Oatmeal bread and a case of the Januaries

I called my Grandma recently and asked how she was doing. With a sigh, she said she was suffering a case of the Januaries. “What’s that?” I asked. She replied that it meant she didn’t have much energy to cook or do much of anything. That’s certainly not a good way to feel.

Do you ever suffer a case of the Januaries? After December, which is a lively month filled with festivities, gifts and fellowship, I can see how some would think that January is something of a letdown with its cold, short days. I, however, view January as a time to recharge my batteries—it’s a fresh start! And since, fortunately, I am not suffering a case of the Januaries (though check back with me in February when I usually start shaking my fist at a mocking sun that gives off more light but still refuses to emit any heat ), I decided it would be nice to bake my grandmother some bread. But not just any bread—I decide to bake her a loaf of her mother’s oatmeal bread.

When I spent time with my grandparents last summer, we had a blast going through all of the family recipes. Every dish came with a story, but Grandma especially lit up when we came across the card for Great-Grandma Gibson’s oatmeal bread. “That’s my favorite,” said Grandma. Great-Grandma Gibson’s oatmeal bread wasn’t an everyday thing—she only baked it about once a week. But when Grandma would wake up and see a loaf cooling in the kitchen, she knew it was going to be a great day. She recalled one time when she came home from college and Great-Grandma had just pulled a loaf out the oven. “I was so hungry and it smelled so good, I probably ate most of the loaf with some butter (or maybe it was peanut butter),” she said.



I’d never made Great-Grandma Gibson’s oatmeal bread, but had eaten it on a few occasions as both my grandma and my mom have been known to bake it when a craving hits. And since it’s such a beloved treat, I decided that this cold winter evening would be perfect for firing up the oven and baking some history.

I found my copy of Great-Grandma Gibson’s recipe card and the directions were brief. My grandmother at some point had penciled in a couple of modifications, but I had to squint to read the light marks on the too-dark copy I’d made. Fortunately, I had all the ingredients on hand, and as her recipe makes two loaves I was pleased that I would get to save one for myself.

The dough takes some time as I used non-instant oats that Great-Grandma recommended let steep in hot milk for a couple of hours. And her original ingredient list called for yeast, yet there was no mention of letting the dough rise. I finally made out a faint handwritten word that said “rise,” so after mixing all the ingredients I kneaded the dough until it was smooth (though Mom later told me that kneading is not necessary, which is part of the recipe’s charm and ease). I then formed two round loaves and let them rise for an hour or so. After they had doubled in size, I brushed them with a milk wash, sprinkled some oats on top and slid them into the oven. There was no indication on how long to bake the bread, so after forty-five minutes I checked on them and when I thumped the bottoms they sounded hollow. The bread was done!

Pulling the fragrant loaves out of the oven, I couldn’t wait for them to cool—I sliced off a thick piece, slathered it in butter and took a bite. And I then understood how my grandma ate almost a whole loaf in one sitting as each bite was slightly sweet and nutty with a moist, soft crumb. It was heavenly.

So Grandma, your loaf of oatmeal bread is in the mail. And may it help your case of the Januaries go away!

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