From the Braver Institute
In the past I have written about how breakfast is the most important meal of the day for me (beyond the science of breakfast supposedly being the most important meal of the day for everyone). I love breakfast mostly because of bacon, although sausage, ham, and steak are all close runners-up. You could say that breakfast is almost sacred for me.
Anyway, a while back I was a guest at a weekend function where I had to spend the night. Meals were to be provided by the hosting organization, and it was all supposed to be a good time, and it was—until breakfast was served.
Now I don’t know what it was that I was expecting for breakfast, but it certainly wasn’t what was served. The others in the group seemed very pleased by the fact that breakfast appeared to be something in a large serving bowl. I, on the other hand, was confident that the bowl contained what I unaffectionately call “antibreakfast.” You guessed it—the bowl was full of oatmeal. YUCK with a capital yuck.
I have a theory that I can support with mountains of evidence that nobody really likes oatmeal. I have seen so much in my life to support this theory that I would almost declare it a fact. Now you, at this very moment, while reading these words, may have a mouthful of the cursed mush. You may be saying “But Braver, I like oatmeal.” To that I would say “Don’t talk with your mouth full” and “No you don’t.”
Want the proof?
As I watched the others in the group joyfully scoop gobs of this grain-based goo into bowls, I sat and waited for my theory to prove itself. Every one of them did exactly what I knew they would do. They all doctored up their bowls of oatmeal with brown sugar, cinnamon, fruit and anything else they could find to make their oatmeal taste like something that it is not. Oatmeal does not taste good. Oatmeal is just a vehicle for something else. Not a single person ate their oatmeal plain.
If oatmeal itself were so incredibly good, in variety packs of instant oatmeal they would include a pack of plain, but they don’t, do they? That is because no one likes the stuff. I suppose there may be a variety pack out there somewhere that contains plain oatmeal, but I guarantee that it is there so you can flavor it up yourself.
The supernatural power of bacon flavor couldn’t even help oatmeal for me.
“But I like oatmeal cookies!” you may protest, well so do I, but it isn’t for the oatmeal. Oatmeal provides a surface for all the good tasting stuff to cling to. Once again, it is the delivery vehicle. At least the cookies don’t have the consistency of warm cement.
Oatmeal isn’t the only food that no one likes yet people claim that they do. No, it has a companion in this area.
While eating my breakfast of toast and an orange slice (at least there was something I could eat) the others looked up from their bowls of flavor-enhanced gruel and declared that it looked like dessert was on its way. Dessert?—I thought—for breakfast? Wouldn’t that be the fruit? In the hands of the approaching waitstaff were more bowls. This can’t be good.
Had I known that I would be sitting down to the double-header of anti-breakfast that morning, I would have wandered around in the woods looking for a Euell Gibbons breakfast. Sticks and bark would have been infinitely better than what landed at the table next. You guessed it—the bowls being brought out contained yogurt. YUCK with a capital yuck.
I have a theory that I can support with mountains of evidence, that nobody really likes yogurt. I have seen so much in my life to support this theory that I would almost declare it...wait a second...I’ll tell you what, this will save me a bunch of time and keep me from sounding redundant. Go back to the fifth or sixth paragraph of this text, and everywhere you read the word “oatmeal” just replace it with the word “yogurt,” because the exact same thing happened with the yogurt, and everything that follows almost perfectly holds true for yogurt. When you get done reading it again you can return here to read the last line.
See, I told you that no one really likes oatmeal or yogurt.
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