That's a crunchy tune, man.

Note: This post is dedicated to a Ms. Stanko, who needed a crunchy recipe in her life.

I love crunch. It has texture. It has sound. It talks back. It strums to the beat of your jaw. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. You can swing your hips to it. Tasty music.

Maybe I prefer to crunch because I hate tasting silence. My limbs fly every which way and my legs go all wobbly. I fight silence with the power of giggles and cheeks full of blush.

Example:

My partner and I went to a lovely little bakery with the promise of free day-old artisan bread and biscotti. The young lady working behind the counter was perfectly nice, if a little hesitant. I'm probably intimidating. I'm normally a friendly person. Certainly polite.

But it seems everywhere I go a thick, clumsy fog nips at my heels. My normally articulate conversation devolved into babbles and grunts, and I did this odd shuffle/spin/shuffle combination when it was my turn to order. Then it was the cash register. Why is that when I had to pay for my goodie [I chose chocolate biscotti], I went limp and radiated a ruddy pink? I think it is the horrible silence that fell over the counter. The silence that stood between me and my dunk-able dessert. The silence of invisible information channels approving my out-of-state debit card. The silence of the cashier calculating the slim tip I gave her. The silence of wanting something extra. I barely remember the "Have a lovely day!" I wished the cashier, as I shuffled/spun/shuffled away from the counter so quickly I nearly tripped over the clumsy fog that followed me in.

The fog dissipated as soon as I lifted the biscotti to my lips and crunched through its buttery core. Crunch crunch crunch. I can breathe. Crunch. My cheeks cooled, though they remained a light pink (as they always do). Crunch. The sound of wanting something extra. Crunch. An extra I can hear. Crunch. A want I can swing my hips to.

Should you so desire a crunchy conversation with your food, I am here to share the crunchiest recipe I have. I'm talking Funkadelic crunchy. The kind of crunchy that makes you want to drop out of college to buy new Birkentocks and learn how to play bass guitar. If you enjoy the liberating crunch as much as I do, you will find this granola delectable.

Cherry-almond granola

Adapted from Everybody Likes Sandwiches

[Makes enough to fill the better part of a Ziploc freezer bag]

2 cups rolled oats
1 tsp cinnamon
pinch of nutmeg
1/4 tsp salt
3 Tbs oil (I used Safflower)
1/4 cup honey, warmed slightly
1/4 cup brown sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
3/4 cup whole almonds (any nut will do)
2/3 cup dried cherries

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. In a large mixing bowl, toss oats with cinnamon, nutmeg and salt. In a separate bowl, whisk together the oil, honey, brown sugar and vanilla until they are one. Pour the honeyed mixture into the oat mixture and use your hands to combine the two until everything is mingling and gooey. Don't forget to rise your hands before you go on to the next steps (as I did).

Cover a baking sheet with parchment paper and pour the mixture over top. Spread evenly. Bake for 5 minutes. Open the oven and use a spatula or a wooden spoon to stir your granola. Before sliding the pan back into the oven, sprinkle the cherries and almonds over the granola. Resist urge to eat scalding hot granola. Bake another 5 to 8 minutes, or until golden brown and fragrant. Really trust your nose during the second round of baking, as I have lost many a batch of granola to stringently suggested baking times.

When your nose has told you it's done, remove the baking sheet from the oven and let the granola cool completely. I like to eat my granola with yogurt and blueberries, as a proper Washington State 'hippie' is wont to do. Store in an airtight container and enjoy when you need some texture and crunch in your life.