The humble oat is underestimated. Most people wouldn’t give this a second thought. Not me. I’m out there investigating the hard-hitting issues, no matter how small. This particular oat-sized exposé came to light a few weeks ago with The Oat Challenge (aka Budgetary Readjustments for Writer Living the Dream).
After twelve days of eating supermarket purchased Oats in various guises, my taste buds went into meltdown. To the point that the mushroom village in my back yard was starting to look particularly appetising. Hearing that mushroom poisoning was just a few mouthfuls away, the lovely Klika arrived at my front porch with a basket full of her delicious Farmhouse Muesli.
Over a few bowls of Farmhouse Muesli, Klika poured out a lifetime of stories about growing up on a farm at the foothills of Slovenia. Similar to the childhood of Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie, just without palaces, a milkman or central heating. Every morning, Klika rose at 5am to cut wood so that the house and stove could be heated. Meanwhile, Grandma Katarina (or Kata) would be milking cows for fresh creamy milk to pour over oats for breakfast. To make the oats tastier, Kata stirred in leftover apple strudel, poppy seed cake or apricot jam. Not all at once! Forget Princesses, this is breakfeast fit for a King .
Croats love their oats. Not just because they are one of the largest agriculture crop of this little Central European country (which interestingly has almost identical population and geographical landmass to New Zealand). Oats are the unassuming noblesse of breakfast; equally at home in muddy wellies one day and ball gown the next. Croatians have long been mixing Viennese pastries or French pâtes de fruits with Oats; transforming breakfast from ordinary to bourgeois. Fast forward a few generations, and Klika's oat-based muesli's are making mouths water from one end of Australia to the other. I've never really understood what the MasterChef judges mean when they talk about, "Cook with Love and you'll create something special." Now I do. It’s impossible not to taste the love, or feel the presence of Kata in Klika’s Farmhouse Muesli. This is a rare treat.
 |
| I'm sitting at feet of Grandma Managh on right hand side |
All this nostalgic talk of love and Grandmothers has momentarily made me take a step back and contemplate the matriarchal influence on my life. Like Klika’s Kata, my Grandma Managh lived her life (all 97 years) by the values of resilience, strength of character and tenacity. Grandma didn’t consider it a hardship to live in a tent for two years while Grandad built a home for the family. I’ve inherited this same gene, never hesitating to put dreams before hardship. We grew up hearing how Grandma insisted Father not leave the table until he finished all his porridge (even after it went cold). Father won’t be seen within a mile of oats ever since, but nevertheless he’s passed onto my brothers, sister and I, the same tenacity to finish what we start… no matter how difficult. Then there’s the competitive side to our family. Having a Grandma who represented New Zealand Croquet for many years, instilled in subsequent Managh generations, a determination to take on the world. Now if only I could bake pinwheel scones half as well!
Back in the early morning Daylesford sun, Klika has morphed into James May (Top Gear); delivering a complex explanation of how Oats are graded. A fleeting reprieve came when she popped inside to get a box of supermarket rolled oats from the pantry. Breakfast then turned into an interactive challenge; spot the difference between generic oats and Klika Oats? Amazingly a) this was more interesting than it sounds and b) there was a dramatic difference. Being highly processed, generic oats are almost translucent, crumbling in your fingers (goes mushy when heated), compared to Klika’s “rolled once” organic oats with soft grain texture and hard centre, retaining their shape when heated.
Now I’m craving Apple Strudel. Klika has given us her Kata’s recipe, apples are from next door and Gerry has the apron on. Perfect Sunday
To Grandma Managh, with Love. (1918 – 2012)
No comments:
Post a Comment