’m in the midst of a long-term project of transcribing, organizing, and annotating the recipes of my people—in a broad sense: from family, elders, friends, and from midcentury potluck recipes, church-lady recipes, recipes in well-worn cookbooks, marked with stars and garnished with splatters. Recipes scrawled on the backs of envelopes; recipes passed among friends and passed down through generations. Recipes on tan, antique paper, with the edges crumbling away. It’s my own way of passing them along.

The present recipe is one from my aunt Carole Schroeder’s collection. It’s one of four cornbread formulas I’ve accumulated (so far). I recently shared my grandma Renner’s cornbread recipe.

Carole’s recipe card, which I photographed, is in her husband, Richard’s handwriting: it was probably a big favorite of his. Aunt Carole had put the card into a plastic sleeve to protect it. Probably, it was a favorite of the whole family!

Aunt Carole is a master of fantastic soups. Often when we’d visit, she’d serve bowls of delicious homemade soup, plus all sorts of lovely nibbles alongside: crackers, bits of cheese or a spread, like her homemade hummus or pesto, plus fruits and veggies. She’d make these soups “by feel,” using what she had on hand. For example, she’d make a chicken soup inspired by southeast Asian flavors (I’m thinking lime and ginger), with vegetables and some cilantro from her garden.

This cornbread would be especially good beside bowls of chili, bean soup, split pea soup, or lentil soup. These days, I enjoy cornbread with breakfast: fried eggs, bacon or ham, or cooked tomatoes, or cooked greens.

This is a perfect straight-up cornbread. It strikes a balance between the southern and northern styles. It is not especially sweet, fluffy, and cakelike, but neither is it dense and entirely lacking in sweetness.

When you are evaluating cornbread recipes, look for ratios of flour to cornmeal, and the amount of sugar. “Northern” recipes use ample flour and sugar, producing a tender, cakelike bread that almost falls apart—lovely in its own way. “Southern” recipes, with proportionately more cornmeal, are much denser, approaching polenta, with only enough added sugar to ensure the sweetness of the cornmeal comes through. They are hearty and perfect for crumbling onto your plate and ladling soup beans and cooked greens, and their delicious juices onto.

I think this cornbread is what Jiffy cornbread mix would be like if it backed down on the sweetening and the factory ingredients, and if it was moister and tasted more purely of cornmeal. What’s not to like?

Provenance: Knowing that Aunt Carole used the Better Homes and Gardens Cook Book (revised edition, 22d printing of the De Luxe Edition), I looked it up in my copy of that edition (the 11th printing, inherited from Grandma Schroeder), and there it is exactly: chapter 6, page 16, right above the recipe for “Southern Spoon Bread” and below the one for “Blueberry Buckle.”

So this is not some original, heirloom recipe that was passed down in Carole’s family, unless her mom had the cookbook (which is a real possibility; Grandma Schroeder, of Mrs. Schreen’s same vintage, had the book). To say that the Better Homes and Gardens De Luxe edition served generations of American cooks is a massive understatement. Those recipes are still being used today . . . as in this case.

Reflecting on recipes like this . . . so, it’s from a book, but it’s a classic worth passing along. Put a star by it. Its ease of preparation frees up mental space for more creative dishes, like Carole’s wonderful, creative soups, or a perfect pot of chili.

My only tips are that I use a Pyrex dish, and I just spray it with Pam instead of fussily lining it with waxed paper. I like larger hunks of cornbread, so for me it makes nine pieces, not sixteen. Also, my antique oven runs hot, so I set it slightly lower, at 375°, and start checking it at 12 minutes. (You know . . . experience; know your oven.)

• 1 cup flour
• 1 t. salt
• 3 t. baking powder
• 2 T. sugar
• ¾ c. yellow corn meal
• 2 well beaten eggs
• 1 cup milk
• ¼ cup melted shortening

Sift flour, salt, baking powder, and sugar; mix with corn meal. Combine eggs, milk, and shortening; add to dry ingredients; stir just until moistened. Bake in waxed-paper-lined 9-inch square pan in moderately hot oven (400°) about 20 minutes. Makes 16 squares.

