As Luck Would Have It…

Saturday is a special day for me. As the start of the 2012 college football season (well, technically, the Saturday start) it marks my annual right of coach potatoness. This year will be a bit more special than most years, however. Not only because my new job has inspired within me a desire for some genuine relaxation on the weekends, but because my favorite college football team, the Navy Midshipmen, will kick off from Dublin, Ireland against Notre Dame.

This is great for a number of reasons, chief among them the time difference. I speak of course to the fact that a game played in England on a Saturday evening means a game watched in America on a Saturday morning.

And what, fellow children of the 1990s, says TV on a Saturday morning better than cereal?

The choice of said cereal to consume while vegging out in front of a Saturday morning football game from Ireland is really a no-brainer. Copious amounts of sugar, all the better to recapture the childhood experience of One Saturday Morning cartoons, is a must. So to can be said for an enjoyable cereal mascot. And while Tony the Tiger’s athletic achievements make him a strong candidate, the setting points me to one and only one choice; Lucky Charms.

How have we not discussed this bastion of all things right with our childhoods before today? Well, better late than never. As many of you know, I have many gripes with the world, with one those gripes being the (in my mind) inexcusable crusade of, uh, certain people, to attempt to demonize large companies which manufacture breakfast cereals with (gasp!) more than a tablespoon of sugar per serving. Obviously, many kids and adult cereals fall within this spectrum, but perhaps no cereals have born more of a brunt of this attack than Lucky Charms. Perhaps it’s because of the marshmallows. Perhaps it’s because of the always enjoyable commercials. Maybe it’s just a subconscious prejudice against the obviously Roman Catholic Lucky Charms Leprechaun (who, by the way, goes by L.C. or ‘Lucky’). For whatever reason, Lucky Charms has been made the villain by those who blame the childhood obesity problem in this country on big cereal, and that’s just wrong. I ate this ‘crap’ every day right from the box when I was a kid, and still ran hitch routs into double coverage during tackle football at Recess. Was I Alex Teich shredding Notre Dame’s defense? Not exactly, but I was close.

Now, back to the issue of Lucky Charms representing something with the capability of bringing about the downfall of civilization. Maybe, if Lucky Charm’s marshmallows weren’t made up of stars and other magical shapes (more on this later) and instead featured little images of Joseph Stalin or Soviet Tanks, than we could proclaim them truly evil. Until that day though, they’ll be what they have always been. And that’s magically freaking delicious.

Office space. Do not judge me, mi amigos.

My soapbox of food politics aside for a moment, I feel as though a further examination of WHY Lucky Charms works is in order. Let us begin, as we always do, with a dry snacking rundown.

There have been times in my life where I’d favor my handfuls towards the oat pieces. There have been times when I’d go marshmallow crazy. These days, I’ve come to understand that each contributes something special, and that only a 50/50 handful can yield the truly magically delicious taste. The oats — -crispy-crunchy, oatey, sweet but not cloying – are best enjoyed in a slow chew with the marshmallows. ‘Mallows, it can be said, add a certain and unique binding property when exposed to saliva. At first slighty crunchy, they bind and blend together all textures and flavors they encounter once given the benefits of the first stage of mechanical digestion (ie. Chewing). What comes together is thus a sweet yet oddly hearty agglomeration of oats, sugar, dextrose and corn syrup, with the latter three dissolving in a transformative rainbow of perceptive sweetness. Hearts, Stars, and Horseshoes — Damn! son – for a serial cereal snacker, it’s as curiously satisfying in the way a fine chocolate or cheese is.

As luck would have it, my tastes have evolved enough in recent years to the point where I can now enjoy cereal with milk, as opposed to just a dry snack. It’s a good thing, too, because Lucky Charms are excellent in milk (like I need to tell you…) It’s not just that is leaves a sweet yet surprisingly hearty end milk (stained green, I should add) but that the textural properties of the marshmallows create a unique flavor experience.

It starts with the mouthfeel of the marshmallows. They’re smooth with a vicious surface, like a licked popsicle, actually. A light and sugary taste, verging somewhere between meringue and whipped light cream, literally hangs on your tongue, while the final bite of the ‘mallow still yields enough resistance to meet the definition of crunchy. As for the flavor, it’s sweet of course, but with a cotton-candy aftertaste that is found nowhere else in cerealdom, to my knowledge. The best part is you don’t even have to stand in line at the fair behind whiney kids and to the aroma of cow poop to get the full effect of the taste.

In terms of cereal X-factors, Lucky has it all. Boxes of Lucky Charms throughout history have come with mazes, toys in the box, and heck, even labels telling me I’m getting more whole grains than any other ingredient. The marshmallows come in eight distinct shapes (can you name them?) all of which were represented in a random, 27-gram pour (how’s that for luck?). The commercials are, as I’ve stated, quite excellent, although I tend to favor those which have featured the song naming all the ‘mallow shapes.

