The chia leader of good breakfasts
Here are 11 childhood cruelties I have no intention of inflicting on my own offspring: Polo neck skivvies. Hogget chops. Charley Pride on the car stereo. Passive pipe smoking (thanks Dad). Pudding bowl haircuts (thanks Mum). A wooden spoon to the patootie. Junket. Nuddy bathtime photos for teenage humiliation. Taking a dunny spade deep into the bush to defecate in a hole of their own making on tramping trips. The Sunlight Soap solution to swearing. And Weet-Bix for breakfast.
Give me porridge, scrambled eggs, plum jam on toast, hot coffee and a cinnamon scroll or a bowl of last night’s leftovers, but please don’t make me eat Weet-Bix again. Cold and crunchy, warm and soggy or smothered in sugar and cream: it matters not a jot to me.
A bowl of Weet-Bix, in my honest opinion, comes second only to All Bran as an instrument of early morning taste-bud torture.
The All Blacks might polish off a Jenga-stack in a single sitting, but I’d rather eat the Weet-Bix box. (In the interests of journalistic fairness, I should say that my husband eats WeetBix. A lot of Weet-Bix. He was raised on them and still downs half a dozen before he departs for work at dawn each day. To be honest, this makes me love him just a little less, and not just because of his conservative palate, but because he leaves his breakfast dishes in the sink, the spoon mortared to the bowl in a wholegrain cement.)
Despite the advertising jingle, Kiwi kids aren’t all Weet-Bix kids.
In Nelson, schoolday breakfasts at food writer Nicola Galloway’s home are an elegant affair, with daughter Mika, 7, and son Teo, 5, polishing off homemade sourdough with local honey and Pic’s peanut butter, or muesli, bottled fruit and cream followed by eggs on toast.
There’s often a second course, such as French toast with bacon, porridge with apricot compote or buckwheat crepes with caramelised apples.
‘‘We take breakfast seriously in our house,’’ Galloway writes in her new book Homegrown Kitchen ($49.99, published by Potton & Burton, or from her website homegrownkitchen.co.nz).
It’s an elegant and comprehensive book, 18 years in the making, and combines her many talents as a qualified nutritionist, chef, mother and gardener.
Galloway – almost – makes me want to eat kale for breakfast (her version sounds so nice, sauteed with smokey tamari seeds and sunny folded eggs) but I suspect her Oat and Chia Bircher is much more my style.
‘‘This is one of my favourite on-therun weekday breakfasts,’’ Galloway says. ‘‘The mix is prepared in the evening, soaked overnight and simple toppings added in the morning. The chia seeds are optional, but they do add a lovely texture as well as a boost of omega-3 and soluble fibre.’’
Gently heat 11⁄2 cups of milk (dairy or plant-based) in a saucepan and pour over cup (50g) rolled oats, 2 tablespoons chia seeds, 1 tablespoon lemon juice, 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon and a pinch of salt. Stir to combine, then cover and set aside to soak overnight. Spoon into bowls or travel jars – ideal if, like me, you time your school run to arrive the nanosecond before the bell rings – and top with a drizzle of maple syrup or honey, a splash of cream, seasonal or bottled fruit and a sprinkling of chopped nuts.
I am not a morning person. The early bird can keep its worms, for I prefer to keep company with the possums and moreporks. I write at nights, when my children are asleep, and my head rarely hits the hay before the witching hour.
For me, mornings are to be endured, not enjoyed, especially as, instead of ships passing in the night, my boys often seek safe harbour in my bed.
As their dad leaves, they arrive, their foghorn voices sounding off more effectively than any alarm clock, demanding to know what’s for breakfast.
This morning, I adopted Galloway’s idea of a breakfast in two sittings. I fed my children grilled cheddar and shaved ham on rye (OK, it was a toasted sandwich) followed by a bowl of wholegrain wheat and oats sweetened with Saccharum officinarum and Theobroma cacao (better known as Cocoa Pops ChocOs). It’s not that I’m a bad parent. I could have served sauteed kale with sunny folded eggs, except our free-range chooks ate all my kale before they went off the lay for winter.
For me, mornings are endured, not enjoyed, especially as my boys often seek safe harbour in my bed. As their dad leaves, they arrive, their foghorn voices sounding off more effectively than any alarm clock, demanding to know what's for breakfast.