An ode to the groat GOAT

Over the course of a busy weekend, flanked by Year of the Dragon’s start and the Super Bowl, we quietly lost a legend. Bob Moore, of Bob’s Red Mill, passed away at an enviable 94 years old. 

I don’t remember when Bob’s Red Mill entered my life, its charming packaging exuding a real OG Earth Day vibe, but it’s never left. Bob’s products always live in my pantry. And, frankly, I hope that never changes. I assume — and I care not to fact check this in the slightest — that every bag bearing his name contains food processed on the same pastoral millstone. Sourced from the same gorgeous red barn, enveloped by some bucolic pasture.

See, whole grain values were always instilled in my life. That one should always ask for whole wheat toast (a healthy complement to diner eggs, bacon, and home fries) or brown rice (which transforms General Tso’s chicken into a nutritious meal with the help of broccoli). And, as far as brands goes: I could always trust Bob’s Red Mill to deliver a wonderful whole wheat option. Nourishing, in the realest sense of the world.

Bob, well, he had the opportunity to sell out, but chose to operate his company within his values, growing with an employee stock ownership plan instead of extracting the most amount of dollars from every grind. I can only imagine how hard it was to resist (or maybe incredibly easy for one with such an altruistic, macrobiotic personality). And yet still grocery stores across this country are lined with his products. And not just a few.

Dark rye flour. Vital wheat gluten. Oat groats. The amount of shelf space this man took up was insane. And thanks to Bob, I’ve been able to experiment with making seitan, pasta, and the best kasha I’ve ever had. Most recently, I’m going to recommend the buckwheat pancake mix (I swap water for oat milk, toss in some berries, maybe add in some cinnamon spice). And no matter what, it feels nourishing. In a way that most products with a farmhouse on their packaging can never deliver. Bob’s Red Mill has one thing that I think most brands can only strive for: my utter trust. 

Bob, thanks for grinding all these years. You were a real one. You might not have an enormous advertising budget, but you certainly built a legacy. Let’s eat.