Simple Cooked Apples and Aunt Annie

Here’s another recipe that’s really more about family. As I and my cousins and classmates have slowly become the elder generation, I’ve been sifting through, transcribing, and annotating recipes written on cards, in notebooks, on scraps of paper tucked into church-ladies’ cookbooks, on the backs of old envelopes. These are mom recipes, grandma recipes, aunt recipes, great-aunt recipes.

It’s been hard to complete this project, because I keep acquiring more of these recipes. I open up another one of their old cookbooks, and another little recipe falls out.

Then there are “recipes” that no one bothered writing down, because they were so standard, so simple, or so memorized they didn’t require it. But as I think back to how we used to eat, and compare it to how we eat today, I find I want to include these dishes.

This post is more about a person than it is about a recipe, and it’s only marginally a recipe, anyway.

This time, we’re featuring Aunt Annie—my great aunt Anna (Eggert) Wilmesherr (1904–1981), who married Emil Wilmesherr (1899–1990) in 1922. Emil was my grandma Clara (Wilmesherr) Renner’s younger brother. They were the middle children in their family.

Emil and Annie lived in Washington, Missouri, where his and Clara’s parents, William August and Pauline (Wehmeyer) Wilmesherr, had moved their young family from Kansas in about 1901.

Grandma Renner, though she didn’t have a car and couldn’t drive, still got to see her kin in Washington pretty often, with it only about an hour away on Highway 50. Emil and Annie had nice cars.

With Franklin County a center of the extended Wilmesherr-Wehmeyer-Brinkmeyer-Busekrus family, Emil and Annie often hosted the annual summertime family reunions. Sometimes it was at their house, but later it was held in the basement of the Leslie [now-Zion-no-longer-United] Methodist Church. (That congregation must have split from the mainstream denomination in 2023, but whatever.)

Uncle Emil often made homemade ice cream for the reunions, and when he got too old to make it, he ensured there was plenty of vanilla ice cream from the supermarket (or dairy).

I can picture him, sitting next to the big cylindrical tub of ice cream, professional-quality ice cream scoop in hand, dipping out perfect spheres of ice cream into everyone’s bowls. Between servings, he’d plunge the scoop into a container of hot water, to make the scooping easier. You only had to hold out your bowl to him, and he would fill it, or refill it, smiling, his eyes twinkling. So, so, good.

These reunions were potlucks, of course, so before the ice cream was served, we enjoyed a selection of all kinds of hot dishes, cold dishes, fried chicken, sliced ripe tomatoes, cold cuts and sandwich fixings, Jell-O salads, pies, cookies, and cakes.

While the adults visited, trying to figure out how they were related, and how many cousin-times removed they were, and learning about recent marriages and babies born, we kids visited and revisited the food tables. It was always really hot.

When the family’s formal meeting started, we went outside to play, or carefully explored the church sanctuary above. Being a young pianist, I was amazed with their 1908 pipe organ.

Emil and Annie had fruit trees in their yard, so they often provided bowls, or pies, of fresh peaches and apples.

And here is the “recipe”: one year, I remember that Aunt Annie had served a big bowl full of cooked, cold apples. They were fresh apples (probably Jonathans) from their trees, peeled, cored, and quartered, cooked until perfectly tender, sweetened with a bit of white sugar, chilled, and served in their own juices. Was there a hint of cinnamon? I can’t recall. They were tender, with only enough body to hold their shape just long enough to collapse when you closed your mouth on them.

I recall going back again and again to get more of those icy cold, delicious apples, on that hot day, in that musky church basement. These simple apples blew my mind. Yes, I was pretty young, but I was at an age where I was starting to notice and think about such things.

They weren’t apple pie, apple dumplings, applesauce, or baked apples. I asked Mom about them. “What do you call these?” She said she was pretty sure Aunt Annie had brought them. “Ask her.” So I did.

Aunt Annie kind of laughed her bubbly laugh and shook her head, with its snow-white hair, and told me, “Why, they’re just plain cooked apples, honey! How do you make them? Well, you just cook your apples, like you’re making applesauce, but you don’t mash them up!”

I must’ve expressed to her that I thought they were the best things on the whole potluck. She was flattered, but had to chuckle. She was always kind to us kids. And she had the sweetest smile.

Today I understand her bemusement, since at that point, for all I knew, applesauce was something everyone bought in a can. Only old-fashioned country people, it seemed, made homemade applesauce. But in Aunt Annie’s world, every female probably knew how to make applesauce from scratch by the age of eight. The simplest thing on earth.

