By Summer 2030. Training camp in four weeks. This is my fourteenth camp and I approach it the way you approach the fourteenth iteration of something you love: with the knowledge of what it requires, the anticipation of what it provides, and the absence of the anxiety of not knowing what to expect. What to expect: heat, work, the gradual formation of a team from a collection of players, the specific bonding that comes from shared difficulty in August. What to provide: the conditions for the team to form, the structure for the work to find its shape, the clarity about what the standard is and what falls below it. I know how to do this. I'll keep doing it until it's time to stop.
Diego is entering his fourth NFL season. He's been named to the Pro Bowl this year, which he mentioned on a Tuesday call the way he mentions good news: stating the fact, asking what I thought about his blocking scheme in the divisional playoff last January. He is a professional football player in the truest sense: the game is his work, and he does his work with the same precision that he brought to every level of the game before this one. I think about him at twelve, at the kitchen table with coffee and a book about offensive line play. I think about him running the counter-scheme in his senior year championship. I think about him at the line of scrimmage on Sunday afternoon in a stadium that holds sixty thousand people. The same mind. The same person. Made from the same materials, refined over thirty years.
Thirteenth chile roasting. The propane, the parking lot, September in Denver. The same ritual in its thirteenth iteration. This year Elena came with me. She stood next to me while the chiles rotated in the heat and she said, almost to herself: "I want to write about this someday." I said go ahead. She said, "I'll need your help to get it right." I said I'd help. She said, "Tell me what it smells like to you." I told her: like September in Las Cruces when I was twelve. Like Ruben running in the yard. Like the beginning of things.
After Elena said she wanted to write about the chile roasting someday, I kept thinking about what September actually tastes like —not just the smoke and heat of the parking lot, but the mornings that frame it, the slow and warm ones before the day gets going. Pumpkin Cream of Wheat is what I’ve been making on those mornings for years now, the kind of thing that doesn’t need much explaining but carries a lot inside it. If Elena is going to write about the ritual, I figured she should know the whole picture —the roaster in the parking lot, and the bowl on the table before we get there.
Pumpkin Cream of Wheat
Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes | Servings: 2
Ingredients
- 2 cups whole milk (or unsweetened oat milk)
- 1/2 cup Cream of Wheat (regular or quick-cooking)
- 1/2 cup canned pumpkin puree
- 2 tablespoons brown sugar or maple syrup
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
- 1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
- 1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg
- 1/8 teaspoon fine sea salt
- 1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
- Optional toppings: toasted pecans, a drizzle of honey, a pinch of flaky salt
Instructions
- Heat the milk. Pour the milk into a medium saucepan and set over medium heat. Warm until it just begins to steam, about 3–4 minutes. Do not let it boil.
- Whisk in the Cream of Wheat. Add the Cream of Wheat in a slow, steady stream while whisking constantly to prevent lumps. Reduce heat to medium-low.
- Add pumpkin and spices. Stir in the pumpkin puree, brown sugar, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and salt. Continue stirring frequently and cook for 4–5 minutes, until the porridge thickens to your liking.
- Finish and serve. Remove from heat and stir in the vanilla extract. Divide between two bowls. Add toppings if desired —toasted pecans and a thin drizzle of honey work especially well.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 280 | Protein: 9g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 48g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 210mg