Lucky Charms is hard to beat. It’s iconic, to say the least, but when you break it down, it’s more than just sugary nonsense. Are there drawbacks? Well, the oats are a biter grainier than say, Malt-o-Meal’s excellent Marshmallow Matey’s, but I’d content the marshmallows are better. As for Marshmallow and oat cereals on a whole, there are established textural and flavor components which make the combination great, and far from the liquid poisen some claim it is. I say let the kids keep their Lucky Charms and Marshmallow Matey’s. Come this Saturday I know I’ll be enjoying a bowl in front a live football game from Ireland, hoping some of those marshmallow shapes serve as harbinger for a lucky — or just damn good — upset on the gridiron.

Beat Notre Dame!

Lucky Charms (Original)

• Price: $2.99 (21 oz. box on clearance at Safeway)
• Ranking: 9/10
• Chances I’d Buy Again: 100%

Fried Egg, Muenster, and Potato Chip Sandwich

When it comes to presliced sandwich bread, let’s get one thing straight. Most brands are just OK, and probably wouldn’t get my dollar if artisan, old-world style loaves were cheaper and had better shelve lives. The reality is, though, they don’t, so often times I’m forced to “settle” on a loaf of whatever is on sale at the store. There’s some brands I prefer over others, but most are pretty much the same. Serviceable, but not noteworthy.

All but one brand, that is.

Martin’s Potato Rolls have a cult like following amongst burger purists and hot dog aficionados alike. The sweet, chewy, soft hamburger buns are considered by many to be the gold standard (literally) for sticking a burger between, while their potato bread is renowned for its buttery taste and texture in any number of applications. Unfortunately, Martin’s products hardly ever seem to go on sale in my area, and tend to cost a dollar or two more than what I usually pay for presliced bread. So when I see a loaf on sale — like I did the other day — I make sure to buy it.

I don’t waste a good loaf of Martin’s on just any lunchbox ham and cold cheese. Maybe it’s the soft, pillow interior or the sweet-buttery taste, but for whatever reason, I tend to let my imagination run wild when making sandwiches out of Martin’s bread.

I’m a firm believer that a sandwich has to have goo, proper seasoning, and crunch. Goo is easy. I mean, melt a little cheese and fry an egg, and you’re begging for a second napkin. Sauces, well, those can either be as simple as a squirt of yellow mustard, or something a little more “personal.” And crunch? Cucumbers and Romaine lettuce are great. But with such great potato bread, why not go with something a bit more hearty. Like Potato Chips. The kind fried in Lard.

Today’s Sandwich isn’t an American classic yet, but if I had my way, it would be. It starts with frying an egg. I made the mistake of cooking to yoke a little too done for my tastes, but ideally you’ll want a slightly runny yolk to soak into the buttery, pillowy Potato bread. Muenster cheese — melted under the broiler — gives a satisfying and fatty goo, which is cut by a “special” sauce of my own creation.

Hold the mayo, because this sauce pairs ketchup, two types of relish, liquid smoke, and Old Bay seasoning to form a sweet, salty, smokey taste that goes great with the egg. But the real kicker (or cruncher, should I say)? That would be a pile of potato chips. You can use any kind you like, although with hearty crunch and slightly grassy taste, I’m particularly partial to Grandma Utz’s handcooked chips. They’re fried in Lard, and man oh man are they awesome. To recap, here’s the recipe:

• 2 slices Martin’s Potato or Whole Wheat Potato Bread
• 1 slice of Muenster Cheese
• Two Tablespoons of “Adam Sauce” (Tablespoon of ketchup, 2 teaspoons dill relish, Worcestershire Sauce , 1/4 teaspoon Old Bay seasoning)
• 1 large egg
• Butter or cooking spray, for frying the egg

1) To make the sauce, combine Ketchup, relish, Worcestershire Sauce and Old Bay to taste. Set aside.

2) Heat a nonstick pan over medium-high heat. Spray the pan with cooking spray or melt a teaspoon of butter, then crack the egg into the pan. Fry to your liking.

3) Toast two slice of bread in the skillet, placing the Muenster and the fried egg over one of the slices. After lightly browning both slices, transfer one to a pre-set broiler positioned as close to the heat source as possible. Broil until cheese is bubbly and releases a layer of fat.

4) Spread sauce over the opposite piece of bread.Position fried egg on top of the bread slice with the melted cheese, these sandwich potato chips, and, if you please, a slice of lettuce between the bread.

5) Stuff .Preferably, with napkins and not while driving.

When Life Gives You Too Much Damn Work, Pick a Fig

Do you ever find yourself getting bogged down in the frustration of work? I did the other day. Don’t get me wrong; for the most part, I love my job. The people I work with our great, I have fun at work, and the challenge of using my skillset and education as part of a company can’t be beat. But there are some days — and some times of the day — when I hit a roadblock. Maybe it has to do with being unable to move along a  particularly frustrating author in what he has to do, or maybe it’s a tricky legal situation which has me digging through legal publishing agreements. Whatever it is, there are bound to be times where I hit that 2:30 energy drain at, oh, about 11:30.

It happened the other day. Our business manager at the Press, an older gentleman who deals with the ‘boring’ but oh so important money ‘stuff,’ came over to my desk. He had given me a major project to work on a few weeks earlier which I had hardly touched because of other priorities, and as soon as he showed up, I found myself apologizing for getting behind.

It was OK, he said, he wanted to talk about something else. Phew.

