Better oatmeal, made at home

For years, the egg has ruled the breakfast table like a sun god—worshipped, aestheticized, endlessly fiddled with by men in starched aprons and women with ring lights. Everyone has their method: Alton Brown swears by a dollop of mayonnaise; Martha Stewart sometimes froths hers in a cappuccino maker.

There was a time, not so long ago, when the internet spoke in yolk. Forks broke through liquid gold in slow motion; brunch videos were scored to “Let’s Get It On.” (I once posted one myself before my mother, horrified, sent a text that simply read: Take that down. She wasn’t wrong. Eggs are hot.)

But lately, the heat has shifted. In the soft glow of morning cafés, I see it everywhere: oatmeal, ascendant.

Oatmeal, the once-humble slop of Puritans and heart-healthy dads, now served in ribbed ceramic bowls under a snowfall of hemp hearts and bee pollen. Starbucks has it. McDonald’s, too. Here in Chicago, every coffee shop worth its salt now ladles out some steaming permutation of oat mush with a swirl of tahini or jam, SQIRL-style. There are oatfluencers. Gen Z, in its infinite ability to rehabilitate the uncool, has decided that porridge is pleasure. And honestly? It’s about time.

Temperatures are dropping, grocery prices keep climbing, and there’s a small, almost alchemical satisfaction in transforming the blandest, cheapest grain in the aisle into a breakfast worth lingering over. Maybe that’s the quiet seduction of oatmeal: it rewards attention. A spoonful of brown sugar becomes caramel as it melts; diced apples collapse into little pockets of warmth; cinnamon laces the air with something almost nostalgic. When life feels pared down, this humble porridge feels like an invitation to make the most of less—to stir, to season, to play. And if even the simplest bowl can be a revelation, imagine what happens when you go bespoke.

Here’s how.

Prep toppings, not just the oats

Before we get to the overnight-oat debate (and oh, we will), a small ritual suggestion: if you’re declaring this your “oatmeal week,” spend a quiet Sunday half-hour making toppings. It doesn’t have to be a full project — just a few trays in the oven while you do laundry or scroll idly. Roast a pan of maple-glazed apples until they slump into themselves; toss some nuts and seeds with cinnamon and salt; maybe crisp a few strips of brown-sugar bacon until they’re practically candy. A jar of homemade pumpkin butter, if you’re feeling ambitious, turns even the most ascetic bowl into a minor celebration. The point isn’t perfection — it’s having one homemade flourish that makes Monday morning feel considered, not grim.

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Salt like a baker

Salt, salt and then salt again. The same rule that applies to cookies applies to oatmeal: seasoning is seduction. A pinch of sea salt in a sweet bowl doesn’t just make it taste “better”—it deepens everything, sharpens the butter, brightens the fruit, makes the brown sugar taste like caramel instead of syrup. For savory oats, I go one step further and whisk in a little white miso, which gives the whole thing a quiet, savory hum. And don’t stop there—some of the best toppings play both sides of the flavor spectrum. Salted nuts and seeds, a spoonful of nut butter, even a sprinkle of bacon bits, roasted grains, or crushed pretzels (yes, pretzels!) can take a humble bowl into full-on craving territory.

(Alexandr Kolesnikov/Getty Images ) Oatmeal with raspberries and toppings

Use the right oats — and the rice cooker

Let’s be honest: most overnight oats fail not because the concept is flawed, but because the oats are. I have nothing against a little tub of dark-chocolate Mush after the gym (it’s cold, protein-packed and vaguely virtuous) but as an actual breakfast, overnight oats often veer into the texture zone of regret. The culprit? The wrong grain. Instant oats are cut fine and processed to absorb liquid fast, which means that after a night in the fridge they collapse into paste. Steel-cut or Irish oats, on the other hand, are practically bionic — too sturdy to surrender to mere soaking, and still pebble-firm come morning.

The sweet spot is the humble old-fashioned rolled oat: the platonic ideal of porridge texture. It’s pliant but still has a little chew, and it behaves beautifully whether you cook it on the stove or leave it to swell overnight in milk.

In my mind, stovetop will always be the monarch of methods — warmth adds its own kind of tenderness — but for weekday ease, my secret weapon is the rice cooker. It makes the most perfect, hands-off oats: soft, fragrant, and ready before you’ve had your first sip of coffee.

Raid the fancy jam aisle

Self-explanatory, yes — but transformative. When I’m dreaming up new oatmeal combinations, I start where any self-respecting hedonist would: the jam aisle of a fancy little corner store. Every jar is a mood board. A glossy pumpkin butter practically begs for chopped pecans, a spoonful of almond butter and a whisper of cream cheese. Grate in a little carrot and suddenly you’ve made breakfast cosplay as carrot cake. Or take a bright yuzu marmalade: pair it with black sesame seeds, flaked coconut, a drizzle of coconut cream, a swirl of tahini, and a scatter of lime zest.

Tea and coffee, please

Steep your oats like you steep tea. Yes, really. Earl Grey oats. Lavender-cream oats. Chai-spiced oats. The infusion transforms the grain: delicate, fragrant, subtly flavored. Breakfast suddenly feels like a small, personal ritual rather than a hurried, utilitarian task.

(Magda Tymczyj / Getty Images) Creamy chocolate oatmeal topped with berries, chocolate chunks and coconut

Get creative with dairy and dairy-free options

The most decadent oatmeal I’ve ever had came from a room-service tray: heavy cream, three pats of melting salted butter,  a tiny jar of Bonne Maman strawberry jam and a tin of spiced nuts. Worth every calorie if your aim is restaurant-level indulgence. Good cream, good butter, can’t lose.

That said, I understand the desire to avoid a daily cream extravaganza. On a weekday, butter is far more transformative for texture and flavor than cream, so it’s worth keeping in the rotation.

But don’t stop there. Oatmeal thrives on dairy and non-dairy alike: almond or oat milk, a spoonful of mascarpone, dollops of ricotta or labneh, tangy flavored yogurt, a little goat cheese. For savory oats, the sky is wide open: briny feta, sharp white cheddar, a dusting of Parm for a cacio e pepe riff—each adds its own note.

Use the good stuff (yes, even on oatmeal)

This isn’t about buying things for the sake of buying things. It’s about giving yourself a reason — and a place — to actually use the fancy little ingredients that end up gathering dust on the back shelf. I work in food, and still, every time I reach for something above the “economy” label, I feel a small pang of guilt, like I’m splurging where I shouldn’t. It’s a reflex I’m still unlearning. But oatmeal, of all things, feels like a balm for that guilt: a utilitarian canvas worthy of a little luxury.

Seek out the quiet indulgences that make a big difference over the course of a season. Candied orange peel. Dark chocolate chunks. A spoonful of good tahini. Vietnamese cinnamon that actually smells like something. A drizzle of wildflower honey that tastes faintly of sunlight. When the base is humble, the smallest extravagance reads as grace.