The McDouble — A College Football Analogy

The McDouble is like Notre Dame. It’s tried and true — a fixture of the fast food scene, just as the midwestern Catholic school is a fixture of the college football landscape. It’s enduring, well followed, and it’s on everywhere. Turn on your radio in Albuquerque or West Friendship and you’ll be getting the same appeal to the cheapo inside of you to buy the two beef patties with good old American slice for just a buck, just as you can turn on your TV to any NBC station throughout America to pick up a Notre Dame football game.

Both have loyal followings. Rabid, some would claim. The followers swear by, uphold it, and defend it against all doubters and haters. Oh, and are there ever haters. “It’s two hocky pucks and tasteless, semi-melted cheese” they say. “Are you kidding me, Notre Dame’s schedule consists of Navy and Army,” they make note, asking when the last time the Irish actually mattered was. Pointing to other menu items, or teams, which are better represented in today’s “premium” trend of fast food or SEC-dominated college football landscape, it could be argued that both the McDouble, and the Irish, are in decline.

Manti Te’o and the 2012 Notre Dame football team would argue differently. I’ll be straight-up in that I had my doubts coming into the year. But with their 4-0 start, Notre Dame deserves their status in the Top 10 of the latest AP poll. This is a dominating defense, and one which does not quit despite knowing full well it can’t always get help from the offense. And that offense, under either Everett Golson or Tommy Rees, is doing something it rarely has done over the last few season — namely, avoiding making enough mistakes to lose games. I know the season is only a third of the way done, but after being skeptical coming into the year, I’m buying the Irish.

I’m also buying the McDouble after trying it for the first time last week. I know. Having gone 23 years without eating one of fast food’s most iconic items is like going 23 years as a college football fan without actually watching a Notre Dame football game, but curiosity and a stingy but growling stomach finally got the best of me.

I don’t know how much longer the McDouble will last at a dollar given the upcharge for the “Daily Double” that many McDonalds’ have adopted. Just as I don’t know how long Notre Dame can last as a power player in college football. I hope they lasts forever though. Why does the McDouble work? Heck, why does Bob Diaco’s defensive scheme work? It just does, that’s why.

Maybe it’s Te’o. He’s your beef, he’s got to be. Yes, the patties are small, but there’s two of them, and despite their small size and well done nature you seem to be hit with an altogether beefy taste with those characteristic sweet notes on the backend. Can you say sideline to sideline? Of course there’s help. That cheese – bulky, mishapen – that’s Stephon Tuitt. A one man wrecking crew inside, the cheese is waxy and unrefined at first. But give it a quarter (ok, 15 mins steaming in the wrapper on a hot day) and it gets melty and gooey and serves that essential component of being that salty-fatty-awsome binder so essential to cheeseburger construction. To continue the analogy, Tuitt, the big cheese if you will, plugs up the middle to allow Te’o to shine.

Now, don’t forget your supporting cast. I’m talking Danny Spond, whose timely big plays hits you like the umami and vinegar blast of a pickle and chopped onion. Or that hard-hitting, omnipresent Zeke Motta – that would be your sweet and salty ketchup — coming in to add a needed zing just when the defense needs an open field stop. And that bun, that squishy, sweet, slightly malty bun which combines flavors and textures in the general mess of mechanical digestion I like to call chewing — well, that’s everyone else. From Prince Shembo on the line to cornerback  Bennett Jackson, it works together and gets the job done, allowing the stars to shine but also contributing the needed glue to hold it all together.

Not actual glue though. That would be gross. And the McDouble? That magnificent, cheap, but of just so good value hamburger amidst a sea of bigger and faster hamburgers? Wake up the echoes my friend, because if September has shown us anything, it’s that that relevance is far from lost.

When Frozen Pieorgies Taste Like a Million Bucks

I’m willing to bet that if you read this blog — if you read any ‘food’ blog, really — that you’ve probably put food before people at times during your life. I won’t go so far to label anyone who reads this blog as “disordered” in the way they view their interest in food or cooking in the context of the wider world, but there are  times when we’re all called to reexamine our values in life, and reorder those values accordingly.