Actually, not phew. More like “oh shinaz.” What he wanted to talk to me about was only THE major book project for our press. The book that was supposed to come out last year. The book which we’re running behind on now. The book, he reminded me, which will either make or break our financial year.

He could see the stress in my face, and I could see the stress in his. In that moment it didn’t matter that he was some 40 years older than me, came from a remarkably different background, and had a completely different and more senior role with the Press. At that moment we were both human beings under stress in the middle of a workday, needing a break and a reminder that some times, you just need to unwind before summoning the strength to get going again.

He looked out the window, and knew exactly what to do.

I’ve only had a fresh fig once and my life, and I couldn’t have told you the difference between a fig tree and an apple tree before the other day. But when our Business Manager pointed out the fig tree out back our office and asked me if I wanted to pick figs, I was not only relieved for the break from the stress, I was, suddenly, excited. Judging my the ways his eyes lit up when we got outside, I would say he was too.

It’s amazing how the spark of creativity can not only lift one’s spirit, but one’s physical energy. I’m usually zombie-like in my lethargy when I get home from work, but something about a bag of freshly picked figs had already put in motion the culinary wheels in my head. I wasn’t lost for ideas, and immediately knew my first task would be to try to recreate the Ricotta Tartine I had for lunch the fancy Euro-style chain Le Pain Quotidien a few years ago.

I decided to use a slice of P28 bread as the base. While I was hardly a fan of the bagels, P28′s bread does a better job at bridging the game between providing a whopping amount of protein (14 grams per slice) and taste. Lightly toasted, the slice of bread manages to avoid the gummy chew that plagues the bagels. The flavor gravitates towards a mix of grains and seeds with a hint of honey sweetness, making it a more than tolerable — heck, I’d even say enjoyable — option for an open-faced sandwich.

I wish I had some fresh ricotta on hand, but unfortunately I didn’t. Wanting to bumb up the protein even more I instead decided to cover the open-faced sandwich with cottage cheese. A layer of salt, black pepper, and a drizzle of strawberry balsamic vinegar was to follow, adorned with fresh picked basil. Next up came the figs, as well as some tomatoes picked from the garden. I decided to grill both of fruits, topping both with a bit of honey and more balsamic.

The result wasn’t quite as enjoyable as the Tartine I had from “Le Pain,” but then again, it wasn’t that far off — even with the cottage cheese substituted for the Ricotta. The star of the show here was the plump, honey and balsamic drizzled combination of tomatoes and figs. There’s something about balancing a floral sweetness with the harsh grind of black pepper than does an amazing job, while the salty cottage cheese underneath helps bind the tastes and textures together.

It was a nice, complete, and creative way to end a long day, and probably highlights exactly why I’d buy P28 bread in the future. What’s more, it was the kind of meal that allows you to look back on 8 hours of sitting at a desk and realize that you did more than just destroy your eyesight by looking at a Microsoft Word document. I don’t know how long that Fig Tree will hold up with fresh fruit, but as long as it does — and as long as the challenges of the job keep coming — you can bet I’ll be picking figs each and every afternoon.

Food for Thought: What’s your best way to alleviate stress at the office? Ever picked a fresh fig, or any fruit?

Fast Food on the Cheap: Chick-Fil-A’s Strawberry Sundae

Note: It’s unfortunate I have to preface this post with this kind of introduction, but please know, if you’re going to use this review to air grievances about the perceived political affiliations of a company or its clients, well, then I’m just going to delete it. Ok, on to the cool and creamy stuff.

Having now shed the feckless monotony of calorically dense and money wasting fast food ventures as a reviewer for GrubGrade.com, I’ve adopted a fast food eating style which is based mostly in moderation. The dollar menu, while disappearing at most fast food enclaves, still exists in one form or another from Burgers Kings to Arbys’ everywhere, and still leads me to one or two treats a week. Basically, it keeps me sane, young, and doesn’t kill my wallet. Now that’s a what I like to call a win-win-win.

Of course my favorite fast food chain, Chick-Fil-A, is notorious for never having a value menu to begin with. That all changed recently, when the chain introduced a revamped line of desserts that included ”improved” versions of brownies, cookies, and their signature Icedream soft serve. Unfortunately they nixed one of my favorite desserts (The pie, oh my!) but the famous milkshakes are still front and center.

I stopped into Chick-Fil-A after a long day at work the other day looking for something sweet but not too massive in size, and found it in the .99 cent “Mini Sundae.” Described as a combination of their ”famous vanilla Icedream®, Hershey’s® chocolate syrup, whipped cream and a cherry on top,” I was stoaked to find out I could replace the chocolate syrup with strawberry syrup. I consider that a huge plus, since, for whatever reason, the majority of McDonalds’ I’ve visited never offer the elusive Strawberry Sundae the chain claims to actually sell.