I’ve been making them for myself for as long as I’ve had a kitchen. I use a steamer. I don’t turn them into applesauce—you can buy applesauce, right?

But each time I make them, I think of Aunt Annie, and her smile.

Another Kind of Air Show

Two Sundays ago, on the thirteenth, Sue and I did something unusual for us: we left the house, and not only did we leave the house, we did something that was strictly for fun! We weren’t procuring food or dry goods, or running errands, or driving anyone to an appointment. We just drove north of town, across the river, to see the weekend’s air show more closely.

We’d been hearing and seeing the planes pretty well from our yard; we’re only about three blocks from the Capitol, and thus the river, and the airfield is just north of the river. Some of the planes even flew over our house. As they do.

We didn’t want to pay or anything, and we didn’t need to see any patriotic signage or whatever. We just parked in a gravel lot between US 54 and the airstrip and looked up.

It was okay.

Sue always waves when she sees a small plane flying fairly low. It’s leftover from her childhood, flying on Island Airline’s Ford Trimotor to visit her grandma Bower on North Bass Island in Lake Erie.

When the air show seemed to be winding down, we took a brief, leisurely walk on the Katy Trail nearby.

The Katy Trail is a fun way to be out in nature, sort of. Most of the plants are what you’d call weeds. Many are nonnative. I mean, look, they’re growing along some old traintracks. And in many places, the trail goes by agricultural fields (perpetual soil disturbance), and the whole shebang is in bottomlands: moisture.

But although the vegetation is weedy, the growth is rank, and there are many nonnative and invasive plants, it is fun to see the insects that are drawn to all the jungley vegetation.

Here are a few little “friends” I saw along the trail, putting on their own brilliant air show.

First, a dolichopodid, or longlegged fly. I have no idea of the genus, much less the species. But it was so pretty, like a tiny jewel-bird, perched on a leaf. On close inspection, I could see it was dining daintily on a gnat.

I usually take a whole bunch of pictures, hoping that at least one turns out okay. In the process, I accidentally jostled the leaf, causing the fly to launch upward a few inches, but then it lit again near where it had been. It hopped a few times before it settled more comfortably. But for a few seconds, it looked like it was performing some kind of interpretive dance, its long legs hopping and landing, hopping and landing.

So that’s the first little air show.

The second was a surprise for me: I’m usually not fooled by flies that mimic wasps, but boy, this was a good one! This was a fly, but as it crept around on several big clusters of goldenrod, I thought surely it was a yellowjacket.

Now, yellowjackets are very common this time of year—they’re drawn to juicy, rotting fallen fruits, to whatever sweet things are in outdoor trash containers, and to untended, open soda cans. Be careful when you sip!

But, yeah, no! This lovely insect is a type of syrphid, or flower fly. Just like the longlegged fly, it is a true fly (family Diptera); it is no more harmful than a housefly. Bees, ants, and wasps are in a completely different family.

This species is the eastern hornet fly, Spilomyia longicornis. It’s simply fantastic, even compared to other syrphids.

The mimicry is brilliant. Look at the crisp black and yellow bands, and even the smooth surface sheen of the body. The swirly, mottled eyes disrupt their huge size that would otherwise help us see this as a true fly. Also, notice how the middle and hind pairs of legs are yellow, while the forelegs are black—at a glance, they give the impression of a wasp’s long, busy antennae, downplaying the little V of tiny antennae characteristic of flies. Finally, the fly’s two wings are two-toned, giving the impression of a wasp's four slightly overlapping wings.

For that matter, the timing is brilliant: this is the peak time for yellowjacket activity and numbers, and here are these flies, making the most of their resemblance.

As I ponder this, what really gets me is that this mimicry evolved and functions to fool animals incapable of logic. And this camouflage will certainly fool most people, whether they’ve taken any biology or not.

You’d think that black and yellow bands, and “buzz-buzz,” should be enough, but the mimicry of this insect goes above and beyond. It disrupts many of the anatomical hallmarks of a true fly: the two wings, the short antennae, the enormous eyes, as well as the body shape and color pattern. These are the kind of characters you’d learn in “Zool. 350: Invertebrate Zool.”