I’ve been doing a lot of that lately — reexamining my values, that is. My own struggles with where I place material things and temporal feelings amidst the backdrop of my everyday life has left me unfulfilled, to the point where every time I open a cereal box or pace the aisles of a grocery store in search of a new snack, I’m forced to question what I’m really getting out of the experience.

More often than not, its isolation. No matter the physical sensations of sweet or salty that I taste, or the short-lived euphoria of nostalgia exercised, I just can’t deny that the experience of buying, eating, and especially reviewing food done exclusively for myself and on my own.

That’s not a formula for happiness when it becomes a daily part of your life. We humans are a naturally social animal, and from my own experience I know that I’m happiest when I’m in the company of others. It’s the way I feel God’s goodness in the world, and the way in which my own problems seems to fall away. The strange thing is that I don’t cultivate or chase after that idea of happiness, even though I know its a proven formula. I, like a lot of stubborn people, make things difficult for myself, and follow things that the world tells us will make us happy. You know the story by now; heck, maybe you even live it, too. Commuting more than 100 miles round-trip a day, staring at a computer screen while killing time at work, rushing through the same old, monotonous yet tiring exercises at the gym. All for what? A reward at the end of the day to assert some expertise on something on a little read blog? To indulge in a pint of ice cream with sore eyes before going to bed, only to get up the next day and do it all again? To build up a wealth that you never even use except on the same things which turn the wheels of isolation?

—

A few weeks ago I went to a different church than I usually do. Just by chance I took a bulletin and noticed an advertisement for ‘young adult’ dinners. At first I didn’t give it much thought. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I just don’t do “young adult” things through my — or any other — church. They tend to be awkward occasions for socially awkward people to get together and talk about, well, anything but just random ‘stuff,’ and in the context of wanting to take some time to just hang out with people who share the same values in a relaxed setting, the gatherings tend to be anything but. Plus, we Catholics like to drink. And after two years of living with Mormons, I’ve lost any taste for alcohol that I never even had to begin with.

I was about to throw that bulletin and that idea of a young adult dinner into the trash when I got home, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized it wouldn’t kill me to at least try going. I live the same lonely, schedule-oriented life everyday anyways, and one night out of my comfort zone wouldn’t kill me.

Worst case? I go, it’s awkward, the food sucks, and I get up the next morning to go back to everyday life. I miss a football game I would have gone to bed at halftime while watching, and I lose an hour of sleep. Best case? I actually make a friend and enjoy myself. Really best case? A Honey Peanut Butter ice cream recipe I made (courtesy of Seriouse Eats) is a hit, I catch some Thursday night NFL action with a bunch of people more or less like me, and I completely forget about the anxiety I create for myself in my isolating world of work, food, and routine. I’ll chance a night of awkwardness for that any day, much less a Thursday.

—

Long story short, it was the best case scenario. In fact, “best case” is exactly what I texted a friend of mine after I left the apartment where the dinner was. There was nothing special about it in terms of food. Oh sure, my ice cream was a hit , but the straight-from-the soup-kitchen tuna casserole and the frozen Mrs. T ‘s pieorgies were hardly foodie-friendly. But eaten after an “Our Father” and with a mixed group of young adults just kicking back and watching some football after another day in the it-came-to-fast real world, well, those pieorgis tasted like a million bucks — albeit, with a buttload of salt.

It just goes to show you that food — and dining — is so much more about taste, consumerism, and writing. It’s about living, sharing, and being thankful for the things that bring us meaning. Reminded of that, I think I’ll be taking some more time to eat frozen peirgies with others, and a lot less of eating, and blogging by myself.

Weekend College Football Pick Six

Six picks for the weekends games, all of which I plan to tune into at some point. Got an issue with one of the picks? Hit the comments and let me know. I promise to at least pretend to consider your egregious reasoning.

