When I moved into the dorms at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, Arizona in 1983, my first roommate dubbed me a “granola” after her survey of the cassettes on my shelf. Jersey girl, Sharon MacKenzie nailed it. I was and still smack of all things hippy. Even my husband ribs me when we pass the rainbow children thumbing it to the North Shore.
“Hey babe, look, there’s your people.”
It’s annoying. And at the risk of cliché I’ll add: You can take the girl out of the tie-dye but you can’t get the tie-dye out of the girl.
But this isn’t a blog on hippy cultural terms, this is a bona fide recipe for a maple syrup sweetened granola that sings with rustic clarity. Bear with me, I’m smitten.
As much as I love Anahola Granola, and include it in every care package sent to friends on the Mainland, I weary of its sweetness. Then I discovered granola guru, Megan Gordon; a chic in Seattle killing it with her savory granola blends. This recipe is an off-spring of her granola base and 101 instruction she shared with thekitchn.com, where she is a contributing writer. I recommend visiting her site as well.
I have a hunch I’m not saving money making my own, considering we devour one full recipe in two weeks and I’m baking a new batch before the last jar has even emptied.
It’s that good.
Yield: 6 cups
Set out all of your ingredients.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees
3 cups oats
½ cup sesame seeds
½ cup pumpkin seeds
½ cup almonds
¼ teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground cardamom
¾ teaspoon kosher salt
Stir into oat mixture.
In a separate bowl, combine:
¼ cup olive oil
¼ cup coconut oil
½ cup maple syrup
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Add to spiced oats, mixing well.
Spread mixture on a parchment lined rimmed cookie sheet. Bake 38 minutes, turning every 15 minutes for even baking. Three minutes before the end of baking add:
1 cup of coconut flakes.
Dried fruit and roasted nuts go in after baking is through. Once out of the oven add:
1 cup roasted pistachio, chopped
1 cup dry cherries, chopped roughly
Cool, then store in mason jars. It’s so pretty you’ll want to store in glass just so you can admire the toasty beauty.
Since we’re on a hippy tack, here’s a poem about hippy babies I wrote eight years ago while sitting in Kilauea Bakery.
Day of the Dread
Hippy babies are taking over all the funky cafes. Hippy
babies in their patchouli soaked diapers with their natty
dread dolls. Hippy babies with their Buddha bellies
spilling over their hemp diapers; running between your legs
as you walk across the hard wood floor with caramel rivers
of coffee rolling from palm to elbow; scalding your
fingers. Hippy babies bouncing off table legs in striped pants
and polka-dot shirts with tassels snapping in their wake. One hippy
baby shows up and a commune of organic scone-flinging babies is sure
to follow. As the floor blooms with all-natural crumbs, the hippy
babies divine spirits from soymilk stains on the tables. Hippy
babies swing from the philodendra vines, laughing too loud and smiling
at all the seated babies with napkins tucked in their shirts. Hippy
babies drooling 100% organic cookie drool down Bob Marley
T-shirts that cost a dime at the Hippy Baby Boutique. Hippy
babies chanting with bodhi beads and bangles around emaciated
wrists, playing ukuleles and drowning out Greg Brown and Natalie
Merchant in their ganga-stained hippy-baby voices. We ask them
politely, please sit, please clean up after yourself. The hippy
babies won’t have any of it. Who are we to infringe upon their freedom?