I actually did not see this insect fly; it was so addicted to the goldenrod’s nectar and pollen, it just crept from flowerhead to flowerhead, pigging out. But this spiffy flier was certainly a highlight of my own personal air show that day.

And yeah, this is a great time of year to look for cool insects on goldenrods. Bring your camera.

Grandma Renner's Southern Cornbread

My grandma Clara Renner’s recipe, as my mom typed into her own recipe notebook. Mom said that her Grandma made cornbread frequently.

As usual, although this post is about food, it is also about the connection: my grandma. Therefore, I’m sprinkling in some photos of her, taken by Mom in the 1950s.

A note on the photos: About fifteen years ago, Mom diligently digitized her old slides, but she didn’t clean the slides before scanning. So there are zillions of unfortunate specks and spots. Sue color-corrected some of them for me, but others still retain a pinkish red color shift. She did all she could. Sorry about that.

Better to have imperfect pictures than none at all. Sometimes soft photos have a perfection all their own, you know?

Grandma was born in Kansas and grew up in Washington, Missouri. From the time she was a teen and throughout her adult life, she lived in Jefferson City. She worked hard, raising four children and taking care of her husband and his father during the Great Depression and then World War II. Grandpa worked at the local printing company.

Like I said, Grandma worked hard. She had a garden, she raised rabbits for cash, she took in laundry and ironing for cash. She had to hide her grocery money from Grandpa. (I didn’t learn about Grandpa’s depression and drinking problems until long after he had died.)

Grandma had German heritage; her dad’s grandfather had immigrated to America in 1858, and her mom’s mother had been born in Germany, too. She grew up speaking German in the Lutheran church she attended. (If you struggled to learn the Lutheran Catechism, just imagine learning it in German!)

Unlike my other grandma, who was the daughter of German immigrants, Grandma Renner seemed much less Germanic. Culturally, she was more rural, or more Americanized. Grandma Schroeder would make split pea soup served with rye bread, and Grandma Renner would make ham and bean soup served with cornbread. At Christmas, Grandma Schroeder would make sauerbraten; Grandma Renner would make roast chicken (or turkey, though she greatly preferred chicken) . . . or a plain pot roast.

Or she would grill steaks out in the backyard, basting it with homemade BBQ sauce.

So, I find it interesting that she’d have a recipe for southern cornbread: southern. Most people would just call their cornbread “cornbread,” right?

Therefore, we need to talk about southern cornbread.

First, the sugar. Always the sugar, with those southerners. Can’t have too much of it in the iced tea, but can’t have a speck of it in their cornbread.

There’s a lot made out of the idea that “true” southerners never, ever, ever include sugar with their cornbread. But then, many southerners “admit” that they use “just a titch” of sugar.

Grandma’s recipe includes one tablespoon of sugar for four cups of corn meal and flour. That’s not very much.

I think it’s reasonable to include a small amount of sugar with cornbread in order to correct deficiencies in the sweetness of the cornmeal being used. If it’s super fresh and high quality, it’s probably sweet enough on its own. But if your cornmeal sits around on your shelf, or if it’s been in a warehouse for who knows how long, it might need a little help. In fact, what you bought at the grocery store probably does need a little help.

The overall idea, however, is that southern cornbread is not obviously sweet; it shouldn’t be like cake; it should be sweet only in the sense that corn itself is sweet. It’s a lot like adding a small amount of sugar to a tomato sauce.

Another southern thing is to make cornbread in a cast iron skillet. The old-fashioned technique is to preheat your oven, then heat your well-seasoned iron skillet on the stovetop, mix your batter, dollop some butter or lard into the skillet (which is so hot it immediately starts to sizzle), and right after that, put your batter into the skillet; it sizzles instantly. Then you transfer it into the oven to finish. This way, it develops a buttery, crisp, golden crust on the bottom, which you can make the top by inverting it upside-down onto a serving plate. Or serve out of the skillet, as you prefer.

But I’ll bet my grandma didn’t fuss with that. She wasn’t a southerner, anyway. For goodness’ sakes, her immigrant grandpa had served in the Union Army from 1861 to the end of 1864. And she was a modern midwestern homemaker. I bet she made it in a cake pan or a baking dish, in the oven.