Baylor at Louisiana Monroe: Can I see some love for Kolton Browning for Heisman or what? How many quarterbacks in the country can go into SEC stadiums (of teams not named Vandy and Kentucky, to boot) during back to back weeks and come out with a 6-1 touchdown to interception ratio? That being said, I like the physicality of Baylor’s defense, and think two weeks of emotional highs leave the Warhawks a little slow out of the gate for their home opener. A late comeback bid fails as the Bears win 34-31.

Miami (Fl) at Georgia Tech: Is it just me, or do the Rambling Wreck drop the ball (literally) every time Paul Johnson’s team is about to “turn the corner” in ACC play? This is a huge matchup given Georgia Tech’s week one loss to Virginia Tech, but considering Miami’s 3-0 record by a combined 92-34 over the last three years, I’m not terribly optimistic for Johnson and company. I’m sure this guy will have something to say about how I’m wrong about Johnson’s success in the ACC, but I look for the trend to continue this Saturday. I’ll be pulling for the Yellow Jackets, but I’m picking ‘Canes 27-21.

VMI at Navy: Navy’s been destroyed on the road against BCS teams so far this year, and after the last natural disaster setback against Penn State, team captain Bo Snelson vowed the Mids would be better. I really hope so. If Navy can get to some real option football then the offense should hum, and thankfully VMI doesn’t have the horses to run with Navy for four quarters on defense. As for Navy’s defense? Again, let’s just say the best thing I can do is hope, at this point. It’s going to be a long season for Navy fans, but the Mids win this one, 42-28.

Utah State at Colorado State: The battle of master against the apprentice when it comes to offensive coordinators. Dave Baldwin, USU’s former OC and one of my favorite coaches to talk to, is now leading Colorado State’s offense, although the transition hasn’t gotten off without a few bumps. Utah State and Matt Wells’ Power Spread attack just has too much talent, and given how well the front seven of the defense has been playing (especially against two very physical teams in Wisconsin and Utah) I expect the Aggies to ram the Rams, 38-17. Haha, I kill with these puns.

No. 18 Michigan at No. 11 Notre Dame: If I’m a Notre Dame fan (and I am) I’m still having nightmares about what Denard Robinson pulled off last year in the Wolverines’ 35-31, come-from-behind victory. Still, I can’t help get the impression that Manti Te’o and the Irish defense are playing inspired football. The Irish front seven  are fast and athletic enough to take Michigan out of their comfort zone and make Denard beat them, which, after last year’s heroics, he can’t possibly do again. I think the Irish offense is coming into its own, and I expect Tyler Eifert to come up big in a nial-biter of an Irish victory. Wake up the echoes, 24-21, Note Dame.

No 15. Kansas State at No. 6 Oklahoma: I really like Colin Klein, but I’m just not sold when it comes to Kansas State competing with the heavy hitters of Big 12 defenses like the Sooners and Longhorns. Gashing Miami is one thing (heck, Boston College did it) but keeping pace with Landry Jones and the Sooner offense is another. It’s a close finish, but under the lights I’m going with the home team. Boomer Sooner, 38-31.

New Orleans Ice Cream Co. Mint Chocolate Cookie

One of the difficult things about being a critic of anything — whether it be sports, food, fashion, awful fall TV shows — is that you sometimes have to say less than stellar things about people and companies. Go ahead and paint corporations or certain people as selfish, greedy, and blah blah blah, but having come from a background in writing, I’ve come to understand that most people are, well people. And after several life-changing experiences with many different kinds of people, including a Church mission trip to help rebuild homes — and peoples’ lives — destroyed by Hurricane Katrina, I’ve steadily come to believe most people are fundamentally good.

Kind of like how, despite being let down by a lackluster showing by their Mississippi Debris flavor, I’m coming around to the idea that New Orleans Ice Cream Company’s flavors are fundamentally good. Very good.

