Alison Holst Natural Harvest

The seedy underside of breakfast Alison Holst. Such a wholesome-seeming woman.  I certainly hope that she had nothing to do with the distribution of this abomination against breakfasts. I’m sure it started with the best of intentions, but I can tell you that it has fallen short. I sense that there was planning and purpose behind this breakfast, and a great deal of thought and preparation was put into its formulation. A lot of good-sounding ingredients were thrown into a bag (yes, a bag; no boxes here) and it was sent off to the unsuspecting public. I don’t think it was ever tasted. The problem is milk; even with generous helpings of white gold, the cereal seems impervious to its charms. Out of morbid curiosity, I had a mouthful of dry mix, and I could not tell the difference. That is just frightening. It has so much potential, but it’s all for nothing; however, if you melted it down, I’m sure that you could use it to waterproof boats and raincoats. And this was the good one I tried… Alison Holst Natural Harvest Class: Muesli Flavour: Fruity cardboard and plastic chips. Texture: Like trimming the extra plastic from a cheap model kit with your teeth, taking an occasional break to eat a raisin. Satiety: Filling, mostly because your stomach is afraid you’ll keep eating. Comfort: As comforting as drowning in a wet vat of seeds. Emotion: Unyielding and stand-offish. Resembles an impatient child stomping up a hallway. The last bowl: Never got that far.   Final thoughts: If I save just one person from this horrid concoction, it’s not enough.

Hubbards ‘Yours Fruitfully’ Toasted Muesli

Mmmmmmmmmuesli Ahh, the breakfast that started it all, and the inspiration for this blog. It is a delicious mix of fruit, muesli and coconut flakes that makes those mornings almost worthwhile. But it’s nothing special. But first, an explanation; on the advice of doctors, television, and good ol’ common sense, I commited myself to eating breakfast. With this in mind, I ventured out to the supermarket. I’m not sure why I did, but I chose this, nestled amongst the horde of other hunger-banishing AM warriors. Every box on the shelf was laden with a promise that if you pick this one… and only this one, you will have the strength to smite a thousand grey mornings, and keep your mind sharp for a productive day of data-smashing or whatever you’re paid to do. Like giving a pyromaniac a copy of Improvised Kindling Monthly, my first bowl was an eye-opening experience. Nothing tastes quite like breakfast. So, as I tend to do, I’m pushing this firmly into overkill territory; publishing my morning exploits for all to see. My reason? I need to know which one is best. So, in this, my inaugural post, I lay down the gauntlet to those who wish to pick the hardest fight with hunger. Give me a reason to stay. Halt my nomadic tongue, even just for a while. To quantify my exploits, I will measure the following 6 attributes: Class: Muesli, puffs, flakes, goose, rock etc. Flavour: Obvious, and important; does it taste any good? Texture: Crunchy? Slushy? Goopy? Sandy? Satiety: Do I feel full after a bowl? Do I eat half a packet a serving? Comfort: Does it soften the blow of daybreak, or convince me to climb back into bed? Emotion: How does it make me feel? Happy? Sad? Angry? And finally, I will give an assessment of the most important aspect. The single most difficult part of breakfast to master: The last bowl: The last dregs of cereal. Does it still taste good? Is it worth finishing So, here’s a breakdown of the acceptable-but-flawed muesli that started it all. Hubbards ‘Yours Fruitfully’ Toasted Muesli Class: Muesli Flavour: Solid but muted. Yoghurt raisins (a pet hate) are oddly acceptable. Texture: As you’d expect muesli to be. Doesn’t dissolve into an icky goo when assaulted with milk. Also quite forgiving, as you chew because you should, not because you’ve got to. Satiety: Sadly unfilling. I need to eat about double the recommended dose to feel satisfied. Makes the bowl seem oversized when you use ‘correct’ portioning. Comfort: Better than nothing, but not a reassuring feeling. Reminds me of a British pensioner in a council flat. Emotion: Tastes dependable but lack-luster. Tastes the way an old pair of shoes feels. The last bowl: A little dusty, but I’ve had worse. Little difference between the last and first bowl, which is uncommon, and difficult to pull off. Final thoughts: Acceptable, but you can’t help but feel you’re missing out on something better…