marbled banana bread

     I'm not entirely sure which direction I want to take this blog. Looking at my recent posts, I tend to be serious, and I try to tell a story or make a meaningful insight into non-food related topics. And I like that! I want to learn to write, as well as bake and take photos. Good writing makes my heart all a-flutter, especially on food blogs.
     On the other hand, perhaps this blog is a little too somber for its teenaged author. I ought to lighten up, engage in some one-sided banter, tell you about how my family devoured an entire pan of brownies in one day or whatever. Perhaps that's more reader-friendly. Perhaps I would be more popular if I kept my posts easy-to-read, with attention-grabbing titles.
     But I don't want to pander to the audience. I don't want to turn into one of those people whose blogs are so overwhelming for all the "Follow me on Pinterest!" buttons and ads and recipe roundups and giveaways. I would be content to sit in my little corner of the blogosphere, without a graphic designer and custom code and my own URL. It's a dilemma I'm sure every blogger faces, balancing the desire for more blog traffic with the desire for a personal, genuine, heartfelt voice. For now, though, I think the latter takes greater precedence in my heart.
     So, no, this banana bread wasn't vegan (though it would have been if I had used non-dairy milk) or entirely healthy, or 2-ingredient or gluten-free. It's a moist loaf of banana bread, with serpentine swirls of rich chocolate. I baked it for a friend's 16th birthday party a while back, because I always look for the excuse to bake! And yes, it was devoured. That makes me happier than any number of repins.

pear-cinnamon baked oatmeal

   
     Mornings, for me, are quiet. On school days, I wake up at 5:30 AM to the beep of a lab timer (ubiquitous in our household of scientists). I change, brush my teeth, and do my hair in complete silence. But I don't usually notice the stillness of the morning - thoughts swirl in my head, and the constant monologue prepares me for the day to come.
     Weekday mornings usually mean breakfast is a simple affair. My repertoire includes oatmeal cooked on the stove-top, egg white omelettes, bowls of Greek yogurt and fruit, frozen homemade pancakes, and (though it sounds odd) mashed sweet potatoes topped with fried eggs. I microwave a mug of water, take my multivitamins, and eat breakfast while browsing the Internet on my iPad. Then I bundle up and venture into the inky darkness of the morning to wait for the bus in the cold air.

     Weekends are a different concern. I frequently prepare something more involved than a bowl of oatmeal. Oftentimes, I plan it out, eagerly anticipating what I'll make on Saturday morning. If it involves yeast, I'll make the dough on Friday and let it proof in the refrigerator overnight. In the lazy morning light of Saturday, I cook a breakfast fit for a king. Or just for myself.
     In this case, I made baked oatmeal. Only small step up from normal oatmeal, perhaps, but something about having the time to put a dish in the oven and eat it at a leisurely pace, rather than constantly checking the time and hurriedly putting something in my mouth, is comforting. The pears turn soft and buttery, a contrast to the hearty texture of the oats. It's satisfying and rustic, I enjoyed this dish thoroughly. In fact, I put it in the fridge and ate it throughout the week. It was perfect for my silently harried mornings, a reminder of calmer times ahead.