One of my major gripes with Mississippi Debris was that its many mix-ins detracted from the texture of the ultra-premium chocolate ice cream, leaving me with no coherent sense of a complete bite. It’s a problem, because for someone who doesn’t want to down more than 2-3 scoops at a time, it adds up to getting an incomplete texture and flavor experience. With an ice cream philosophy forged in the simplicity of fresh dairy exposed by the Utah State Creamery and Aggie Ice Cream, I lean towards flavors that maximize mix-ins to provide coverage for each spoonful, while at the same time appealing to a classic flavor and textural contrast which still allows the ice cream base to shine.

Mint Chocolate Cookie not only embodies this philosophy, but it does so for a great cause. You see, not only is New Orleans Ice Cream Co. working to bring great taste to ice cream lovers across the country, but they’re giving back to real people who need real help by donating a portion of their sales to the Make it Right Foundation. That Foundation is working to help rebuild the city of New Orleans from the devastation experienced during 2005′s Hurricane Katrina. And as someone who is only six months removed from visiting and working to rebuild that devastation on the Gulf Coast, I can tell firsthand that there are still a lot of people in need of any and all the help they can get.

So let’s talk about this ice cream then, and why, just seconds after my trying a spoonful it for the first time, I was ready to proclaim it the best tasting mint flavored ice cream I’ve ever had. It starts, obviously, with the cream itself. It’s smooth and sumptuous, with a texture that slowly melts in your mouth with the bright and herby essence of mint. Sweet and floral, rich and creamy, there are no off flavors or ice crystals to stand in the way of the milky fresh flavor.

If the cream is good, the mix-in is great. The use of mint cookies in place of the classic mint chocolate chips can’t be overstated in terms of creating an effective and tasty contrast. The cookies themselves are crunchier than any cookie I’ve ever encountered in ice cream, with an exterior snap and sweet-floral flavor which  could have come out of those iconic green Girl Scout cookie boxes themselves. The pieces are large and dispersed with adequate frequency, ensuring each spoonfuls gets a piece of the mint cookie action. I did notice the cookies lose the distinctive snap after a few days in the freezer, but such is the cost of moderation.

If you’re a fan of Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream you’re going to love this flavor. It’s base is as good as they come, while the mix in of thick and crunchy chocolate-mint cookies really sets it over the edge. Just keep out of the reach of your local neighborhood Girl Scout leader. This is one ice cream that can’t be good for their business. That’s OK. It’s good in my belly, and it’s good for the people of New Orleans. Win-win, anyone?

Ranking: 9/10.

On Oreos, as in, the Flavored Ones

I stopped off at the Superwalmart on my way home from work the other day. Aside from the Orange hue of the Halloween Oreos (actually just plain flavored Double Stuff) and the Blue hue of the Summertime Oreos, they also still had Birthday Creme Oreos and all you’re standard Oreo flavors. The next day, at Target, I saw the new Candy Cane Oreos as well as a sleeper favorite of mine, the DQ Blizzard Creme Oreos.

Seriouseeats.com did an interesting taste test a while back in which they tried “every” flavor of Oreo (actually, they didn’t — they missed some of the exclusives, plus they forgot the Sugar Free ones). The consensus from the comments was that many of the flavors fell short, and that the true Oreo aficionado will always prefer the standard Oreo, or, if more of a creme fan, the Double Stuff Original.

I mostly agree with this assessment, although I’ll be frank in admitting that I don’t dislike the Reduced Fat Oreos as much as some, and even find value in the often ridiculed Berry Burst Oreo. Likewise, a recent tasting of the Peanut Butter Creme Oreos has me once again rethinking my Oreo philosophy.

Many have disparaged the Peanut Butter Creme Oreo because the creme flavor doesn’t taste like peanut butter. I find this to be the kind of pretentious statement that might be true if you’re one who lives off a diet of natural brand and haughty “designer” peanut butters, but seriously, if you can go to town with a can of JIF and a spoon (and if so, more power to you) than I think you’ll find the creme to taste pretty damn like peanut butter. It’s sweet but salty, with a slightly oily (in a good way) mouthfeel that plays perfectly with the cocoa-dense crunch of the wafers. I like the cookies because they’re actually the most restrained Oreos in terms of sweetness, allowing that time-honored combination of chocolate and peanut butter to shine through at its fullest.

