Hot Cereal, Hot Coffee

Cold cereal was crispy, flakey, or puffy, and served with milk. It was this reason, the splash of milk, that I avoided cold cereal (and still do), aside from a handful of clusters popped into my mouth as a crunchy dry snack.

Hot cereal was Cream of Wheat, simmered on the stovetop, and served with a pat of country crock margarine and a shower of granulated white sugar. On weekends, when dad was home for breakfast, our hot cereal was topped with a generous, scalding hot, sugary sweet splash of black coffee. 


It was my dad�s idea� something my Oma used to make? The coffee had to be extra hot, and extra sweet. Amanda and I loved coffee when we were kids, and this was one of our favorite ways to have it. We�d gather around the kitchen counter, which was where we sat for casual meals, and wait with excitement while he placed the steaming carafe of coffee in between our bowls. We would all start with a small pour, which pooled around the edges of the Cream of Wheat. As we ate and the sweet dark coffee mixed in with the cereal, we�d add more and more, until in the end, we were lapping up spoonfuls of coffee flecked with grains of wheat. 

I hadn�t eaten or even thought about hot cereal in years, until the other day Amanda said she had some for breakfast. I instantly remembered the aroma of sweet black coffee, the giddy anticipation as we waited for the liquid to cool enough to take a bite, the way everything in the bowl turned a creamy light caramel color after it all started to mix together. And then, of course, I ran out and got a box of Cream of Wheat.

There�s no recipe. Just make Cream of Wheat according the instructions on the box. Make it a little thick. Brew your coffee a little stronger than normal, and pour, a little at a time, over the cream of wheat in your bowl. This time I added the coffee plain, along with a swirl of maple syrup. When I was a kid, the coffee would be pre-mixed with white sugar. 

You Never Remember Anything about Our Childhood

I was going through old documents and files on my computer, and found this thing I wrote for Amanda for her 30th birthday. I never ended up giving it to her, for whatever reason. We always joke (in a funny-'cause-its-true kind of way) that Amanda has the worst memory ever, and I exist to be her life historian, because I have a crazy good memory.


Anyway, I think this is perfect for a sunny Friday afternoon, and has me longing for hot, endless summer days! PS. That epic photo up there is my favorite family photo! So 80s/90s. The original hipsters. We actually have a series of these, because my dad would set the timer and run back for the perfect shot. Check out the expression I'm making...HA! So good.

TGIF, friends!

You Never Remember Anything about Our Childhood (So I Remember it All)
Vol 1. Summer.

Overexposed and faded. Pastel and neon.
It was the 90s, after all.
We had big box fans and spray bottles for AC.
We had jugs of sun tea brewing on the picnic table in the front yard.
Mom and dad called it the back yard, which never made sense.
Mom with her tanning oil and tube tops.
The blue and white striped one was our favorite. Because it was her favorite.
It was hot and dry. Never humid.
Everything was the color of wheat, from the sky to the grass to your sun-bleached hair.
Except for the garden. It was like a jungle.
Lush and green, cool and shaded. Full of life.
We went barefoot over a path of hot gravel.
Like firewalkers on burning coals.
We had tough soles back then. And tougher souls.
We had iced sun tea in jelly jars, nestled in the cool garden dirt.
Yours with sugar, mine plain. Never with lemon.
The water from the hose was always sizzling hot at first.
Straight from the well, it tasted like the hose.
Rubber and metal, and earth.
The roma tomatoes, covered in a light layer of dust.
They were our favorite. Because they were Richard�s favorite.
Farm to table. Minus the table.
And minus the farm.
When dad came home from work, we chased the dust down the driveway.
We got to eat dinner outside.
We got to have fruit salad with an icy scoop of lime sherbet.
On the deck in the back yard, which mom and dad called the front yard.