I turned the compost pile this week and found it beautifully dark and finished in the center — five years of kitchen scraps and garden waste reduced to something rich and black and ready to give back. There's a satisfaction in that longer cycle that I find increasingly appealing as I get older. You put things in, you tend them, and eventually the transformation happens. You can't rush it.
Made rhubarb crisp for the first time, which sounds absurd given how many springs I've watched Helen make it. But I've been on a run of trying things I always left to her, and this seemed right. I called Sarah to walk through the recipe — she's made it herself, of course — and she talked me through the topping ratio, more oats than flour, more butter than you think you need. It came out well. Better than I expected, honestly. The tartness of the rhubarb against the sweet crumbly topping is one of those combinations that just works regardless of who made it.
The vegetable garden is coming in. The lettuce is ready and I've been eating salads every night, simple ones with whatever I have — radishes, green onions from last year's volunteers, whatever herbs are up. There's a pleasure in eating something that was in the ground yesterday. It makes the food feel less abstract.
Memorial Day is coming. Last year we had everyone here — Sarah, Jim, the boys, my sister. The first summer weekend of the year, when the whole property gets opened up and aired out. This year it'll be quiet. I'm planning to cook something worth eating and sit outside and remember what the holiday is actually about. That seems right enough.
Making that rhubarb crisp — with Sarah’s voice on the phone talking me through the topping ratios, more oats than flour, more butter than you think — reminded me how much I like baking with oats as the backbone rather than an afterthought. A few days later I had bananas going soft on the counter and found myself back in that same uncomplicated territory: a few straightforward ingredients, no fussing, something real to show for an afternoon. These banana oatmeal cookies are that same kind of recipe: humble, honest, and better than they have any right to be given how little effort they ask of you.
Banana Oatmeal Cookies
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 14 minutes | Total Time: 24 minutes | Servings: 24 cookies
Ingredients
- 3 ripe bananas, mashed
- 2 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
- 1/4 cup coconut oil or unsalted butter, melted
- 1/4 cup honey or maple syrup
- 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
- 1/4 teaspoon salt
- 1/2 cup chocolate chips, raisins, or chopped walnuts (optional)
Instructions
- Preheat the oven. Heat oven to 350°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.
- Mash the bananas. In a large bowl, mash the ripe bananas thoroughly with a fork until mostly smooth — a few small lumps are fine and add texture.
- Combine wet ingredients. Stir the melted coconut oil (or butter), honey or maple syrup, and vanilla extract into the mashed bananas until evenly incorporated.
- Add the dry ingredients. Add the rolled oats, cinnamon, and salt to the bowl and stir until the mixture comes together into a thick, cohesive dough. Fold in chocolate chips, raisins, or walnuts if using.
- Portion the cookies. Drop rounded tablespoons of dough onto the prepared baking sheets, spacing them about 1 1/2 inches apart. Gently press each mound down slightly with the back of a spoon — these cookies don’t spread much on their own.
- Bake. Bake for 12–14 minutes, until the edges are set and the tops are just beginning to turn golden. The centers may look slightly underdone; they firm up as they cool.
- Cool and serve. Let cookies rest on the baking sheet for 5 minutes before transferring to a wire rack. They keep well in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 3 days.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 85 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 3g | Carbs: 14g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 25mg