Note the mark of a true Oreo: the creme should peel from the wafer cleanly. Imposters cannot.

My favorite Oreos? Nope; that would be the Original. But don’t knock Peanut Butter Oreos. This is the kind of cookie I have to keep myself from buying for fear I’ll eat the entire package in one sitting. Now that’s what I like to call some really seriouse Oreo eating.

Mississippi Debris Debris Ice Cream

Sometimes, when your football teams get crushed, the only way to try to pick yourself back up is to take a stroll to the freezer and devour a pint of ice cream. Any flavor works, but chocolate, chalk full of all those mood-boosting chemicals and whatnot, works best. And thanks to some free samples from New Orleans Ice Cream Company, I had just the remedy sitting in my freezer for Utah State’s Special Teams woes. I give you, Mississippi  Debris…

Our rich Chocolate Ice Cream is chock full of Fudge Brownie pieces, Chocolate Flakes, Truffles, Malt Balls, Chocolate Almonds, Cherry Liquor Cups and Marshmallow. A Fudge Swirl completes this

Obviously, there’s a lot going on with this ice cream — too much, to tell you the truth. And just like excessive backfield motion can confuse your own offense, the excessive elements of chocolate gluttony in this flavor detract from what otherwise sounds like the most desirable ice cream any chocoholic could ask for. But let’s start with the positives. The fudge swirl is certainly very good. It’s smooth, dark, and rich, with a flavor and texture that exceeds the fudge ribbons most large-scale ice cream manufacturers can produce. There are also nice elements of crunch in there, including the chocolate rich chip pieces. The melt-in-your mouth, sumptuous chocolate ganache flavor is like an extra present from Santa for those who’ve long suffered with sub-par ”chocolate flavored chips” some ice cream makers load up on, and will no doubt appease those truly trained in the “dark arts.”

That being said, I think an ice cream “every man” — and not, you know, the food blogger “type” — will be a little let down by this flavor. The marshmallow bits are extraneous and too prominent. I would have prefered a melted marshmallow swirl or none at all, but the chewed flakes only take up space and detract from the chocolate assault. The ice cream base, while good, doesn’t wow me. It seems to melt too easily, and doesn’t hold the ultra-premium quality I’d typically associate with small batch products. A single, random scoopfull is unlikely to turn up a definitive tastes of buttery almonds or chocolate malted crunch, and despite the claiming Cherry Liquor Cups, I failed to detect much in the way of fruit notes.

It’s a good ice cream, but is it something I’d pay to have shipped? No way. With so much going on it just doesn’t deliver a truely satiating flavor and texture, and unless you’re the kind who eats, sleeps, and dreams chocolate ice cream, it’s probably overkill for a treat. Knowing my own tastes, I think I’d be just as content with a pint from Turkey Hill, or, better yet, a reliable kicking game in the Fourth Quarter.

Pumpkin Bagel Poppers

I’m of the firm belief that one of the most vexing food dilemmas faced my mankind is the question of donut versus bagel. Does one go with the light, airy fried dough of the donut, wrapped in a sweet and sumptuous glaze; or choose the chewy and glutenous bagel, which builds in flavor like a sympathy of malty sweetness and cream cheese richness.

The question of donut versus bagel particularly perplexes me during the fall, when pumpkins get the royal treatment on both counts. The past few years have seen me veer strongly to the case of the bagel, however, in no small part to Einstein Brothers Pumpkin Bagel Poppers.

