Winter Fuel: Porridge of Wheat Berries, Rye Berries, and Steel-Cut Oats with Dried Apple and Toasted Hickory Nuts

It was -26 here this morning, probably the coldest night of this very cold winter.  To get going on mornings like this, you need hearty sustenance, you need fuel.  Our favorite simple winter breakfast this year is this three-grain mush flavored with dried apples and toasted hickory nuts (and of course some excellent local milk, and a splash of our maple syrup).  We prepare it on the woodstove the night before, making a batch to last a couple of days.  In the morning I put a portion for two in a small saucepan, add some water and a pinch of salt, snip in some dried apples, and let it warm while we fix tea.

What I love about this porridge is that it's not just mush--it has bite, a satisfying chew, because the rye and wheat berries never totally succumb, no matter how long you cook them.  They have a natural sweetness, as well, and the apples add more subtle sweetness, along with tartness and yet another texture.  And then the hickory nuts, toasty, rich, lightly crunchy.

I think I'm ready for another bowl....

Steel-cut oats lower left, wheat berries right, rye berries top, hickory nuts, dried apple.

For four ample servings I used:

1/2 cup wheat berries
1/4 cup rye berries
3 cups water

Bring that to a boil and let it simmer a good long while, at least an hour, I'd say.  Check every 15 minutes or so to make sure all the water hasn't cooked away.  When the berries are yielding but still quite al dente, you can add the oats.

1/3 cup steel-cut oats
2/3 cup water

Add the oats and water right into the wheat and rye berries.  Cover and simmer 20 to 30 minutes, then remove from the heat and set aside.

In the morning reheat the porridge with a little added water and a couple pinches of salt, and snip in dried apple or other dried fruit--or, as mentioned above, spoon your desired portions into a small saucepan, and do likewise.  When it's hot, dish it up, add milk, maple, top with toasted nuts.  We are in love with the local hickory nuts we found at the little market in Ridgeland, but walnuts or pecans, toasted pumpkin seeds, what have you, all would add that nice contrasting crunch.

This is the kind of cold weather breakfast that could almost make you wish winter would never end.

Almost.

Text and photos copyright 2014 by Brett Laidlaw

Corn in the Mornin'

I woke up out at Bide-A-Wee recently with a powerful craving for grits.  White corn grits, the good, long-simmered kind, preferably hominy grits, with that appetizing masa-like aroma.  Since I woke up in the middle of Wisconsin, I quickly accepted the fact that my craving would not be fully satisfied that day.  While biscuits and sausage gravy--a dish I think of as being almost as southern as grits--is surprisingly common on Wisconsin diner and café menus (with wildly varying preparations, as well as levels of edible-ness), I've yet to encounter grits anywhere in Minne'Sconsin, other than a specifically southern-themed restaurant.

I first got a taste for white corn grits during the year I spent in graduate school in Roanoke, Virginia (1985-86, things were still cooling down from the Civil War...).  And honestly, most of the grits I consumed there, as part of a typical diner breakfast, were not very good.  Those generally were made from instant or quick-cooking grits.  Their flavor was wan, and their main function was to soak up butter, salt and pepper, Tabasco, and egg yolks.  Wishing to attempt a better rendition at home, I found that, even in Virginia, it was pretty hard to find honest, genuine, long-cooking grits.  And up here in the frozen north?  Think, "mail order."

I've tried two kinds of vaunted mail-order grits.  A few years back I ordered an assortment of ground corn products from the relatively famous, extremely expensive Anson Mills .  And I was not impressed, not by any of what I bought.  That turned me off of pricey excursions into southern foodstuffs, until I was introduced to Hoppin' John's grits by Mike Phillips--then the chef at  Craftsman restaurant , now the main man behind the utterly toothsome charcuterie of Green Ox Meat Co.  Mike did a demo at the Midtown Farmers Market where he grilled previously cooked, molded, unmolded and sliced chunks of the Hoppin' John's grits, served them with grilled vegetables, I believe, and perhaps some of his early ventures into prosciutto making.  A tasty day at the market, indeed. 