So, what’s better, northern or southern cornbread? Southerners apparently see it in black-and-white: southern style is best, doggone it! Meanwhile, northerners usually don’t get so het up over it.

Me, I prefer to have all the colors in my coloring book. I like both the sweet kind and the unsweet kind. I like cornbread with blueberries, cheese, jalapenos, peanut butter, jam or jelly, split and toasted with butter and caraway (or poppy) seeds—you name it.

And I like corn griddlecakes with sorghum molasses!

As always, I have some comments on the recipe:

First, with its 3-to-1 ratio of cornmeal to flour, it will be dense and rather dry, not delicate and cakelike as in northern cornbread. Cracks will develop on the top, like the Dry Tortugas, or the Nevada Proving Grounds. . . . Rub some butter on the top surface.

This is perfect for crumbling into a bowl and topping with cooked beans and their juices, or with bean soup, or with thin, soupy chili.

As with most quick breads and muffins, mix the drys and wets separately, first; then combine them together.

Grandma’s recipe doesn’t give a pan size, precise temperature, or baking time. I use a 9 x 13 Pyrex baking dish, set the oven at 425 degrees, and start checking it at around 12 minutes; it’s done when it starts turning golden brown on top and a toothpick comes out clean.

• 3 cups cornmeal
• 1 cup flour
• 1 tablespoon sugar
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 2 heaping teaspoons baking powder
• 3 or 4 eggs
• 2 cups sweet milk
• 1 tablespoon lard [melted, surely; or melted butter or vegetable oil]

Mix all together and bake in hot oven.

Railfanning the Big Boy

Wow, was it fun to see the Union Pacific Big Boy 1440, as it chugged though Missouri in July.

The “Big Boy” steam engines were built in the 1940s in order to haul incredibly heavy loads around (including across the Rocky Mountains) for the war effort. These engines weighed 1.2 million pounds. Eight of these crazy-huge locomotives still exist, and Union Pacific’s restored Big Boy 1440 is the only one that runs. So they take it around the country every so often for publicity purposes.

Its 2026 tour is over, but you can find tons of YouTubes showing it at various points on its journey. I decided to add my little video (belatedly) to the fray. I think I was the only person videoing it in Bonnots Mill.

Railfanning is a thing; I’ve blogged about it before. A lot of railfans seem to video every train they see. I’m not that nutty about it, but I couldn’t help myself once I realized the massive train would be crossing the little trestle that crosses the drive connecting Bonnots Mill’s Old Mill Road and Osage County Road 416.

At first, Sue and I were had thought of seeing it at Morrison, or Gasconade, or Chamois. But those seemed like they might be rather crowded. Also, they were farther away.

Bonnots Mill turned out to be a good choice for us. There weren’t too many people gathered to see the train go by; I think they were all more or less locals. Several of the “advanced case” railfanners were driving along with the train’s progress, stopping here and there to watch it go by again and again. But they were absent from Bonnots Bill.

But Bonnots Mill is off the beaten path. If you were a railfanner following the Big Boy along west US 50, a detour to Bonnots Mill is about 6 miles (one way) from Loose Creek, or 11 from Linn. With that detour, you’d miss the arrival of Big Boy at its majestic entrance in Jeff City!

So we opted to view it at a tiny, historic town, where it would blow past us in less than a minute.

Unbeknown to us, Big Boy was delayed from its published schedule; after departing St. Louis, it was only scheduled to stop for about 15 minutes in Hermann, then arrive at Jeff City directly after that. But it made two unscheduled stops before Hermann: one at the Transportation Museum in St. Louis (where there’s another Big Boy to see), and one in Washington, Missouri.

So we got to Bonnots Mill about fifteen minutes before we thought it could arrive. Then we waited quite a while, wondering what the holdup was. How long did it take to get from Hermann to Bonnots Mill? Should’ve been a half hour, at most, right? But there was no way to know; no cell service in Bonnots Mill.

So we, and the other folks who showed up, waited patiently. Boy was it hot! But we had fun poking around, walking along the gravel road, looking at flowers and roadside weeds, wondering if Krautman’s Korner will ever be used for anything again, wondering if the Hotel Dauphine is getting much business.