Basically a donut hole, Pumpkin Bagels Poppers have all the spring that biting into a bagel entails, to go along with a sticky-sweet pumpkin cream cheese glaze that, I’m really sorry to quote Guy Fieri here, would be good if eaten off of  my shoe. And believe it or not, they’re not God-awful for you. On a scale of 1 to turn-you-into-a-pumpkin, I give them a 7.5 for a mild pumpkin flavor with subtle cinnamon and ginger spice additions, but in terms of 1 to I-could-eat-this-everyday-for-the-rest-of-my-life, it gets a resounding “yessum.”

Pumpkin Season Has Arrived

It started last weekend when I had my prerequisite right of fall eating with a Pumpkin Bagel with Pumpkin Schmear, but it didn’t end there. I’ve been spotting a veritable buttload of pumpkin eats over the last week, including Kellogg’s infamous Pumpkin Spice waffles, as well as new Archer Farms Pumpkin Muffins and my beloved Edy’s Pumpkin Ice Cream. Word is, even Panera Bread is getting a Pumpkin Bagel.

I may be no Scott Sevener, but I do love me some pumpkin (speaking of which, can a guy get a pumpkin pie flavored cereal, please?). For no other reason than the love of all things orange, I’m more or less intent on documenting each of these finds, starting with my beloved Einstein’s Bros. Pumpkin Bagel and Schmear.

This is no donut in disguise, mind you. It’s everything you want in a bagel — chewy on the outside, warm and bready with lots of air pickets and pull-apart, yeasty dough, within – with a hint of fall spice and just malty sweetness. The cream cheese schmear is a bit on the vicious side, but it has a sweet, creamy flavor that reminds me of a pumpkin mousse. Actually, it reminds me of a better, richer version of my Grandma’s pumpkin mousse, which might just be the greatest dessert ever created for Weight Watchers.

Anyone else a pumpkin fan with some early fall eats and treats? How about other fall flavored treats? Let me know your picks for the ones to check out!

Septemer 11th

“Adam?”

The voice was gentle yet sudden, like the first creeping rays of sunlight rising at 5:30 on a Wednesday morning. Called out in my own predawn anxieties only by the sudden mention of my name, I turned to face the speaker, meeting the gaze of a woman of average height and ordinary appearance. The woman, maybe in her 40s, maybe in her 50s, held up an I.D. card with my picture on it. I mentally cursed, verbally thanking her in a stutter while mentally chiding myself for dropping my Naval Academy I.D. to begin with. Hardly up an hour, and already I was losing things left and right.

“Guess I should be more careful,” I let slip. “They’re not gonna let me on base without it.”

She smiled, saying, “I figured it was you. You looked like you were in the military.”

Right then and there my heart hit the floor.

Looking down at the ground momentarily, drooping my body ever so slightly, mentally exhaling images from the past. I managed but three words.

“Oh. I’m not.”

***

From there came the story. Inevitable, to use the most cliché word I can come up with, but a prerequisite nonetheless on this day of days. Guilt. Depression. A sense of impotence and failure that after four years has never fully surrendered the field, the memories of my past all came rushing back by her mention of the military. Just as it has so many times before. Just as it has and just as it will again, with no greater force of emotion, than on each 11th day of September.

This day means so many things for so many people. It almost seems inconsequential, among the catalogue of poignant reflections, to offer up my own. But in that cathartic attempt to connect, to confirm the very existence of emotion we all feel and suppress but can never truly outrun, I share my story just the same.

I was 12 years old on September 11th 2001. A self-conscious and doubting seventh grader, I was also at a new school with new people, and in the roughly two weeks since I began that year, I’d been called every name under the sun. The skinny kid with the parted hair and short shorts, I kept to myself in those first few days, caring only about killing the clock to when I could leave school and be by myself.

That was, until the towers came crashing down.

It was an awakening for me in many ways, kick-starting my depressed, apathetic young mind into a spirit of purpose and belief, as well as self-confidence in myself and a renewed interest in life. I didn’t know it would lead to that at 10:00 in the morning, however. I still vividly remember the tears rushing down my face like a melting glacier. I recall the fear — the overwhelming fear I felt – that as those towers fell an apocalypse was materializing. I trembled alone in a guidance counselor’s office, searching every faculty of my being for some kind of explanation. Out of that experience came a realization. Evil was born that day in my young mind, existing, as it were, not in a book about a Galaxy Far Far Away, but rather in my world, my country.

