August Challenge; textures

I rediscovered granola whilst on holiday. Three days of the ‘Full English Breakfast’ in the hotel had me yearning for something a little different. We moved into a cottage with two other couples for the remainder of our stay and granola with yoghurt was on the table the first morning I came down to breakfast.

I used to eat granola until I became fed up with it. I wonder why? What is it about a relationship with a simple foodstuff than can turn from acceptance to indifference to “I never want to see that stuff again…”

I moved on to porridge. This was the breakfast of my childhood. My mother, being a Scot, insisted on serving it with salt, rather than the namby-pamby sugar beloved by Sassenachs. This seemed perfectly normal as a child but adulthood convinced me to be different and I resorted to honey as a way of disguising the taste. Because, let’s face it, unless you’re the kilted, caber-tossing superman on the porridge oats packet, you’re not really tough enough to eat the stuff au natural.

Anniemay is pleased that granola and I are back together again. She doesn’t even mind a yogurt-flavoured kiss in the morning; “it’s worth it just to see the look on your face.” By this she means that she no longer has to see me grimace at every mouthful of porridge. Some mornings I even manage a smile.