Bonnots Mill has so much potential as a quaint getaway, or a stop along a Harley poker-run trail, or maybe a place to hold business retreats. Being right on the Osage River, where it joins the Missouri, it would be a good place for a boating or fishing outfitter. There’s a public river access nearby. I’ve blogged about the Bonnots Mill fall church supper before. But unfortunately, much of the historic downtown is deteriorating. Crumbling.

Anyway, we’ve gone out of our way to see these historic trains before. Like in 2011, when we saw Union Pacific 488 come through. That’s a smaller train, but it was incredibly impressive. In 2021, we saw the Big Boy 1440 as it came through Osage City, then we visited it in Jefferson City, where it made an official stop. The next day, we watched it chug through nearby Cole Junction, where my great-grandpa Renner used to work for the Missouri Pacific Railroad.

So this year, after spending a night in the railyards near the State Capitol, on the morning of July 21, Big Boy left Jefferson City with a whole bunch of LOUD hoots of its horn. It echoed all over town. It made me think about the days when steam engine horns filled the air of this town regularly, and people rode trains all the time.

If you get a chance to see one of these vintage locomotives, go see it, even if you only see it as it chugs by. I know you’ll find it compelling.

Jar of Goodness 8.9.26: Swami Sarvapriyananda and Vedanta

. . . The weekly virtual “gratitude jar.”

This week, I’m expressing thanks for Swami Sarvapriyananda and for the wisdom of Vedanta.

I know, I know . . . “who he?” Around here in Jeff City, this is like having green plaid skin. But I encourage you to check this out. Look on YouTube for the Vedanta Society of New York, where you can hear many of his lectures. I’m providing some links at the end.

First, Swami Sarvapriyananda is the spiritual leader of the Vedanta Society of New York, a Hindu religious congregation that dates back to 1894, when it was founded by the incredibly influential Swami Vivekananda, who is credited with being the earliest, most influential Hindu spiritual leader to travel to the Western world. Vivekananda (1863–1902) famously spoke at the 1893 Parliament of the World’s Religions in Chicago, introducing Hinduism spirituality and philosophy and advocating for universal religious tolerance and acceptance. He also played a crucial role in the rise of Indian nationalism.

Vivekananda was an apostle of his teacher, Ramakrishna Paramahamsa (1836–1886), who was a proponent of a philosophical branch of Hinduism called Advaita Vedanta, or nondual Vedanta. I’m not going to go into a long discussion about what it’s about. Most Americans don’t know the first thing about Hindu spirituality or philosophy, and it’s not my place to try to explain everything. Let’s just say, one of its key insights is that all religions will “get you there.” It doesn’t speak ill of any religion. How refreshing.

Indeed, one of the beautiful things about the so-called polytheistic religion is that it permits every person to cherish and worship her or his own deity, while everyone understands that there is a higher Reality that supersedes our human conceptions of deities. They are all avatars of the Eternal, the One. If I’m understanding this correctly, this makes a lot of sense to me. Also, this inclusive view of theistic religions tends to lead you toward tolerance and appreciation for the diversity of religions across the world and through the ages.

Anyway, I’ve been appreciating Swami Sarvapriyananda’s talks on YouTube. He’s an excellent interpreter of a lot of complex and simple concepts and wisdom. He has five thousand years of scriptures and philosophy to build on. He’s incredibly learned, but he’s charismatic and has a lovely, humble sense of humor.

I’ll wrap this up soon. I just mainly wanted to share him with you. I’ve had a rough time the past few years, and there have been plenty of nights when I have trouble sleeping. It helps a lot just to listen to him. Midnight, 2 a.m., 4, 6 . . . When it seems everything’s a mess, taking that enormous, universal view helps take the edge off.

One of the big images of Advaita Vedanta is that our various individual selves are all part of the All That Is, the way that every wave is part of the ocean. We can’t be separate from it. It is in and through us. The Infinite Eternal can’t be defined objectively; as soon as you put a label on it, you’ve objectified it, placed a definition and a fence around it. And it’s no longer infinite and eternal.

I hope I’m getting this right, because I’d hate to misrepresent this great tradition to you.

No one likes proselytizers. So now it’s time for some links to YouTube videos.

“Vedanta in Five Parables” is a delightful telling of five “greatest hits” stories that explain key concepts of Vedanta. It’s simply fun. Swami Sarvapriyananda once taught at a children’s school, and it shows in his storytelling.

