About that oatmeal

So, I bothered to take the time to look at the packaging of the oatmeal goodies I purchase from Starbucks.

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There should be some nuts in there somewhere.

 Chicago oatmeal? Not so much.

For the record, Chicagoland Starbucks do not know how to make oatmeal properly.

Not at all.

The oatmeal at Starbucks has recently replaced my previous breakfast favorites of chocolate croissants and pumpkin loaf. The croissants make my stomach hurt, and the pumpkin loaf, though very tasty, isn't available enough. Few things are worse in the morning than being disappointed at the lack of pumpkin loaf availability.

Okay, that's not true, there are hundreds of thousands of things worse, if not millions of things worse than a pumpkin loaf disappointment, but that's really beside the point of the oatmeal, isn't it?

Every time I'm outside of a Starbucks with a Starbucks oatmeal, I'm asked, "I've always wondered about the Starbucks oatmeal. Is it any good?" EVERY. TIME.

To which I will say this: IF you also receive the brown sugar, the nuts and the dried fruit (which is to say, ALL of the oatmeal add-ons), then the Starbucks oatmeal is FABULOUS. I love it. It's great. I recommend it whole-heartedly with gusto.

Except maybe in Chicago. Then I recommend it, just not whole-heartedly, nor with gusto, as I'm not convinced they understand the concept of oatmeal at these Starsbuck.

Instead of filling the oatmeal with enough hot water to thicken the oatmeal and soften it, they added just barely enough water to cover the oatmeal. Which meant that both the oatmeal cooled very quickly since it didn't have enough thermal mass to battle the cold weather back to the hotel effectively, and that the oatmeal lacked any moisture to soften the dried fruit.

My only consolation was the glass of milk I nearly always get with my oatmeal. Now THAT at least was done right.

 Chookie would be proud

This morning, after managing to fall back asleep for an hour, Kris and I were woken up to some loud DVD player blaring some Christmas song a its top volume, which mean lovely Christmas distortion. Kris managed to drag himself up out of bed and follow the smells of breakfast into the kitchen, my will power is much stronger.

I managed another 10 minutes before Kris returned to insist I rise, lest the Christmas schedule be thrown off course by a slack ass daughter-in-law who won't get out of bed. We have a schedule to keep! I agreed to the schedule last night, so get. up. right. now.

Kris left, I dragged my butt out of bed and to the computer to ask no one in particular, "In what kind of delusional world do you get mad at me for failing to follow schedule you claim I approved, but in reality have never seen, much less know? And! At which point did you forget that 8:30 am East Coast is still 5:30 am Pacific?"

Yeah, not so cheerful in the morning. I claim no responsibility for any words I type while still in the throes of slumber.

Somehow my fingers moved, my arms moved, and my legs moved. I managed to stumble to the bathroom, start the shower, and wake up with the water cascading down on me. After showering, drying off, clothing myself, and wandering into the kitchen, I verified I had time to eat breakfast, no I hadn't blown the schedule, there were four people still missing from the morning. Kris' mom makes the most delicious baked oatmeal, which is a treat every time we come. When I was done, I thanked his mom.

"Thank you for making bo... baked oatmeal. It's delicious."

"You're welcome," Kris' mom answered.

"Did you almost call it boatmeal?" Kris asked.

*blink*

"Uh...."

*blink*

"Well.... yeah, um, well, there's no ache in this breakfast."

One dramatic pause later...

"Boatmeal it is."

Chookie would be so proud.

 What's that?

"What is that?"

"Oatmeal."

"Really? So what's that?"

"Blackberry sauce."

"Is that whipped cream?"

"Yes."

"Dessert at 10 am?"

"Nah. Breakfast!"

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