Why Not Review: Breakfast Cereals

With the shopping list lying lack lustre on the kitchen counter now is the time to arrange to be treated to more than the odd raisin deep in the depths of a bag of Sainsbury's basics museli.  However witty the self deprecating bi-line on the package is, with long days of revision ahead we deserve more.  

IZZY RICHARDS celebrates the simple stuff… 

Weetabix represents that age-old dilemma. If you have it without milk, it’s shit. Let’s face the truth: it’s just a nasty piece of dry unappetizing wheaty stuff that looks like it should be reserved for consumption by your pet. But as soon as you pour the milk over it, the Weetabix structure begins a swift process of deterioration into revolting grey gunk. Between these extremes lies the briefest window of opportunity. There is a miraculous moment in which the Weetabix has been pleasantly moistened but is yet to lose its form and represents the very dizzy heights of deliciousness.

The Weetabixian is a higher being because they have mastered this delicate balancing act. Then there’s the added bonus: soggy Weetabix bears a striking resemblance to Dickensian gruel. Should it all go horribly wrong – should the shapely contours of this mass-produced wheaty nugget crumble into the creamy ocean before they can be shovelled past your quivering lips – why not pretend to be stuck in a Victorian orphanage? Kick off your day with a gripping historical adventure at your very own breakfast table.

BAYAN PARVAZI proposes breakfast should be a sign you are going up in the world…

Breakfast is, so they tell me, the most important meal of the day so brush away that paedophile of a tiger, gimp of a chocolate chimp and Ian “Beefy” Botham’s endorsement of Shredded Wheat (there are other ways to treat your bowels) and join the elite with M&S’s Deliciously Nutty Crunch.

The Tories are apparently coming with their moats and duck-ponds, we’re being told we’re exiting the credit crunch so spend Tab readers, walk proudly into the shop, scoff at the paupers scuttling away towards Sainsbury’s with those ghastly easyjet orange bags, and give the finger to the holier than thou posse who condemn those of us who shop under the fabled turquoise standard. If you’re feeling really up for a fight walk into town with a fabric Waitrose bag holding it up to those incessant campaigners in their cage outside of King’s. 

There are enough calories in a bowl to not only kick start your day but also send alarm bells ringing on your biological clock so why not go the extra mile and lather the tender nuts and flakes in Cleopatran whole milk.  Start your day with this rocket fuel and you’ll soon be whizzing through revision or getting very very fat.

ALEX WETTEN has the answer in the search for 'brekstasy'…

To any cereal Marxists who avoid the opulent delights of a bowl of Country Crisp, I say eat your flavourless doormat of a breakfast. I don’t care – when morning comes I dine amongst kings. Jordan's prides itself on being the cereal of choice for more world leaders, Olympic medallists and Nobel prize winners than any other breakfast brand and you can see why! The vanilla and coconut flavoured wholegrain clusters are a wonder of culinary endeavour and together with the cheeky freeze-dried fruit and lashings of whole milk, they combine to form a soup of such deliciousness that it will literally leave you in brekstasy.

PHOEBE LUCKHURST ponders the pros and cons of the ever so moorish Crunchy Nut… 

I don't buy into those adverts where a man chases a rogue baby who is unwittingly careering down a flight of stairs in a shopping trolley and stops the trolley only to rescue the 750g box of Kellogg's Crunchy Nut ('Ludicrously Tasty') and discard the baby. Let's be honest, that's a bit silly. No breakfast cereal would make me run anywhere, especially not Crunchy Nut, always a Sunday morning delicacy for masticating slowly in front of T4. My mother, cereal Nazi (nay, Fuhrer) considered them a 'treat' which due to their high sugar content could only be consumed on Sundays. For me, Crunchy Nut represents a respite from the mundane, namely my usual bowl of All Bran.