“What Is Vedanta?” is exactly what it sounds like. After you’ve listened to the parables, this is a more in-depth discussion.

“Vedanta in America” is a fascinating lecture about how Hinduism has influenced American thought since Emerson, Thoreau, and Whitman. Gives some of the history of Swami Vivekananda’s influential visits to America in the late 1800s and early 1900s./

“Tat Tvam Asi (That Thou Art)” explains this famous phrase of Advaita Vedanta. It helped me to understand the difference between this ancient philosophical tradition and the embarrassing New Age pseudo-Hinduism that misinterpreted this concept as “I am God.”

Julie's Granola

Yes, it’s precious to announce this as my own recipe, since I openly adapt it from Carol Gelles, 1,000 Vegetarian Recipes. I think it’s an unspoken truism that any granola recipe is intended to be altered to fit what you have on hand, and what the saveur du jour happens to be. But I’ve tweaked it enough that it’s pretty much my own. But thank you, Ms. Gelles (or Carol, if I may).

A few ingredients notes: I like to use genuine sweetened carob chips. These days you have to hunt for them, because last time I looked, I couldn’t even get it at our local health foods store. Whaaaaaat—? Yes. But I seriously like carob chips in my granola, muffins, granola snack bars, and so on. I’m not going to try to make “chocolate” frosting, cake, or brownies out of it. But as a flavorful ingredient used like raisins or blueberries, they’re really quite nice. Be sure to used sweetened carob chips.

Cashew pieces: I’ve been buying raw cashew halves and pieces in a bag at the international store. Look for Swad brand, in the India aisle. Since childhood, I disliked cashews, but those were always Planter’s roasted and salted cashews. But when you them raw, you can toast them yourself, and season or not. Much more delicious.

And substitute stuff as you like. Just keep the overall quantities about the same: you need enough liquid-stuff to moisten enough for everything to get a little coated with the oat bran, wheat germ, brown sugar stuff. Also, the original recipe called for raisins. You could swap craisins or other dried fruits, nuts, etc. See notes after the recipe for more tips.

• 3 T butter
• ⅓ cup brown sugar (packed)
• 1½ to 2 T juice (apple, orange)
• 2 c. plain, rolled oats
• ⅓ c. sunflower seeds (or pumpkin seeds)
• ½ cup wheat germ (I use Kretschmar’s toasted wheat germ)
• ½ cup oat bran
• ⅓ cup raw cashew halves and pieces (or other nuts)
• powdered cinnamon (to taste)
• ⅓ cup sweetened carob chips (or chocolate chips)

Preheat oven to 350°F. (If your oven runs hot, set it at 325.)

Spray a 9-x-13-inch baking pan with Pam (Pyrex casserole dish is good). In a microwave, melt the butter, then stir in the brown sugar and juice until dissolved.

In a big mixing bowl, combine all the rest of the ingredients (except for the carob or chocolate chips, or raisins or any other dried fruit you might use). Pour the liquid ingredients over the mixture in the bowl and toss to get everything moistened. (Texture: you don’t want it soggy; if it seems too dry, you can add a little honey.)

Spread the granola mixture into the prepared baking pan and spread evenly. Bake, stirring and checking often, until dryish. The edges will brown first. Don’t let it burn.

Take it out; while it’s still hot, sprinkle cinnamon and the carob (or chocolate) chips over the top. The chips should melt a little bit, which is good. When it cools further, stir in any dried fruits you’re using.

Let it cool completely before storing in an airtight container.

Tips:

• I suggest adding raisins or dried fruits after baking to avoid them burning. Burnt raisins are evil. I like chopped dried apricots, chopped dried, sweetened pineapple chunks, dates, craisins, etc.
• Any kind of nuts or seeds are a great addition; the original recipe calls for 3 T. sesame seeds, but I usually don’t keep those on hand, and they go rancid quickly. But I keep sunflower seeds and pumpkins seeds in the freezer; they’re right next to the sweetened carob chips!
• Granola: you know what to do. Sprinkle on yogurt with fresh fruits. Eat some out of hand as a snack. Eat it with milk as a dry cereal, or mix it in with other dry cereals. Sprinkle some on ice cream. This would be a nice garnish of a cold fruit soup or a fruit smoothie. And so on.