I’ve met so many wonderful people through the pages of the Glover Gardens blog.
One of them is Jason of Jason Likes to Travel. He’s a self-described “30 year old Englishman in love with traveling,” and he gets around. With a wry, mildly self-deprecating tone and a wide-eyed view of the world and its myriad cultures, Jason’s sharing of his adventures is always a fun read.
The first post I read from Jason was Weetabix Boy Goes Traveling, a rambling tome about shyness, the needlessness of small talk, comfort food, the uneasiness and resulting wonder that comes from stepping out of your comfort zone, the delights of traveling even though the food may be unrecognizable, and much more. Weetabix and his love for it is a central theme in this lengthy post, and thus I always think of Jason when I encounter that very British breakfast item, which is always – and only – when I’m traveling. We don’t hold with no Weetabix here in Texas, Jason.
Earlier this month, I was traveling home from two weeks in Europe (Paris and London, more to come on that front) and popped in to the Heathrow Terminal 2 United Club for breakfast and newspapers before my mid-morning flight back to Houston. I do love my newspapers when traveling; you’ve heard about that before in these pages, and the Glover Gardens Instagram.
But alas, no newspapers! United stopped providing them on July 1 of this year, ostensibly to be more sustainable and green. I have an internal conflict over this: newspapers were the primary goodie that attracted me to the United Club, but I really believe in making sacrifices and changing my consumption of disposable goods to make the planet a better place for my yet-to-be-born grandchildren, and yours. I guess it’s only a sacrifice if you’re giving up something you want. So good on you, United, for killing less trees and helping me break my paper consumption habit, but don’t mind me if I’m a little wistful for the days of my 5-newspaper trips from London to Houston.
Without the newspapers to help me while away the time in the United Club, I had a little more time to satisfy my Weetabix curiosity. It was high time I made good on my commitment to Jason that I would try it. I grabbed one of the little bright yellow packages, but in an abundance of caution, I also took a bagel, not trusting that the Weetabix would be a fulfilling choice (sorry, Jason).
The first bite told me that my instincts were right. The Weetabix was all texture and no flavor. I could see how a person could love it, though, in that way you love the familiar, the comforting, the stuff of childhood, the stuff your mother made you eat until you forgot your first reaction to it and it became a welcome part of your everyday life and then later, the fabric of childhood memories and the feeling that all that is right with the world.
And thus, a haiku, in honor of Jason and the way he feels about Weetabix:
For my American friends, our equivalent of Weetabix is Shredded Wheat: both are all crunch, no taste, 100% good for you. Kind of like cauliflower (which I like, mostly because of my mother…).
It strikes me now that perhaps I don’t know how to properly consume Weetabix. Do Britishers dip it in yogurt? Break it up into a bowl with milk? Put butter, clotted cream or jam on it? Help me out here, Jason!
Trying Weetabix: it’s just another adventure in this high life I’m living. Stay tuned for more exciting times here in the pages of Glover Gardens.