Chick-fil-A’s mini sundae isn’t huge, but it fills the container to the brim, which, in this case, is actually a bad thing. Not only did it get a dude behind me in line to comment, ”cute” when he saw it, but the amount of stuff going on inside the container can make life messy. You see, I couldn’t for the life of me get the top off, and ended up getting my hands sticky in the futile attempt. All the while, my Icedream was melting, and I was losing precious time.  I guess the point is to eat the sundae through the opening, which I ended up doing. It’s good news and bad news on this one. The good news is that Chick-fil-A’s Icedream is better than the standard soft serve sold at most fast food places. It has a creamier and thicker consistency, although it’s not Rita’s frozen custard. I loved the combination of the thick Icedream with the plentiful Strawberry syrup, and liked airy texture and creamy taste of the whipped cream. The Strawberry syrup is definitely on the very sweet side, but vestiges of seeds and a thick glaze give it an almost pie-filling consistency.

Good, stuff, no doubt. Problem was, it seemed like there was more whipped cream than Icedream. I’m not sure if this was just how my sundae was prepared or if the price point of the product calls for less Icedream (seeing the nutrition, I’m guessing the latter) but I really felt like I was eating mostly puree and whipped cream after two or three spoonfuls of Icedream.

All that being said, for a buck, you’re not going to find many better fast food desserts. While I won’t put it in the same league as the elusive (in Maryland, anyways) $1 Small Chocolate Frosty, it’s definitely a good change of pace and of higher quality than McDonalds’ Sundaes. Heck, it’s even pretty healthy with only 170 calories and 2 grams of saturated fat. Only question I have now is whether the “on the menu” version with Hershey’s® syrup is even better?

• Price: .99 cents
• Ranking: 7/10
• Chances I’d Buy Again: 100% (gotta try the chocolate version!)

A Tale of Two Bagels

If you’ve ever attempted to supplement your normal diet with protein powder, you know you’re not exactly doing your taste buds a huge service. At its best, whey protein powder from the likes of companies like Body Fortress is tolerable when combined with a hyper-sweet yogurt or rich chocolate pudding (Ok,  a shelf-stable snack pack, but don’t be hatin’). At its worse, whey powder is an ungulpable powder that you might be able to leverage into a means of punishment should you ever decide to go, as they say, milk and spoon.

Besides. Getting protein from powder involves, you know, actually eating stuff that isn’t really food. For a dude like me, who considers the sandwich to literally be, in fact, the greatest thing since slice bread, protein powder can be a real downer.

Enter P28. A high-protein bread developed by bodybuilders that has recently made its way into Wegmans grocery stores, P28 offers truly unheard of amounts of protein in the convenience of the greatest food invention ever; sliced bread.

They also make bagels as well. Which is quite convenient, I should say, since a bagel usually makes up my breakfast on weekend mornings.

Being a bagelphile and breadphile but also a guy who supplements with protein powder, the idea of a high protein bagel intrigued me. So, after a little research, I contacted P28 and didn’t mince words. I wanted to see if these so-called ”deliciously filling” bagels tended more to the former, as opposed to just the latter. More than happy to furnish a sample pack of their products, they met my challenge.

That’s right. Get ready for a bagel throwdown.

I’m partial to a Pumpernickel bagel from Einstein Brothers on Saturday and Sunday mornings, but because P28 only makes one type of bagel (with 28 grams of protein) I grabbed what looked to be the closer Einstein’s equivalent in the aptly named “Good Grains bagel.” Calorically speaking, both bagels are about the same. The Good Grains bagel is 270 calories, while the P28 bagel is 260 (although, at over 10 grams a serving smaller, their nearly identical on a per gram basis). The biggest difference is what those calories consist of though. P28′s bagels have a whopping 28 grams of protein, while the Good Grains bagel has but 10 grams.

That’s all well and good, but any bread lover will tell you it’s all about taste, chew, and texture. When it comes to that account, P28′s bagel fell short.

As you can see, the P28 bagel is a bit taller and fatter than Einstein’s, which nevertheless is denser. The Good Grains bagel, covered with an assortment of seeds and nuts, has a light honey flavor and wonderfully hearty chew. It’s the kind of bagel that develops a malty sweetness as you eat it, giving you a fulfilling bite with hints of whole grains. It’s one of my favorite bagels the chain offers.

P28′s bagel pales in comparison. After biting into it I’m surprised by how the bread springs back into place, unlike the the gluten-dense Einstein bagel, which literally holds the “bite” in place. The flavor is almost singularly whole wheat, with an off and bitter sweetness to it that can’t cover up a woodsy aftertaste. It has that classic low-carb bread chew, reminding me of a similar and failed Einstein bagel flavor of years ago.

You know the kind of chew I’m talking about. It’s rubbery and gummy, demanding the kind of steel-jawed discipline that  Mr. Wilson must have drawn upon after he inadvertently eats paint in Dennis the Menace. The oats on top, while adding a nice look, are chalky and untoasted.

Compared to a freshly baked Einstein Brothers bagel ($1.20) the P28 Bagel can’t compare in taste. Be that as it may, I realize most people aren’t the kind of bread fanatics I am, and probably toast and top their bagels with any assortment of spreads or jellies. The good news is the bagels are slightly better toasted. This being the case, they do burn slightly on the edges even with a moderate toast, although the flavor gets covered with with a more than generous application of cream cheese and jelly.

