I’d never tasted homemade granola until I was in my early twenties, when my friend Dorie gifted me with some that her mother had made. I remember opening the bag doubtfully, expecting some hard-to-chew cereal product I might be temped to feed to a horse.

Just for frame of reference, this was back in 1980-something, when granola was regarded as an outdated by-product of the seventies, right up there with crocheted plant cozies made from hemp fiber and men sporting four-inch wide sideburns.

But just like Oprah, I had an “Aha!” moment right then and there. Too bad my moment didn’t foreshadow the possibility of making my fortune selling fifteen-dollar bags of granola in fancy food stores, as I’m sure Oprah’s would have.

No, it wasn’t my instinct for making money that was awakened, but my sense of what “homemade” meant. This granola was so unlike the achingly sweet stuff I was used to eating out of a box it was like a different category of food altogether. It smelled of butter and vanilla; each grain and seed tasted fresh and toasted. There were sesame seeds in there, I remember, and nice crunchy clumps of oats. I ate it all and then wanted more.

I begged Dorie to ask her mom for the recipe, but she never delivered it. Apparently that granola was a closely guarded family recipe. What is it with people and their secret recipes? I’ve never understood the urge to protect a recipe. Why not share the love?

I went on a search mission to replicate the granola recipe. I came close with one batch from Marion Cunningham’s The Breakfast Book, but it wasn’t quite the same. I finally settled on the formula below, which is based on one that I think came from an issue of Gourmet magazine circa 1990 or so (since all I have is the an index card, I can’t be sure).

This recipe makes a good-sized batch of granola; you can keep it in a covered container for two weeks or so, or be generous and give some to friends – and don’t forget to pass along the recipe.

And if Dorie is out there, I’d still love to know your mom’s secret!