ode to oatmeal

stumbled upon this this morning, & thought i would remind charlie about it...mabye he'll go through his blog someday, if it is still around. in any case, charlie, this post is for you! in case you ever stray from your love for the oatmeal!


I became reacquainted with an old friend this chilly morning. You see, I was out of milk for my usual cereal and I was already running late so cooking much for breakfast didn't appeal to me. And then I remembered: I have oatmeal.

Oatmeal's that old friend you haven't seen in five years but the conversation picks up like you just stepped out of the room for a second. Oatmeal doesn't bring any baggage; you won't have any grease or fat to regret, and you won't spend the rest of the morning burping up cilantro. You walk away from an oatmeal breakfast feeling full. Sated.

Loved.

Yes, oatmeal is the most homely of loves but its blandness, its plain visage is its very strength. There's virtually nothing you can't mix into oatmeal. Blueberries, maple syrup, bananas, apples, cinnamon, peaches & cream, or even savory elements like bacon can be added for a delightful early morning menage a trois with your steel cut partner.

Oatmeal is patient, too. Always cooling, never begging you to dive in too soon and burn the roof of your mouth. Oatmeal forgives all my past dalliances. Sure, in college I experimented with Pop Tarts and toastable Strudels. I've had sensual flings with benedicts, omelets, and biscuits and gravy. I've even had, against my better judgment and perhaps due to my own personal weakness, an on-again, off-again fling with Denny's. Sure, the siren song of eggs, sausage, bacon, hash browns, doughnuts, and the like is strong. But the grass isn't always so green, is it?

When I stumble home, clothes torn, lip bloodied and swearing that this time, this time is the last time that Moons Over My Hammy ever talks to me that way, Oatmeal is there to comfort me. To stick to my ribs and tell me it's all going to be okay and that yes, someone could find even me lovable.

And later when I fall into the same old trap with some breakfast burrito I just met, Oatmeal will sigh but bite its tongue; and it will wait for me to temporarily come to my senses again.
by Randy Cleveland on December 1, 2009 at 2:30 PM