Banana Oatmeal — The Food of Not-Being-Okay

April. The cruelest month, according to T.S. Eliot. He wasn't wrong. New Jersey is the second-hardest-hit state. The hospital is overwhelmed. Raj is seeing COVID patients now — not just the cardiac complications but the full spectrum. He told me about a patient who died on Tuesday — a sixty-eight-year-old man, diabetic, who came in with shortness of breath and was gone in four days. Sixty-eight. Amma is sixty-seven. I cannot think about this. I think about it constantly. The pharmacy is in crisis mode. Drug shortages — hydroxychloroquine (which doesn't work but people are hoarding it), sedatives for ventilated patients, even basic medications are becoming scarce. I'm on calls with suppliers every morning, managing inventory like wartime logistics. The pharmacist in me is useful. The mother in me is falling apart. Anaya's Montessori is closed indefinitely. She's home all day, every day, and she's started having tantrums — the kind that shake her whole body, that come from nowhere and last forever. She's twenty-one months old and her world has contracted to one house, one parent (Raj is barely here), no friends, no Paati, no playground. I hold her during the tantrums. I don't try to fix them — I just hold her and let her rage because she can't say what she's feeling and neither can I. I'm eating. Not cooking — eating. There's a difference. Cooking is intentional, creative, an act of love. Eating at midnight, standing at the refrigerator, spooning peanut butter from the jar while scrolling news headlines on my phone — that's not cooking. That's surviving. I made nothing intentional this week. Survival meals: rice and dal, scrambled eggs, toast. The spice cabinet is full but I can't reach for it. The generous pinch requires generosity I don't have. The blog is quiet. I haven't posted in three weeks. My readers don't need to hear about sambar right now. They need to hear that someone else is standing at the refrigerator at midnight, eating peanut butter, trying not to cry. Maybe I'll write about that. The midnight peanut butter. The food of not-being-okay.

I wrote about standing at the refrigerator at midnight, eating peanut butter, and I meant every word — but when morning came and Anaya needed something warm before another endless day inside, I found I could manage this: a banana, some oats, five minutes. It’s not sambar. It’s not anything I would have posted here three months ago. But the generous pinch I couldn’t reach for this week isn’t in this recipe, and right now that’s exactly why it exists. If you’re also surviving, make this.

Banana Oatmeal

Prep Time: 2 minutes | Cook Time: 5 minutes | Total Time: 7 minutes | Servings: 1

Ingredients

• 1 ripe banana, sliced
• 1/2 cup old-fashioned rolled oats
• 1 cup water or milk of choice
• Pinch of salt
• 1 teaspoon honey or maple syrup (optional)
• 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon (optional)

Instructions

1. Combine. Add oats, liquid, and salt to a small saucepan over medium heat.
2. Cook. Stir occasionally and cook for 4—5 minutes, until oats have absorbed most of the liquid and reached your preferred consistency.
3. Add banana. Remove from heat and stir in half the banana slices, mashing them gently into the oats so they melt in and sweeten everything naturally.
4. Top and serve. Spoon into a bowl and top with remaining banana slices. Add honey and cinnamon if you have the energy. It’s good either way.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 210 | Protein: 5g | Fat: 3g | Carbs: 43g | Fiber: 5g | Sodium: 95mg