Breaking Fast
[ 9 Comments ] Posted on 02.21.05 in food, observations
In the past few weeks, my mother has, much to the urging of my brother, brought back from Publix the various cereals of our childhood.
First, it was Golden Grahams. A cereal that is easily manageable, the flakes had just the proper amount of golden and not too much graham, making for a sustained box lifetime of approximately 23 hours.
Then, she brought home Life. This variation, however, was new: Honey Graham Life. While it sounded appetizing, it came off a bit strong at first taste. I think that this could have been an honest mistake on the part of the honey adder on the production line, I can still assure you that no, Mikey doesn’t like this one.
Last week was my favorite because Mom brought home Smacks. I’ve always been a fan of Honey Smacks. Not just for their sweet taste, but the added perk of flavored residual milk at the bottom of the bowl. Something about that little frog’s cereal is inexplicably wonderful. Plus, it comes in a giant box, allowing many indulgences.
This week, Mom brought us Kix. You know: “Kid Tested, Mother Approved.” I’ve been testing them for a while now and while they certainly are not in contention for the award of best cereal, they hold their own in the whole grain division, barely nudging out Cheerios from the race. They are essentially carbon copies of Cheerios, but Kix have a slight manageability advantage in that due to their largely spherical shape, they float in the milk and one does not have to go fishing for his cereal after a given time of submersion.
That’s been the cereal roster for the last few weeks. This week, I think I’ll lobby for Honeycomb. Or Cookie Crisp. Or Cocoa Puffs. Or Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Or Cap’n Crunch.
Oh God, I can’t decide. It’s times like this I wish I had more than one stomach, like a cow.
I’m the fastest kid at recess
[ No Comments ] Posted on 02.10.05 in food, high school
So, things are now on an upswing in my life thanks to the emergence of one of my new best friends in the world: Healthy Cow Chocolate Milk.
Apparently, the cafeteria gave up on the antiquated ways of subservience to Velda Farms. Now, the good folks at Healthy Cow Milk are making the world a little brighter, one half pint at a time.
Not only does this stuff taste way better; the boxes are a billion times more interesting. Back in the day when we had to read some corny joke and turn the carton entirely around to see the punch line, everyone had a pain in their arms from all the turning and a pain in the brain from the horrible, horrible joke. It was like watching television on an old black and white set while having a hand standing contest underwater – just silly and exhausting.
Now, however, we have clever quips at a horizontal level right there at our fingertips. Among the myriad of silly sentences, my personal favorite is, “It takes 100 cartons of Healthy Cow Milk to be as fast as the slowest Healthy Cow.”
Skunked again
[ No Comments ] Posted on 01.04.05 in bliss, food
I was quite hungry, indeed. I hadn’t eaten since dinner last night, which consisted of two unaccompanied hot dogs. So, about fifteen minutes ago I decided that I would overcome my laziness and general apathy toward actually making something to eat and make a lousy sandwich out of the (still) leftover Christmas ham.
I headed for the bread box and, upon arrival it seemed that the Gods of good sandwich fortune were smiling down upon me because, much to my surprise, there was bread left over from my long winter break. As luck had it, I took the last two slices and went on my way.
Then, I decided that I needed a condiment of some sort. Rather than go through the trouble of pulling a knife out of the drawer and yanking the mayonnaise from the inside door of the refrigerator, I opted for the item in the fridge that necessitated the least work on my part, the often neglected French’s yellow mustard. As I picked it up, though, I knew it was on its last leg, headed to that picnic basket in the dim yellow condiment sky. Though it took a little elbow grease, I was able to successfully coat both slices of my bread, finishing just as the noble little bottle of tangy goodness kicked the bucket. With my head held high, I continued to make the sandwich with the last remnants of Christmastide cuisine.
Now then, I found a couple slices of cheese – the only item excessively bountiful in the Peterson kitchen – and slapped them onto the sandwich. So far, the art of sandwich making was continuing swimmingly. Or so I thought.
I had not taken into account that Christmas was a full 10 days ago. As such, the Honeybaked Ham which sat in the dark recesses of its chilly refrigerated coffin was in the poorest of shape, and had begun to grow crystals of some sort. I was heartbroken.
Still, though, that was the best Swiss cheese and mustard sandwich I’ve ever eaten.