Breakfast fads come and go, but at heart, is Britain a nation of cereal eaters? | Rachel Cooke
There are times when a bowl of cornflakes is more enticing than dragging ourselves out for dinner. And avocados? Forget itAt a party not so long ago, a friend told me that she was about to leave. “I’m hungry,” she said, her eyes sliding towards the coats. “I’m going home for a bowl of Weetabix.” I greeted this with some surprise, if not outright derision. Wouldn’t she prefer a pizza with me? But already she was entering an ecstatic state. “Weetabix is lovely,” she went on. “Sugar, cold milk … ” Half a century of eating the stuff had taught her the optimum point at which to devour it, a fleeting moment she could judge by sight. Its biscuit-dryness had to be gone, but it needed to be soft rather than soggy. Her eyes half closed, she wantonly mimed pushing a spoon into this late-night ambrosia.I thought of this the other day, when Alan Titchmarsh, TV gardener and aspirant steamy novelist, informed the nation it should stop eating avocados on the grounds of their environmental impact (to summarise: many of those sold in the UK are grown on land that was formerly rainforest; their cultivation involves huge amounts of water in places where it’s scarce; they must be shipped 5,000 miles or more to reach us). “There’s a lot to be said for cornflakes, Weetabix and Shreddies,” he announced, deploying the homely tartness that made him such a hit on Pebble Mill and Ground Force to deal with the 21st-century hipster breakfast of choice. Ha! Next time my friend refused a dinner date on the grounds that she would rather commune with a bowl of cereal, I would have no choice but to mention him. Several times. In my best (native) Yorkshire accent. Continue reading...
There are times when a bowl of cornflakes is more enticing than dragging ourselves out for dinner. And avocados? Forget it
At a party not so long ago, a friend told me that she was about to leave. “I’m hungry,” she said, her eyes sliding towards the coats. “I’m going home for a bowl of Weetabix.” I greeted this with some surprise, if not outright derision. Wouldn’t she prefer a pizza with me? But already she was entering an ecstatic state. “Weetabix is lovely,” she went on. “Sugar, cold milk … ” Half a century of eating the stuff had taught her the optimum point at which to devour it, a fleeting moment she could judge by sight. Its biscuit-dryness had to be gone, but it needed to be soft rather than soggy. Her eyes half closed, she wantonly mimed pushing a spoon into this late-night ambrosia.
I thought of this the other day, when Alan Titchmarsh, TV gardener and aspirant steamy novelist, informed the nation it should stop eating avocados on the grounds of their environmental impact (to summarise: many of those sold in the UK are grown on land that was formerly rainforest; their cultivation involves huge amounts of water in places where it’s scarce; they must be shipped 5,000 miles or more to reach us). “There’s a lot to be said for cornflakes, Weetabix and Shreddies,” he announced, deploying the homely tartness that made him such a hit on Pebble Mill and Ground Force to deal with the 21st-century hipster breakfast of choice. Ha! Next time my friend refused a dinner date on the grounds that she would rather commune with a bowl of cereal, I would have no choice but to mention him. Several times. In my best (native) Yorkshire accent. Continue reading...