A great bagel, P28 does not make. But it’s not a completely lost cause. With outstanding nutrition and a price point at about $1 per bagel, they’re an affordable and savory option that beats a protein bar. For some one like me, who’d rather indulge in a little culinary imagination while taking advantage of the summer bounty, P28 offers that option to get your protein and without having the rely on the monotony and oppression of whey supplements.

What’s more, the P28 bread is not half bad. But that’s another post for another day. As for the bagels, use your discretion on these, guys and girls. Worth a try if you’ve got to get your protein and your sick of bars and powder, but definitely not suggested if you’re looking for a good bagel. In that case, I’d advise just putting a heckuva lot more meat between your bagel sandwich. Might be a little more expensive, but sometimes, it’s worth it.

For more information, check them out at HighProteinBread.com

Looking, and finding, Love

I’ve been thinking a lot about life recently. Not life in a cereal sense, mind you, but life as it actually is. As in the long car rides in the mornings and afternoons. As in the hazy, worn-out midday feeling that catches my eyes growing heavy. The momentary burst of exhilaration and victory after completing a long run, followed only by the inevitable sense of trudging — often with aching muscles — back to something.

But back to what?

I start a full-time job this week. It’s want I’ve wanted, what I’ve prayed for, and what I’ve worked so hard for. It’s the thing which has had every one patting me on the back. The news that lifts my fading grandparents’ spirits, and the task which should, theoretically, give me meaning beyond the feigned expertise of cereal criticism.

And yet, I feel, uneasy, like I’m trudging back to something I’m not completely invested in. I search the lexicon of emotions, trying to pinpoint the feeling. Is it fear? No, that’s not quite right. Resignation, perhaps? Doubt in my own ability? No, those descriptions don’t quite fit either. What I feel, I think, is a sense of longing.

It hits me like an All-American middle linebacker. Wrestling my attention away, the sense of longing for something guides me, ever subtly in my habits, in my faults, through the 24 hours I call my day. “What do I long for?” I ask myself. Walking alone in a Walmart on a crowded afternoon, sore eyes, dazed-gazed, held up only by a feeling of needing to do something, of being some where.

Here is not there, though. Here is not the North Logan Walmart, where around each aisle of back to school shoppers is a friendly face from my adopted home. Here is not the undeniable calm and serenity of state all its own and the people, the welcoming, accepting, embracing faces that know my name. Here is not the small Newman Center where I sing in the choir, or the lounge on the third floor of the TSC, where Keenan and I play ping-pong on snowy nights. It’s not a snowy morning at Einstein’s, gathered around the big table with a warm cup of coffee while shooting the shit with the usual suspects. It’s not Romny Stadium, or the roaring spectrum on a Tuesday night game before a early morning Wednesday exam. Here is not where I should be, I tell myself, frantically trying to picture the scenes and the people in my head.

“Adam,” they say.

“Adam,” I repeat. But no one — not Steve, not Rhett, not Todd nor Megan nor Storee or hell, not even fucking Bobby Wagner now playing in front of my eyes on NFL Network for the Seahawks — is there.

Just random faces, voices, and noise. I am lonely in this crowd, looking and hoping, doubting and questioning. Searching for something in these lonely walks through crowded places, empty spaces. Looking, and finding nothing.

Love. It whispers to me in a different sense than most people, but it whispers all the same. In memory and in echoes, showing up in flashes when I least expect it, reminding me of those instances now left behind. Flashing images of a time. Of a people. Of a place where I belong.

I see myself there, in a moment, as all things — the job, the tiring commute, the grueling runs, even the feckless words I write on this blog — all fall away. Then, just as soon as the image materializes, it fades again.

Alone.

I sat in a quiet church the next day. On the verge of a new life, on the edge of walking away from an old life, not loved, but endured in hope of making my way back to love. The hope is in the waiting. I remember the words of the poet T.S. Eliot and I try to refocus. But I can’t concentrate on the Mass, on this “Holy Day.” I’m going through the motions, able to summon the mental stamina of concentrating for only a few minutes of a rushed sermon.

I’m glad I do.

It’s the Feast of the Assumption, and the priest is telling the people in the church that the majority of us will never be great. We will never be like Jesus. We will never be like the Saints. We’ll live ordinary lives doing ordinary things. Even in our jobs, our secular lives and worldly pursuits, we’ll never be all that we think we can, think we should be.

It’s not what I expect to hear. It’s the last thing my already questioning and weathered self-confidence needs. There were days — long gone now — where I thought I was destined for greatness. An accomplished general, or a writer, or even an athlete; those images are now so faded they’ve become prosaic. Now, all I want is love. All I want is Logan, and on the verge of maybe achieving some kind of greatness — however small in may be in this new job — I feel like I’m giving up my chance to reconnect with the place I truly love.

But is it love I feel for Logan, or longing?

“Love,” the priest speaks the words, only, speaking them to both me and to all, the fervent in faith and the tired like me. There’s love in this place, and I feel it, and there’s love in the person of Mary. Great. We don’t need to be great, the priest says. Love, giving and receiving it —  in our words, in our actions, in every thing we do — is enough. That is the love of God, and the love which sustains all of us who wrestle with the weight of our life decisions each and every day.