Evil, but also good.

And in the promise I made to a God I had never really known before that day, there emerged a determinism and identity to go along with that good. So it began, and from that day forward I walked a little taller. I spoke a little louder. I got up a little earlier, and I believed a lot stronger. It wasn’t just speaking my mind or taking pride in my country. It was about learning that life meant a world beyond me. It was about taking the time to say ‘hello’ to people, stepping into the light of life and stepping into the world. Enjoyment. Leisure. Thankfulness. Hope. All the emotions took on new meaning, like a picture book in the process of being colored.

It was also about preparing myself. Inscribed with a sense of patriotism but also determination, I resolved that the only thing I wanted to do when I got older was to become an officer in the military. And when the time came to go to college, that’s exactly the route I began on, joining an Army ROTC unit. After a year of “testing” the program out I had become the consummate cadet. With the highest physical fitness scores and a strong acumen for academics and military science, I had classmates and friends telling me I was destined for great things and a bright future.

That bright future faded the summer after my freshman year. Not with bang, but with a whimper. I went steadily downhill during my sophomore year of college, collapsing in on myself amidst a flurry of concerns, anxieties, and emotions which ultimately led me to doubt my ability to live the life that September 11th had led me towards. At some point the person I was suppose to be ceased to exist. It’s as if I had fallen asleep, choosing to quietly leave the world beyond my control, the world that September 11th had shown me existed and had to be faced. Still walking, I left my college and my ROTC unit, eventually rebuilding my life.

But I hadn’t awaken my person, and had not turned back around to the view the world.

***

September 11th, 2001.

What was, what is, it about?

Senselessness? Purpose? Good? Evil?  Self Recognition? Global Awareness?

Choice.

With sore eyes I allowed my gaze to come up from the pavement. I step back  into the present, into another weekday morning before work. The woman at the Y passes no judgement on my actions, isn’t even deviating from her pleasant, warm smile. We speak a few minutes longer, her telling me about her son in R.O.T.C, asking questions about my experience and why I left my own program. They’re questions I answer, honestly and with conviction, feeling the tinge of regret and remorse, but also realizing the choice has been made. Whatever my feelings now, I can’t unmake them. I don’t need to live within a shadow of shame. I can choose to open the picture book again and pick up the crayons.

We live with our pasts, just like we live with that day. It’s certain. Fact. History. Unremarkable. There’s pain. There’s anguish. Disappointment and a sense of questioning and hopelessness, the memory of that day, like the feeling of failure and regret I’ve carried from my life decisions, can slow us down and bury us in depression and anxiety.

That is, if we choose to let them.

I think back to September 11th, and to the heroes on Flight 93, or the firefighters who rushed into an inferno of certain death to save others. I think to the subsequent fighting in Afghanistan, and the young men and women who chose the life of disquietude and brawl in order to protect us from harm.  And, I look to myself, and the person I’ve become. I know it’s a person I’m not happy with, but every September 11th I’m reminded, in that convergence of feelings from years past, that it’s a person I chose to be. Just as much as it’s a person I can choose to no longer be.

 ***

I thought about that person, as I huffed and puffed in the pre-dawn exhaustion of a morning workout. I allow myself to sleepwalk through too many days, living the kind of life I lived before 9-11. But in the reminder of the day, in the reminder of the person I could have been, I’m forced to ask myself whether or not I can walk on into a wider world. Not a world of my choosing. Not the comfortable one filled with childhood innocence and personal control and petty materialism. And even though the disquietude, and even though the brawl of that world may not match that which I had originally planned to face — had to face — it doesn’t make the struggle any less essential.

