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Mixed Berry Baked Oatmeal Soufflé — When the First Warm Thing Is Enough

New Year's Eve. 2021 into 2022. I worked the ER shift — the tradition, the midnight in scrubs, the annual counting-down while treating the annual injuries. This year was busy — the post-pandemic release producing more celebrations, more incidents, more of the specific chaos that ER nurses expect every December 31. I treated a broken wrist and a laceration and a drunk-driving victim who was twenty-two and lucky to be alive and whose luck made me grateful and angry in equal measure.

Pete and I paused at 12:01 AM. The pause that has become our tradition — the shared breath between the old year and the new, the moment where two pandemic-surviving ER nurses look at each other and say nothing because the nothing contains everything: we're here. We made it. Again.

I got home at 6 AM. Lugaw. The tradition. The first food of 2022. The rice porridge, simple, warm, asking nothing. I ate it at the table in the pre-dawn dark and wrote in the journal: "2022. Mia arrives this month. The book is being written. The Philippines trip is getting closer. I am thirty-two. I will be thirty-three in April. I am standing. Start with garlic."

Lugaw was the ritual that morning — and it always will be — but when I make something for the people I love on the slow mornings that follow impossible nights, I reach for this baked oatmeal soufflé. It has that same quality lugaw has: warmth without fanfare, nourishment without demand. With Mia arriving that January and Pete and me running on fumes and gratitude, I needed food that held us gently, and the berries — bright and a little tart against the soft oats — felt like the right kind of hope for a new year just beginning to open.

Mixed Berry Baked Oatmeal Soufflé

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 38 minutes | Total Time: 48 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

  • 2 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
  • 1/3 cup granulated sugar
  • 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
  • 1/4 teaspoon fine salt
  • 2 cups whole milk
  • 2 large eggs, separated
  • 3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and slightly cooled
  • 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
  • 1 1/2 cups mixed fresh or frozen berries (blueberries, raspberries, and sliced strawberries)
  • 1 tablespoon turbinado sugar, for topping

Instructions

  1. Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 375°F. Lightly butter an 8x8-inch baking dish or a 2-quart round baking dish and set aside.
  2. Combine dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the rolled oats, granulated sugar, baking powder, cinnamon, and salt until evenly combined.
  3. Mix the wet ingredients. In a separate bowl, whisk together the milk, egg yolks, melted butter, and vanilla extract until smooth and well blended.
  4. Whip the egg whites. Using a hand mixer or stand mixer with a clean bowl, beat the egg whites on medium-high speed until stiff peaks form, about 2—3 minutes. This is what gives the soufflé its lift.
  5. Combine wet and dry. Pour the milk mixture into the oat mixture and stir to combine. Gently fold in the whipped egg whites in two additions, being careful not to deflate them entirely — a few streaks are fine.
  6. Add the berries and bake. Pour half the oat mixture into the prepared baking dish. Scatter half the berries evenly over the top, then pour in the remaining oat mixture. Top with the remaining berries and sprinkle with turbinado sugar.
  7. Bake until set. Bake for 35—38 minutes, until the top is golden and the center is just set with only a slight jiggle. A toothpick inserted in the center should come out mostly clean.
  8. Rest and serve. Let the soufflé rest for 5 minutes before scooping. Serve warm, directly from the dish, with a drizzle of honey or a splash of cold milk if you like.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 285 | Protein: 9g | Fat: 10g | Carbs: 40g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 210mg

Grace Santos
About the cook who shared this
Grace Santos
Week 299 of Grace’s 30-year story · Anchorage, Alaska
Grace is a thirty-seven-year-old ER nurse in Anchorage, Alaska — Filipino-American, single, and the person her entire community calls when they need a hundred lumpia for a party or a shoulder to cry on after a hard shift. She cooks to cope with the things she sees in the emergency room, feeding her neighbors and her church and anyone who looks like they need a plate. Her adobo could bring peace to a warring nation. Her schedule could kill a lesser person.

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