I leave the church shortly thereafter. In a cool summer morning, as one and another prepare to go about their days. Tired, but no longer feeling hopeless, no longer longing; a sense of serenity sets in. It occurs to me, on this day more than others, that perhaps I have been looking for love in all the wrong places.

Cereal Throwdown: Froot Loops vs. Tootie Frooties

Simplicity, as I’ve often stated, is sometimes the most defining element in what makes a cereal good. Try too much, or stick in too many mix-ins, and a cereal suddenly runs the gammit of losing its identity. For the ubiquitous fruit flavored ring, that identity is unmistakable: sugar, an ambiguous berry flavor, and a solid crunch which renders a smooth, fruity flavor in milk.

Froot Loops, adorned in its red box with the iconic, if not lovable, Tucan Sam, has long been the standard. But it hasn’t been the only attempt at fruit flavored rings. Cheerios makes an arguably “healthier” version  of the Kellogg’s classic, while every grocery chain and natural food company in America has attempted to copy the classic. Most, I’ve found, come up short.

Which leads me to the curious case of Malt-O-Meal’s Tootie Fruities.

I’ve opined previously about my sentimental love affair with Malt-o-Meal cereals. It goes beyond pure nostalgia, however. Truth be told, Malt-O-Meal’s ‘knockoffs’ are pretty good, and their natural line — Mom’s Best — is incredibly affordable. The fact that Malt-O-Meal produces a clone of virtually every iconic General Mills and Kellogg’s cereal is a well-known fact, and one the company touts extensively in their marketing attempts to compare costs.

Big Lots: Gotta Love It

But what about taste? I recently picked up a bag of Malt-O-Meal’s Tootie Fruties to see if the berry flavors and sturdy crunch could match that of one of my all-time favorites, Froot Loops.

Dry

Froot Loops definitely has a crunchier texture. It’s a bit more difficult to suck the life out of it, so to speak, hinting at a higher moisture content. The mouthfeel is smoother if not a bit oily, but it’s also more pleasing, as well. Both cereals are exceptionally sweet and single flavored (I know, I know, it bummed me out when I found out too) but there is a slightly saccharine aftertaste to Tootie Fruities. It’s not enough to be bothersome for some one used to hyper-sweet cereals, but if you’ve been chowing down on the fruit rings in the organic section, I’m guessing it won’t be you’re cup of nectar. Now, on to fruit flavors, you ask? Believe it or not there is an interesting and fruity astringency to Froot Loops, or, rather, as much as you can imagine a nutritionally worthless concoction of natural flavors and food coloring to have. While I like Tootie Fruities, they come off as “aged” as a dry snacking cereal, almost as if they were once great but, after months of abuse from shipping and Walmart warehouses, have lost some of their vital crunch and flavor. Froot Loops, meanwhile, never ceases to delight, remaining impossibly and irreconcilably complex for its simple arrangement of fake food dyes and sugar.

Edge: My man Sam.

In Milk

Froot Loops

This is where things start to get interesting. I’ve actually never had Froot Loops in milk, and only had Tootie Fruities in milk on one occasion. It was in Mississippi on a church mission trip, and I had it with coconut milk. It was FREAKING AWSOME (caps intended.) This time around I checked out both cereals in Skim Plus Milk (decent, but not great.)

Tootie Fruities

Fruit Loops once again had a smoother overall mouthfeel. It doesn’t become saturated with milk, but at the same time takes in enough to develop a light and fruity crunch. I thought Froot Loops held up, and held its color, better in milk than Tootie Fruities. That being said, Tootie Fruities receives what can only be described as a transcendent burst of sugar in milk. It’s incredibly intense, and while not as fruity as Froot Loops, leaves a more satisfying, slurp-the-bowl-full end-milk than anything Tucan Sam would offer. The best analogy I have is the difference between drinking regular soda vs. Diet.

Froot Loops? Or Wait, is that Tootie Frooties?

Edge: Tootie Fruities

X-Factors

Price wise, Tootie Fruties is clearly the better buy. I won’t lie — the .50 cent bag I snagged at Big Lots was pretty great, but even at its retail price, any Malt-O-Meal cereal will best it’s name-brand counterpart.

From a nutrition perspective, Froot Loops has less sugar per serving (12 grams) than Tootie Fruties (15 grams), although Tootie Fruities has a larger serving size at 32 grams, compared to Froot Loops’ 29 grams. Froot Loops has more fiber (3 grams) but it also has partially hydrogenated oil in its ingredients.

Cool Blue and Lil Oaty. No relation.

Malt-O-Meal cereals have nothing on the back-of-the-box games Kellogg’s can provide, including the “make your own Tucan Sam” cutout currently on Froot Loops boxes. Likewise, the box configuration of Froot Loops makes it easier to close and keep fresh than the bulky, sometimes odd bag of Tooty Fruities.

Edge: I can’t lie. I’m cheap. Tootie Frooties wins.

The best of both worlds

Final Verdict

Tootie Fruities takes two out of three, so it’s the winner, right? In the words of Lee Corso, “not so fast my friend.” Like any cereal buying option, the question of Froot Loops or Tootie Fruities comes down to how you prefer your morning (or 1 p.m., or midnight) bowl. If you’re looking for a dry snacking cereal, you cannot beat Froot Loops. It has enough fruit flavor and crunch to keep you interested, and the kind of structure that can hold up in any ziplock bag. But if you’re an end-milk junkie who lives for the nectar left behind from your cereal, Tootie Frooties provides the kind of sugar rush that transforms milk into a slightly healtheir version of fruit juice.

