As a young boy, I was often the first one up in the house (save for my dad – who was usually off to work before any of us were even remotely close to breaking sleep). Sure, my early rising was probably due to my general disposition, but it was also due to my obsession with Cream Of Wheat.

Cream Of Wheat – in all of its awesomeness – was my breakfast of choice.

As anyone with any type obsession knows, I had one – very specific – way that Cream Of Wheat needed to be prepared. I had quite the ritual I followed in my preparation of this magical porridge. Instead of the smooth, creamy concoction that was modeled in the image on the box, my goal was to produced a slightly over-cooked mass of cereal that held its firmness without moving into the “rubbery” side of things. This was controlled down to a matter of seconds in the microwave where the cooked cereal would transition from being too creamy to “just right”.

Indeed, I was the Goldilocks of the Jenum household.

Unfortunately, this recipe probably produced a series of annoying sounds in the morning while everyone was still asleep. In order to slowly work my way from uncooked to just perfect, I would operate the microwave in a series of 20 second bursts. Thus, every 20 seconds (or so) the microwave would “ding”, I would open the door, stir the concoction to ensure cooking uniformity, and close the door with the loud “bang” that all microwaves produce. This would be repeated for 8 to 10 times as I worked my way from cold cereal to hot, steamy goodness.

Whirrrrr … DING!! … clunk … stir, stir, stir … BANG (repeat)

Once the cereal was cooked, my obsessive behavior didn’t stop. Further preparations included a uniform dusting of cinnamon followed by a 1/8 thick layer of sugar. I know that some people would add some butter to the top of the warm cereal, but this was sacrilege to me and had no place on my Cream Of Wheat.

Since the cereal would still be molten hot, I would finish the preparations with a SLOW addition of cold milk. By slow, I mean that I would take about a full minute to add as little as 1/2 inch of milk on the top of the cereal. This meant that I would only just dribble the milk slowly into the bowl. The goal was to not disrupt the layer of sugar and keep all of the cinnamon intact. Any little puffs of cinnamon that would be dislodged and rise to the top of the milk would indicate I was pouring too fast and I would desperately try to slow down in order to minimize the damage.

In finally getting a chance to eat the glorious breakfast, I kept to my compulsive behavior and consumed the Cream Of Wheat with a whole set of rules. My first pass at the cereal included a perimeter consumption – where I would get a very narrow spoonful of cereal (with as much cold milk as would fit in the spoon) from full circumference of the cereal. The goal here was usually temperature control. If I were to dig right into the middle of the cereal, it was far too hot to enjoy. Thus, after my first narrow pass at the perimeter, I would return to the starting position to find that the milk had adequately cooled off the exposed cereal. This allowed me to repeat another 360 degree spin around the bowl and enjoy the second serving.

After two or three rounds of the bowl, I determined that the cereal had properly cooled to allow for it to be broken down and mixed fully with the milk. This involved me stabbing away at the cereal with my spoon to break off dime-sized pieces to float around in the milk. I would be very careful not to fully mix the Cream Of Wheat with the milk. The goal was to create a amalgamation where the cereal was in harmony with the milk. The milk provided a means of cooling the cereal without disrupting its texture.

I would finish this off with an additional dash of sugar (since the top layer was now fully diluted in the milk). From that point, I would eat the Cream Of Wheat all the way to the bowl’s bottom – with little stopping.

Every morning, this ritual would be repeated … and I would emerge from the kitchen a happy boy, ready to start the day.

This same feeling carries over to today – without the concerns to disrupt a whole household with my obsessive behavior.