On days when I don’t feel like cooking, we eat — quite happily, I might add — cold cereal for dinner. Cold cereal is, in my opinion, a near-perfect food. (Nutritionists, I’m not talking to you. I know the only actual perfect food is ice cream.) It requires no prep except pouring in a bowl and nothing else besides milk, a spoon and my mouth.
Perhaps cereal is so comforting because it’s one of the first solid foods we’re fed as babies: soft rice cereal mixed with milk or easily graspable toasted oat nubbins to nibble on once we’ve got a tooth or two. Growing up, I had cold cereal a few times a week, though my mother would only allow “healthy” cereals into the house, like Grape Nuts, Raisin Bran or plain Cheerios. I begged — begged! — my mother to buy Honey Nut Cheerios when the variety was introduced in 1979 and she only relented after months of whining. Once a year, however, I got to pick one box of whatever sugared-up cereal I wanted: Apple Jacks, Froot Loops, Cocoa Puffs, Frosted Flakes, Lucky Charms or Corn Pops. It was hard to decide because I loved them all with a white-hot passion. I still do.
However, I’ve ended up following my mother’s footsteps with regards to which cereals I’ll keep in the house. At the moment, I’ve got Cheerios and Raisin Bran, just like I grew up with. I indulged myself this morning with a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, which still feels a little transgressive, like I’m getting away with something naughty. I push the envelope in small ways.
I’ve found that cold cereal is a relatively effective antidote for my insomnia. When the woes of the world lay heavy on my addled mind and my lidless, staring eyes are like two skinned grapes, I creep downstairs and pour myself a bowl of vitamin-fortified solace. I read a book and munch my lightly processed, grain-based treat. Twenty minutes later, my head is nodding. Maybe it’s the amino acid tryptophan in the milk or maybe it’s the pleasant way that the cereal settles in my stomach, not too heavy but filling enough to satisfy me.