Trail Mix Energy Bites

A heat dome this week. Three days at ninety-eight. The kitchen ran without the AC because the AC was overwhelmed. Yoga Tuesday and Thursday at the studio. The classes were full. The body was the body.

Miya, 10, can shape onigiri without falling apart. She uses wet hands. She knows the order without being told. I called Ken in Sacramento. The pauses are longer now. I asked about the daikon. He told me, slowly, about the recent harvest. He grew six. They were perfect.

Rice bowls all week. Different toppings each night. The rice cooker the small steady engine.

Barbara called Sunday. We talked for twenty minutes. She told me about the play she is directing. I told her about the kitchen.

The chipped bowl. The chain extends.

I texted Miya a photo of the shiso. She texted back a heart and a single word: home.

The newsletter went out Sunday morning. The opening line took an hour. The piece took five. The piece was what it needed to be.

A reader sent me a handwritten card this week. Her grandmother had cooked Japanese food in 1970s Boise. She had felt alone in it. The newsletter, she wrote, made her feel less alone. I taped the card to the wall above my desk.

Coffee with a friend Saturday morning. We talked about books, about kids, about the way our forties became our fifties. The talking is the thing.

A panic flicker Tuesday evening, brief, manageable. I breathed. I drank water. I went outside and walked around the block. The flicker passed. The body did its work.

Made dashi at five-thirty AM. Ten minutes in the kitchen alone with the kombu and the bonito flakes. The day's first prayer.

The cat was the cat. Mochi at fifteen sleeps most of the day. She still eats with enthusiasm. She still sits at the kitchen window watching the back garden.

Miya is in elementary school. The Saturday Japanese school continues. She still complains. She is still going.

The rain in long sheets Tuesday afternoon. I made tea. I watched it from the porch. The cottonwoods on the next block were silver in the wet.

The neighbor's dog barked at nothing for twenty minutes Sunday afternoon. The neighbor apologized. I told him I had been writing through it and the white noise was helpful. He laughed.

Tomi watered the garden Saturday morning. The shiso was head-high. The shishito peppers were producing. The kabocha was running on the fence.

Therapy Tuesday. We talked about the wedding. We talked about Barbara. We talked about Fumiko. The hour passed. The work continues.

Sunday farmers market in the rain. The vendors knew me. The Hood River apple stand had honeycrisps. I bought four pounds.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. Wiped the counters. Reorganized the drawer where the chopsticks live. Sharpened the knife. The reset was the reset.

I read for an hour Sunday night. A book of essays by a Korean-American writer about food and grief. I underlined a paragraph that said exactly what I had been trying to say in the newsletter for months.

I drove to Uwajimaya Wednesday. Kombu, bonito flakes, white miso, a small bag of mochiko for tomorrow's project. The store smells like home.

Yoga Tuesday morning. The studio in Sellwood. Eight students. The class was the class.

Miya's old room is now my office. The desk is by the window. The shiso outside. The newsletter in progress. The afternoons are quiet.

I made onigiri for tomorrow's lunch. Three triangles. Salted plum in the center. Wrapped in nori. The cling wrap. The drawer where I keep them. The system.

The rice cooker handled dinner all week, and the onigiri handled lunch, but the in-between hours — the walk around the block after the panic flicker, the bag I packed for Tuesday yoga, the afternoon I spent at my desk watching the shiso sway — those hours needed something smaller and ready. These energy bites are not Japanese food. They are not precious. But they are made by hand, they fit in a pocket, and on a week when the AC was overwhelmed and the body was doing its best work quietly, that was enough. I make a batch on Sunday and they carry me through.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes (including chill) | Servings: 20 bites

Ingredients

1 cup old-fashioned rolled oats
1/2 cup creamy peanut butter or almond butter
1/3 cup honey
1/2 cup mini chocolate chips
1/4 cup ground flaxseed
1/4 cup dried cranberries or raisins
1/4 cup roasted sunflower seeds or chopped mixed nuts
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Pinch of fine sea salt

Instructions

Combine dry ingredients. In a large mixing bowl, stir together the rolled oats, ground flaxseed, chocolate chips, dried cranberries, and sunflower seeds until evenly distributed.
Add wet ingredients. Add the peanut butter, honey, vanilla extract, and sea salt. Stir until everything is thoroughly combined and the mixture holds together when pressed. If it feels too dry, add one additional tablespoon of honey; if too wet, add a small handful of oats.
Chill the mixture. Cover the bowl and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes. This firms up the mixture and makes rolling much easier.
Roll into bites. Using about 1 tablespoon of mixture per bite, roll between your palms into compact balls roughly 1 inch in diameter. Set on a parchment-lined baking sheet or plate.
Store. Transfer finished bites to an airtight container. Refrigerate for up to one week, or freeze in a single layer then transfer to a zip bag for up to three months.

Nutrition (per serving)

Trail Mix Energy Bites — Small Things That Sustain You