So I ordered a few pounds, and enjoyed them while we had them.  But then, you know, with that whole local-seasonal thing we've got going here, I didn't keep up on the food through the mail.  But I might have to order some again.  A steaming plate of fragrant grits makes an exceptionally appealing basis for a winter breakfast.  The most recent Saveur features another brand, Old School .  These sound like the real deal, and are reasonably priced, $3.49 for a two-pound bag, plus shipping.

Hoppin John's website is wonky today.

But back to that Wisconsin October morning, and a very reasonable solution to my grits craving, all things considered:  coarse polenta from Whole Grain Milling , finished with a handful of smoked Marieke gouda ; home-smoked bacon; Sami's delicious free-range eggs from Hilltop Pastures Family Farm .  While it did not move us to start conversing in a southern drawl, we gave it two hearty "You betcha!"s, and we cleaned our plates.

How we make polenta:  four parts water to one part polenta.  We find that 1/3 cup polenta makes a good two-person portion, so we heated 1 1/3 cups of water.  Bring the water to a boil, and stir in the grits using a fork or a whisk.  Keep stirring vigorously until the mixture is smooth--we haven't found lumping to be a problem with this polenta, so long as you stir briskly as you add them.  Now turn the heat down way low, and stir the polenta often with a wooden spoon or the like.  You don't have to stir constantly, but when you do stir, be sure to scrape the bottom of the pan to loosen anything adhering there.  They'll be done in 20 to 25 minutes.  Just before serving we always stir in a nice spoon of butter, and season well with salt and pepper.  And, as mentioned, a handful of grated smoked gouda enriched this breakfast version.

In a comment to a recent post here Tom mentioned "explosions of hot corn magma," those sometimes vexing and messy (and even painful, if you wind up in the line of fire) volcanic eruptions in the polenta pot.  We don't seem to have too much trouble with this, and I think that's because: 1) We keep the heat very, very low, and 2) The 4:1 ratio uses more water than many recipes call for; as the mixture only thickens toward the end, less likelihood of explosions.

As fall turns to winter and the braising pot rarely leaves the stove, polenta becomes a more and more common part of our meals--breakfast to lunch to supper.


Text and photos copyright 2011 by Brett Laidlaw

Blueberry Maple Toast

And now for something a good deal less demanding than whitefish ceviche with yada yada yada.  For what could be less demanding, less requiring of exegesis, than toast?  This is a typical sort of Bide-A-Wee breakfast--could be dessert, too, for that matter.  A very few very good and altogether familiar ingredients make for a lick-your-plate kind of breakfast.  Is it lazy man's french toast, or absolutely indolent man's blueberry pancakes?  Take your pick.

Of course it depends on good bread--a rugged, whole grain and/or sourdough loaf, preferably homemade (but if you live where you can easily find an honest loaf at a bakery, well, lucky you).  Here one of our deprivations at Bide-A-Wee--lack of electricity--actually proves an advantage.  With no toaster at hand, we make toast by heating a cast iron skillet, adding a little butter, then cooking the bread until lightly browned on both sides.  Our toast, therefore, is actually big butter-fried croutons.  No, I do not mean to imply that there is anything wrong with that.  This is a great way to use bread slightly past its prime, or even moreso.  If you can slice it, you can revive--nay, glorifry! [sic: that's a typo worth keeping]--your near-dead bread this way. 

Our neighbor up the hill and across highway 64 (down there in southern Wisconsin), Tina, has a gorgeous spread with gardens that are so beautiful and abundant, they could make you weep.  The blueberries came from her place, and the maple syrup is our own.  What I did here, I heated some maple syrup--say a half-cup for two people--added some blueberries--a third-cup? as many as you like--and brought it to the simmer.  The berries were then soft but not disintegrated.  Spoon that over your toast.  A lashing of yogurt--goat, here--helps balance the maple sweetness.  I garnished with a few black caps, the first few ripe ones of the season.  And that reminds me that you could use berries other than blue the same way.

I don't think I need to say a single thing more about this, except: Be sure to wipe your chin when you finish licking your plate.