Overnight Cherry-Almond Oatmeal

The essay about miso soup is drafted. One thousand words about the daily practice: the overnight soak of the kombu, the morning heating of the dashi, the moment the miso dissolves — the way it clouds the broth and then clears, the way the soup becomes itself in that single moment of integration. I read it to the writing class and my voice shook the way it always shakes when I read my own words aloud, because written words are controllable and spoken words are naked and being naked in front of twelve strangers is the anxiety's worst scenario and also, apparently, exactly what I need.

Dana, the instructor, said: "The grandmother section is devastating. Go deeper." Going deeper into Fumiko means going deeper into the grief, and the grief, while manageable, is not shallow. The depth is where the power lives. I know this. I have been swimming at the surface for a year, writing blog posts that skim the water, and Dana is asking me to dive. I will dive. The diving is why I enrolled.

I made tsukemono — Japanese pickled vegetables — this week. Quick pickles: cucumber and daikon and carrots, salted and pressed under a weight overnight. In the morning they are bright, crunchy, salt-sweet, alive with the fermentation that even one night provides. Fumiko made tsukemono every week — it was not a recipe but a habit, the way brushing your teeth is not a recipe but a practice. I am making it a practice too. The practice is the memorial. The memorial is the practice.

Brian and I went to dinner — a rare event, arranged by Brian, who said "we should try." We sat at a restaurant in Division Street and ordered food and made conversation and the conversation was pleasant and meaningless and I thought: this is what it feels like to have dinner with a stranger. We are strangers who share a child and a mortgage and a bed and we are strangers. The food was good. The company was familiar. Familiar is not the same as known. Brian is familiar. Brian has not known me in years, if he ever did, and I am tired of being familiar to someone who does not know me.

After dinner we walked home in the rain and Brian held my hand, which he hasn't done in months, and the hand-holding was sweet and sad and too late in the way that gestures of affection in a dying marriage are always too late — not because the gesture is insincere but because the hand has already let go inside, and the outside holding is a formality, a ghost of the grip that used to mean something.

What I love about the tsukemono — and what I didn’t expect to find in my own kitchen — is that the overnight part is the recipe. You prepare, you press, you leave it alone, and the morning reveals what the waiting made. This overnight oatmeal works the same way: five minutes before bed, a bowl in the fridge, and by morning something plain has become something worth sitting down for. Fumiko would not have called this Japanese. She would have called it common sense. I am trying to learn the difference between the two.

Prep Time: 5 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 8 hrs | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
2 cups whole milk or unsweetened almond milk
1 cup plain whole-milk yogurt
2 tablespoons honey or maple syrup, plus more to taste
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
1/4 teaspoon fine salt
1 cup dried tart cherries (or pitted fresh cherries, halved)
1/2 cup sliced almonds, divided

Instructions

Combine the base. In a large mixing bowl, stir together the oats, milk, yogurt, honey, vanilla extract, almond extract, and salt until evenly combined.
Fold in fruit and nuts. Add the cherries and 1/4 cup of the sliced almonds. Stir gently to distribute throughout the oat mixture.
Refrigerate overnight. Divide the mixture evenly among four jars or bowls, cover tightly, and refrigerate for at least 6 hours or overnight. The oats will absorb the liquid and soften into a creamy, cohesive texture.
Check consistency in the morning. If the oatmeal has thickened more than you like, stir in a splash of milk to loosen it to your preferred texture.
Serve. Top each portion with the remaining 1/4 cup sliced almonds and a drizzle of honey. Eat cold straight from the jar, or let it come to room temperature for a few minutes before serving.

Nutrition (per serving)

Overnight Cherry-Almond Oatmeal — What the Night Makes Ready