Usually around Halloween, the grocery store would start stocking the Day-Glo trifecta: Count Chocula, Frankenberry, and Boo Berry. There were lots of great cereals when I was a kid - any of the Cap’n Crunch varieties were cool, or Trix, or even Lucky Charms. We can eat an entire box of Crunch Berries and nobody can stop us. Cooking for yourself sucks! Just pour a bowl of sugary goodness and you’re all set!Īnd, because we always ate the coolest cereals under the disapproving gaze of parents who couldn’t believe the crap we talked them into getting for us, it’s those very same cereals we return to as grown-ups. We carry this intense love affair into our adult lives when, as slovenly bachelors, we realize that - aside from being totally awesome - cereal is delicious, portable, and convenient. Boys, on the other hand, go positively insane for any brightly colored box giving off the slightest whiff of sugar. I believe they’ve always been this way as little girls, they don’t get overly excited about Cap’n Crunch or the Trix Rabbit. They approach cereal the same way they look at cars - function over form, practicality over flair. Rarely does a trip to the grocery store occur without me dragging poor Leah to the cereal aisle in search of some new and exciting variation. I’ve had long, in-depth conversations with otherwise sane adult males about the relative merits of various breakfast products. Like many men I know, I have an inordinate preoccupation with cereal. I prefer to think of it as the world’s first breakfast cereal. Described as a grain tasting like “flour with honey,” it enabled them to survive in what should have been lethally inhospitable conditions. During their Biblical forty years of wandering in the desert, the Jews subsisted on a miracle food that fell from the heavens each night.
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