With conundrums such as this, I am quite sure the wisdom of King Solomon would direct us to simply combine the two cereals in a single container, and enjoy the uncomplicated joys of ambiguous “natural and artificial” fruit flavors in ring form.

Tootie Fruities

• Ranking: 8/10
• Chances I’d Buy Again: 75%

Froot Loops

• Ranking: 9/10
• Chances I’d Buy Again: 100%

Food for Thought: I’m not being facetious when I say that I like the ambiguous, artificial taste and cloying sweetness of both these cereals. To a certain extent I can’t explain why I like them so much. Do you have a cereal, or any food, that you like and don’t know how to explain?

Cheerios

This is a review of Cheerios. Not Frosted nor Apple Cinnamon Cheerios. Not Chocolate Cheerios. Not the forgotten Strawberry Banana Berry Burst Cheerios, nor the bygone cult classic, Team Cheerios.

Just Cheerios. The original yellow box. The toasted oat spheres no mom would ever go without packing in a sandwich bag for a toddler who has to sit through church, or, God forbid, some kind of “recital.” The kind of cereal that’s so healthy it has spawned studies and debates about its marketing promises to lower cholesterol. The cereal, I dare say, which every grocery store upon these golden shores sells.

But is Cheerios actually any good?

My personal history with Cheerios doesn’t go back to the days of Rugratism, unless you include sophomore year of college as a temporary return to that phase (in which case, you may actually have a valid point). Mostly exposed to Honey Nut, Frosted, and the occasional Multigrain Cheerio excursion during my youth, I remember switching over to plain Cheerios while on a semester long ROTC inspired “diet” which made me the eating equivalent to a 16th century monk (see: absolutely no fun allowed.) This was in stark contrast to my original ROTC inspired diet of freshmen year, which for breakfast saw me consume an extra-large bowl of Apple Jacks with Granola (to keep it healthy), a whole wheat bagel, oatmeal, yogurt, and usually two or three bananas.

Note: The cereal that should be given to actual ‘Rugrats’

Ironically, my physical; fitness during that freshman campaign far exceeded that of my sophomore year. But that’s another story for another day.

Back to Cheerios. The point is that the one period in my life in which I ate it, I was doing so to be healthy. More a chore than anything else, even then I ate it with fruit, or yogurt, or the occasional “Honey Nut Cut” of 50/50 Cheerios and Honey Nut Cheerios. Never, ever on its own.

Until recently.

There’s something special about Cheerios poured into ice cold milk*. The O’s crackle. They snap. They pop. More so than most cereals, I’m sure. You can see the bubbles from the milk breaking the surface at what could almost pass for a simmer, with the dynamic dance of milk slowly filtering into toasted oats. As a writer, the living sense of the bowl amazes me. The romantic poet in me, sitting outside on a shady summer afternoon, whispers that it can only be a harbinger of a transcendental cereal experience to come.

It’s not. As my spoon lifts the singing O’s into my mouth, I’m struck by the immense lack of taste. I’m not just talking about sweetness. There is, I think, very little discernible oat flavor. For all the marketing buzz words reflecting some variation of “wholesome,” I don’t pick up any hearty or toasted whole grain taste. It tastes, I hate to admit, like nothing.

The texture, as you well know, borders on mushy when allowed to soak in milk. With no sugar glaze nor protective barrier to stop the flow of liquid into the oats, they degenerate into a mess of insipid rings. Having never eaten cardboard, I can’t say that the grainy-mushy-tasteless texture reminds me of eating cardboard. But I imagine it does.

I’m disappointed, to say the least. But all is not lost. While Cheerios has never adopted a mascot like the Bee of its Honey Nut offspring, the box provides enough reading material to keep me interested. Recently, Cheerios has partnered with the USO to provide a cut-out postcard on boxes that can be sent to families of military members around the world. For each postcard sent, Cheerios will send a buck to the USO, which aids in providing support for not only armed forces members, but their families.

That’s a cause I can get behind, regardless of taste. As for that taste, however, I just don’t understand it. Perhaps it has to be hardwired into our minds as children who are saved from boredom in those little snack bags, but with its delicate crunch and very mild oat flavor, Cheerios just don’t hold any appeal for me in milk or outside of milk. Nevertheless, as a more affordable “canvas” cereal than many of the Organic and Natural brands offer, I can see how Cheerios still offers something undeniably good for you that can be customized your way, with any number of possibilities for fruit or other mix-ins. My favorite way to eat Cheerios? For the time being, I think it’ll be in a 4:1 ratio of the “Honey Nut Cut”, with the Honey Nut playing the former leading role.

• Price: $1.99 (18 oz. box on sale at Mars)
• Ranking: 4/10
• Chances I’d Buy Again: 10% (for the USO charity’s sake)

Food for Thought: Any Original Cheerios lovers out there? What’s your favorite way to geek the O’s out? Which Cheerios flavor do you like best?

