How it Began
I started Marge in 2010 in the San Francisco Bay Area. At the time, I’d been laid off from my job teaching high school English and began working in the catering department at a local restaurant. I’d bake in my free time, and I somehow managed to convince the baking team at work to let me train with them on the weekends. Soon I decided I wanted to go at it alone, so I rented commercial kitchen space in the evenings and prepped pies, cookies and brownies that I sold at our local farmers markets on the weekends.
How it Grew
One lucky day in 2012, The Wall Street Journal called and said they needed me to overnight them granola; one of their writers had the chance to try it at the farmers market and fell in love. They wanted to cover it in the paper. When the piece came out, our online store exploded and orders streamed in from all across the country. My husband Sam helped make spreadsheets and fill orders and we tried not to panic. Around the same time, I’d started bringing samples of granola to all my favorite stores, trying to convince them to carry it on their shelves. It often worked. Today, I no longer sell pies and cookies; granola is our main focus. I relocated the business to Seattle, WA and today we have our own kitchen and produce granola for local farmers markets, large grocery chains, smaller retail shops, and our own online store.
Why More Granola?
If you’re anything like me, you marvel at the choices of muesli and granola when you walk down the cereal aisle. It’s endless. So how is our granola different? When I started Marge, I was making a granola that I often ate at home with far less sugar than most store bought brands – one that was truly loaded with nuts, seeds and dried fruit and that was, obviously, freshly baked. This is the granola people want: a blend with immense personality, color, and bold flavor without all the sugar and preservatives. So that’s what we do. We specialize in small-batch granolas and cereals using organic grains, lots of good nuts and seeds, olive oil, organic Vermont maple syrup, and our signature blend of warm spices. We bake each batch slowly at a low temperature to give it that characteristic toastiness. And yes, I still eat it each week.
These days, Marge Granola is more of a team effort rather than a one-woman show. We have an operations manager and a small baking and farmers market team. And while I’m not in front of the ovens as much as I’d like to be, I’m so proud that we’re making a consistent product that people really love – that families bring us into their kitchens each week for breakfast. That feels like a really big deal to me, and I’m so grateful that we’ve earned their trust and it’s allowed us to keep doing what we love to do: feed you in the morning.
For a peek at our flavor offerings, new recipes, and ordering information, visit our website for more information.
Healthy Comfort Food
People describe raising young kids as a particular season in life. I hadn't heard this until we had a baby, but it brought me a lot of comfort when I'd start to let my mind wander, late at night between feedings, to fears that we'd never travel internationally again or have a sit-down meal in our dining room. Would I ever eat a cardamom bun in Sweden? Soak in Iceland? I loved the heck out of our tiny Oliver, but man what had we done?! Friends would swoop in and reassure us that this was just a season, a blip in the big picture of it all. They promised we'd likely not even remember walking around the house in circles singing made-up songs while eating freezer burritos at odd hours of the day (or night). And it's true.
Oliver is turning two next month, and those all-encompassing baby days feel like a different time, a different Us. In many ways, dare I say it, Toddlerhood actually feels a bit harder. Lately Oliver has become extremely opinionated about what he will and will not wear -- and he enforces these opinions with fervor. Don't get near the kid with a button-down shirt. This week at least. He's obsessed with his rain boots and if it were up to him, he'd keep them on at all times, especially during meals. He insists on ketchup with everything (I created a damn monster), has learned the word "trash" and insists on throwing found items away on his own that really, truly are not trash. I came to pick him up from daycare the other day and he was randomly wearing a bike helmet -- his teacher mentioned he'd had it on most of the day and really, really didn't want to take it off. The kid has FEELINGS. I love that about him, and wouldn't want it any other way. But, man it's also exhausting.
I just finished washing out Oliver's lunchbox and laying it out to dry for the weekend. My favorite time of day is (finally) here: the quiet of the evening when I can actually talk to Sam about our day or sit and reflect on my own thoughts after the inevitable dance party or band practice that precedes the bedtime routine lately. Before becoming pregnant for the second time, I'd have had a glass of wine with the back door propped open right about now -- these days though, I have sparkling water or occasionally take a sip from one of Sam's hard ciders. Except now the back door's closed and we even turned on the heat for the first time yesterday. The racing to water the lawn and clean the grill have been replaced by cozier dinners at home and longer baths in the evening. You blink and it's the first day of fall.
I'd heard from many friends that buying a house wasn't for the faint of heart. But I always shrugged it off, figuring I probably kept better files or was more organized and, really, how hard could it be? Well, I've started (and stopped) writing this post a good fifteen times which may indicate something. BUT! First thing's first: we bought a house! I think! I'm pretty sure! We're still waiting for some tax transcripts to come through and barring any hiccough with that, we'll be moving out of our beloved craftsman in a few weeks and down the block to a great, brick Tudor house that we wanted the second we laid eyes on it. The only problem: it seemed everyone else in Seattle had also laid eyes on it, and wanted it equally as much. I'm not really sure why the homeowner chose us in the end. Our offer actually wasn't the highest, but apparently there were some issues with a few of them. We wrote a letter introducing ourselves and describing why we'd be the best candidates and why we were so drawn to the house; we have a really wonderful broker who pulled out all the stops, and after sifting through 10 offers and spending a number of hours deliberating, they ended up going with ours. We were at a friend's book event at the time when Sam showed me the text from our broker and I kind of just collapsed into his arms. We were both in ecstatic denial (wait, is this real?! Did we just buy a house?) and celebrated by getting chicken salad and potato salad from the neighborhood grocery store and eating it, dazed, on our living room floor. Potato salad never tasted so good.
If your house is anything like ours, last week wasn't our most inspired in terms of cooking. We're all suffering from the post-election blues -- the sole upside being Oliver's decision to sleep-in until 7 am for the first time in many, many months; I think he's trying to tell us that pulling the covers over our heads and hibernating for awhile is ok. It's half-convincing. For much of the week, instead of cooking, there'd been takeout pizza and canned soup before, at week's end, I decided it was time to pour a glass of wine and get back into the kitchen. I was craving something hearty and comforting that we could eat for a few days. Something that wouldn't remind me too much of Thanksgiving because, frankly, I can't quite gather the steam to start planning for that yet. It was time for a big bowl of chili.
Porridge is not the sexiest of breakfasts, it's true. It doesn't have a stylish name like strata or shakshuka, and it doesn't have perfectly domed tops like your favorite fruity muffin. It doesn't crumble into delightful bits like a good scone nor does it fall into buttery shards like a well-made croissant. But when you wake up and it's 17 degrees outside (as it has been, give or take a few, for the last week), there's nothing that satisfies like a bowl of porridge or oatmeal. It's warm and hearty and can be made sweet or savory with any number of toppings. The problem? Over the years, it's gotten a bad rap as gluey or gummy or just downright boring or dutiful -- and it's because not everyone knows the secrets to making a great pot of warm morning cereal. So let's talk porridge (also: my cookbook comes out this month! So let's take a peek inside, shall we?)