Obvious advantages include their high sugar content; they don't need raisins, flavoured milk or your mother's brief absence from the kitchen at which point you can dispose of them in the bin and conceal of the evidence with a couple of newspapers in order for consumption. Disadvantages include the extreme pain caused when you get a kernel of nut lodged in your teeth. Many a Sunday morning has been disturbed by the excruciating agony of such an occurrence.

LAURA DENNEHY is enthusiastic about any breakfast where potential for a puppet show is thrown in…

Muddles have actually been renamed “multigrain shapes” in an unimaginative move by Kellogg’s, but they remain muddles in my house and thus in this review.

Now I think the allure of the breakfast cereal can be explained by the simple equation of novelty factor plus forbidden sugar. 

Firstly, muddles come in miniature star, tree and people shapes, this just makes them taste better. For further evidence see alpabetti spaghetti and jelly babies. Their shape is very flexible; you can gain as much amusement from watching the little men drown in a bowl of milk as from biting off their heads while you snack on them dry. Although critics have likened their people shapes to cat food, this too could be used in some breakfast-time game. Secondly, forbidden sugar. Let me explain: you always crave the cereals your mum banned when you were little due to their horrific teeth rotting powers. The beauty of living away from home and being classified a grown up at home is that you can indulge this illicit cereal fix. Unfortunately, my mum was right. Muddles do contain more sugar than a truckload of lollipops. But 20% sugar gives you such a sugar rush, you’re too busy looking for the next hit to care.

JOSEPHINE TAYLOR gets back to basics in praise of porridge…

Porridge reminds us all of those slightly melted sweets your Granny pulls out of her pocket that have clearly been festering there for years. But, porridge has been given a bad name: it is not just a ‘wholesome’ food for a cold winters day but is also the ideal student food. Because I make my porridge with water not milk I obtain my sustenance without having to step outside (I may get scurvy but I won’t die of starvation). A microwave, a packet of Quakers and a tap is all I need to satisfy me. Now I’m really craving some porridge… The oats go into the bowl; pour the water on top; into the microwave. It spins round and round, slowly rising into a delicious splodge of goo, the whirring sound building up in anticipation of the ‘ping’. Yes, that’s right, give it to me… 

LISE MCNALLY dismisses 'grown up' quakers for a more nostalgic choice of oats…

While it may not be the most grown up, or indeed the most nutritious, of the various porridge types available to your average breakfaster, I still regard Ready Brek as being the best possible choice for the most important meal of the day.

Although some people (I'm employing some empathy here and placing myself in the shoes of someone who's subject requires them to actually get up and go to lectures) might point out that obtaining milk and preparing something hot is just too much of a hassle in the frantic 20 minutes of hell that is the time lapse between bed and lecture hall, this warm and delicious gem of a brekkie is more than just a satisfying filler: It's pure nostalgia in a bowl, the kind of treat my mum would have produced in a crisis, covered in something awesome like honey or ground cinnamon. You can even imagine yourself eating it sitting at an actual table like a real human being heaven.

So embrace the wonder that is Ready Brek: Come on, blissful childhood regression in just two and half short minutes.  

ANNA SHEINMAN sings her support…

Oh Coco Pops, oh Coco Pops 

Only you can make me whole

Your crispy, smooshy, scrumptious ways

Have become a part of my soul.?

Our giddy rollercoaster of love

Began a long time ago

When I said to the aeroplane spoon full of Weetabix [nnnnnnnnnnyyyyyyyyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaoooooooooooow]

“Gurgle glugle gurgle.. NO!”?

I liked the way you turned everything brown

So it looked like my mud pies

I liked less the way, when upturned on my head

The pops went into my eyes 

Our mutual affection began to grow 

As did my tummy

I mastered chocolate rice crispy cakes

Which are like you but more…  [searches in vain for more descriptive word… oh alright] …yummy.

In my teens I left you behind

For pretentious things like muesli

Porridge, yoghurt, dried apple rings…

Did you know nothing rhymes with muesli?

But to you I always return

Especially when I get dumped

So Coco pops, my chocolate darlings

Goodbye.

Until I next get bumped.