I walked out of the gym, into the cool air of a late summer morning after a thunderstorm the night before. I take a deep breath, knowing the world that September 11th opened up for us is a world of consequence, and a world in which we’re not always going to like what see. But it’s a world where mornings like this provide us respite through the storms, giving us the worthwhile feeling of knowing we’re alive.  For that I thank God, and the sacrifice of all those people who died that September day.

Apple Jacks

Ah, autumn. Let us, for a moment, breathe it in.

Source: Crystal Ball Run

Great, isn’t it? With the the arrival of cooler air and multicolored leaves comes the weekly respite of college football games and the annual opportunities to watch grown men lay a shellacking on each other.

Can I get an “F-yea, America”?

I make no qualms about how fall is my favorite season. It’s not just about the football though, or the natural serenity of the autumnal landscape. Let’s be real here; with the fall comes some great, great foods. True, the bounty of summer produce — including those juicy sweet tomatoes – comes to an end, but a bounty of crisp, tart, and refreshing apples is right behind them.

Perhaps the iconic American fruit, Apples haven’t been immune to cereal imitators. Apple Cinnamon Cheerios has been of shelves for years, while other attempts to copy the classic flavor combination, like Chex’s Apple Cinnamon flavor, have come and gone. Many have even managed to taste mildly like an actual Apple, although when push comes to shove with Apple cereals, none can match that astringent and cool crisp of a Fuji or Empire.

Can some one explain what the bottom “thing” is?

Apple Jacks has never tried to though, and that’s one thing I’ve always admired about the cereal. Simple, straightforward, and one-note, Apple Jacks was the “cool” cereal to buy growing up. “We eat what we like,” said those kids in the baggy jeans and wavy hair, as that goofy father figure stared dumbfounded at their apparent lack of taste. “But it doesn’t even taste like Apples,” the dad would say. Pssh, who cares? 

Thing is, Apple Jacks does taste like apples. Kind of.

I spotted Apple Jacks on the cheap recently and couldn’t resist the fall flavors — even though the temperature in central Maryland was still registering above 90. Still, I felt it was time to revisit this classic. Pouring a half serving of the cereal to eat dry, I immediately noticed the crunch and sweetness. The crunch is light — say a 5 out of 10, and not as hearty as I remembered it — while the sweetness has a burst of cinnamon flavor. It’s sweet, very sweet, but there’s a nice and not overbearing tart flavor to it. It’s not the flavor of a fresh apple, but it is the flavor of a dried apples, albeit one with added sugar. It makes sense when you think about it, given that the cereal contains both dried apples and apple juice concentrate, but it also doesn’t make sense, given that the leading grain used to make the cereal is corn. Clearly, oat-based cereals lend themselves better to the Apple flavor, balancing the sweetness and tartness better than the more insipid blank canvas of corn flour.

I never ate Apple Jacks in milk as a kid, but overall I thought they had a good showing even when I sampled the rings in skim milk. The rings absorb a moderate amount of milk, with diffusion taking place so that the milk takes on a sweet and not overwhelmingly cinnamon flavor. Although the end milk flavor is mild and not overly spicy,  the sweetness was outstanding, and did much to lift up the otherwise bland liquid.

I like Apple Jacks, but I don’t love it. It’s right up there with Apple Cinnamon Cheerios, but it’s also entirely one note and not quite as crunchy, lacking enough textural and flavor contrasts to keep each bowl new and exciting. That being said, it can be ‘hacked’ for the ultimate in autumnal cereal experiences. I first discovered the Apple Jacks-Granola hack during my freshman year of college. Using the naturally crunchy and brown-sugar cinnamon properties of granola (not to mention the affinity of raisins for apples) a spoonful (oh hell, a ladle) of granola can go along way towards making Apple Jacks truly great. If, that is, you’re into the sugar rush. But hey, I am. And you know what they say.

Why do we eat Apple Jacks?

‘Cause we eat what we like.

Apple Jacks

• Price: $2.00 (on sale at Safeway)
• Ranking: 7/10
• Chances I’d Buy Again: 40%