*For testing purposes, I used SkimPlus milk, which, despite claiming to have the richness of full fat milk, does not.

Kellogg’s Vrooms

If you ain’t first, you last.

Looks like Kellogg’s did a quick switch up on the production line. These look an awful lot like the 2012 Team USA Olynpic cereal.

I’m guessing the rings taste just as medicore.

Speaking of sports cereals, do I hear any love for Touchdown Crunch or, better yet, Flutie Flakes? I’ve still got a dusty box of the latter on the shelf in my bedroom.

Get Up and Eat (A Panini and Salad)

I am by no means proud of the way the interior of my 2005 Toyota Tacoma looks right now. The outside — muddy and black, sporting bumper stickers testifying to my love of In-N-Out burger and the Baltimore Orioles — still makes me smile, but the mess inside is getting beyond embarrassing. Boxes of cereal, snack wrappers, and receipts have piled on top of dirty clothes and work files, somehow bearing witness to what has become a fast paced, red-eye lifestyle I’ve found myself living.

A lot has been going on with me in recent weeks, and for the most part, I guess that’s good news. I’ve transitioned into a full-time job, and in addition to adding two hours of commuting to my day, I’m still trying to “live in fast forward” with the kind of lifestyle I was clinging to even when I was an unemployed bum less committed individual.

But I’m finding that this new schedule is leaving me dogged tried every day. Not only in a physical sense, but an emotional and spiritual sense too. I’ve been staring at computer screens and grabbing bites to eat between meetings, all the while rushing from work to the gym to the car and then back to work again. And through it all, I’ve mostly just been feeling tired and hungry, wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.

Kind of like the Old Testament Prophet Elijah, actually, whose story of lethargy and hunger amidst the travails of daily life was spelled out in Sunday’s first reading:

Elijah went a day’s journey into the desert,
until he came to a broom tree and sat beneath it.
He prayed for death saying:
“This is enough, O LORD!
Take my life, for I am no better than my fathers.”
He lay down and fell asleep under the broom tree,
but then an angel touched him and ordered him to get up and eat.
Elijah looked and there at his head was a hearth cake
and a jug of water.
After he ate and drank, he lay down again,
but the angel of the LORD came back a second time,
touched him, and ordered,
“Get up and eat, else the journey will be too long for you!”
He got up, ate, and drank;
then strengthened by that food,
he walked forty days and forty nights to the mountain of God, Horeb

As the kind of person who has defined who I am a “food blogger” at times, I could say it’s funny, or ironic, that the Bible has so many references to food. Symbolically though, it makes sense. For the Christian, and for anyone, really, spiritual and emotional hunger is as much a part of life as physical hunger. We’re all looking for a pick-me-up, a rush of energy and vitality to help us continue in ours jobs or our goals when we’ve walked too long without a proper meal. Elijah felt that hunger in the desert, and I had been feeling it — literally – in the way I’ve been trying to live the past month.

I’m reminded though, that when we turn to God, even in a moment of panic or doubt or self-depreciation, we’re given what we need to continue. Sometimes its spiritual and emotional food — the call-back from a job interview, maybe, or just the out-of-the-blue visit from an old friend — and other times, it truly is physical sustenance. There’s a catch though, and it’s something our deacon reminded us on Sunday. God only gives us the minimum of what we need. What we do with it, and how we allow it to guide what we do next, is up to us.

Translation? Maybe attempting to live out of my car and off of cereal and fast food wasn’t exactly the kind of food I should have been asking for. Maybe, instead of rushing and consuming, I should be thankful for tha chance to rest and enjoy, allowing myself to gain strength for the journey of the week ahead.

And there’s nothing I enjoy more than a bright and lazy afternoon with a Panini and a salad. But not just any Panini and Salad, mind you. I’m talking about a Pumpernickel and Muenster Panini with wilted spinach and grilled onions and tomatoes, as well as a fresh and milky Peach Caprese.

I’m of the solid opinion that pumpernickel is the most underappreciated of all breads. Einstein Brothers makes a great bagel, which gets a crusty outside when put into a panini press. Tomatoes and basil right from the garden make it in here, as does some shaved turkey breast. If you’ve never had Muenster in a grilled cheese you’re missing out. It’s like American, except much freaking better.

I don’t know when the first time I heard about a peach caprese salad, but there’s nothing I enjoy more in the summer that the sweetness of a ripe garden tomato with the bite of a firm peach and the rich milky taste of mozzarella. There’s an almost ice cream like freshness to the cheese, which, with a little sea salt, basil, and balsamic, takes on flavors that are anything but ordinary. This is the kind of salad that makes you thankful for the summer’s bounty.

There’s something undeniably satiating about not only eating, but making, an actual meal. It’s as if a sense of completeness that you’ve done something from start to finish, and enjoyed not only the composition of the flavors, but the experience and the energy it will give you.

I know this will be another busy week for many of us. But with the kind of nourishment — in body and spirit — that God provides, and the kinds of examples from those like Elijah, I’m sure each one of us will make it through our own particular deserts. Who knows. We might even find a way to take bread alone, and make it into a symphony of flavors worth sharing.