Yesterday, I was reading the instructions on the oats packet. "Put 35g in plate then add 200 ml of hot water."
What? No need to stir for 10 minutes? No roasting the flakes gently to bring out the flavour? No need for a pot? This was ideal. But how would it taste?
This morning, I tried it. It passed. Ok, it does not feel like real porridge when you don't get to stir it, or watch the bubbles glumping up. Frogs. It is like frogs croaking. This is what I remember when Dad made porridge in the morning. Dad did not make porridge, porridge made Dad.
This need for speed reminds me of another couple of stories...
One was up in a mountain hut in NZ. I used to do a bit of tramping. Most was with my high school club. Making breakfast in the mountains needs speed, and a minimal set of kitchen equipment. What I saw one climber doing was questionable though. Not at all appetising. The red saveloys looked nice. And so did the porridge. But when they were cooked together, the layer of fat from the red saveloys was layered on top of the porridge. No thank you!
The other story also has a setting in the mountains. It was a school camp. The students had to spend a night out in tents. Their challenge was to build a fire and cook dinner. One of the items was a sausage. The idea was to pierce it with a stick, then roast it over the embers. Stuart saw an easier way. He preferred to save energy. That is a nice way of saying he was dead lazy. He did not bother cooking the sausage. No, he just ate it raw. Now that was fast. He was still alive the next morning.
If you have not sampled the blogs of Jon and Zeb when they were in Bhutan last year, then I highly recommend it. Here are Jon and Zeb writing about their encounters with food in Bhutan:
Jon here and Zeb over here. I really miss those two.
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