My Relationship with Sexy Vegan Breakfast

It continues to limp along. We should break up. There’s no love anymore. We’re just coexisting. And I’ve been cheating. I’ve been flagrantly chowing down on eggs, milk, butter, and cheese for breakfast – and not even discretely. I stumble into the kitchen and drag it all back into bed with me, partying it all down as I watch the morning news. But now and then I open the pantry and am confronted by all the weird grains I bought home when Vegan Breakfast and I couldn’t get enough of one another. And, although I am so lacking in character that I regularly diss Vegan Breakfast behind her back, I can’t stand wasting food. I will eat those fucking buckwheat groats.

Everyone Loves Buckwheat

“Buckwheat” reminds us of Eddie Murphy and pancakes. (Ou des crêpes.) But “groats,” that just sounds like livestock feed. “Groats” is the involuntary sound you make in the back of your throat, which launches an event similar to the one you now refer to as, “…and ever since then, I don’t even like the smell of tequila.”

How to Find You Some Groats

I’m sure you’re wondering just where in the hell I came by some groats. Dill Pickle Co-Op. Co-ops: they’re not just for hippies anymore. If you think about it, they’re kind of libertarian. Anyway, if you don’t have a co-op where you live, well, damn. Do you have a bulk food store? No? Have you considered moving? Or maybe you have a Whole Foods.

Whole Foods

Whole Foods is sort of like a pay-as-you-go co-op for the wealthy. They sell the same sorts of food as most co-ops, is what I mean, but at twice the price. I suppose that other than that, there’s not so much that’s “cooperative” about a Whole Foods. Unless you’re a stockholder. Although I know first hand that Whole Foods appreciates your cooperation in refraining from yelling “what the fuck” at the top of your lungs when you come across hypoallergenic M&M’s at $8 a pound. I’ve never shopped for buckwheat groats at Whole Foods, but I have a feeling that they probably have fair trade, non-GMO, organic, free-range groats that were harvested by virgins in the Andes.

What the Hell Do You Do with Groats?

Well, the first thing you do, if you’re me, is let them sit in the cupboard for a long, long time, completely forgotten about. After that, you toast’m. There are a couple ways to do this. Search the internet for “how to toast buckwheat groats.” Toasted groats are called kasha. Ah, now we’re getting somewhere, huh? You’ve been down the kasha aisle at Trader Joe’s? You don’t have to turn your groats into kasha … unless you’re planning to serve it to someone. Let’s do a little hypothetical. You wake up alone in bed. (Bear with me. I said it was hypothetical.) On the kitchen table, you find this note: “Had to run. Didn’t want to wake you. Left you some breakfast on the countertop. It’s groats.” The obvious subtext:  “You’re a farm animal; you might as well eat like one. Here’s some slop, you pig. Don’t bother calling. I’m already bitter.”

OR, you find this note: “Had to run. Didn’t want to wake you. Left you some breakfast on the countertop. It’s kasha.” The obvious subtext: “I have a great job. I’m educated. I care about the environment and your health. I may be one of those people who drinks soy, but that’s going to be the worst of my hang-ups. Let’s name our baby Addesyn.”

So, you can eat untoasted groats if you want to die alone. Otherwise, you need to know that making kasha is only the first step toward a loving, caring, adult-themed relationship. Once it’s toasted, you have to “prepare” it. There are 943,000 ways to prepare kasha. (I like this one, because it takes you straight through toasting and preparing.) You would think that “preparing” means “to ready it for consumption.” But alas, you would be wrong. Once you have your prepared kasha, you must proceed to stage three, in which you turn it into something you’re going to eat.

I Have Stage 3 Kasha

Here’s how I eat my prepared kasha: I shove it in the fridge first. When I Helen Keller my way into the kitchen on subsequent mornings, searching for something to shove in my mouth for breakfast, I grab a fistful of the prepared kasha, nuke it with a bit of brown sugar, a dash of salt, a nice pat of butter, and a bunch of golden raisins. Et voila, something not completely unpalateable is born.

Eating Like a Rock Star

If you can’t eat like a rock star, then at least eat like an actress who just broke up with one. Kasha is edible. Don’t trust your first bite, because your mouth will be like, “Why?” But two or three bites in, and you come around. Seriously, you do. It’s chewy in a kind of nice way that complements the texture of the raisins. You can really taste the brown sugar’s brownness.

Kasha and Field Rations

I feel a little bad about adulterating my kasha with sugar. But there is absolutely no fun in eating it plain. I wouldn’t call it unpleasant, but I would call it mundane at best … maybe a chore. It reduces “eating” to strict, absolute function. Field rations. I have to sex that shit up with a bit of sugar, because I actually want to enjoy life. Men are allotted 9 guiltless tsp of sugar in a day (women get only 6; science is so blatantly sexist). Having 1/3 of it for breakfast sounds perfect, since that’s one of your three meals. So let’s not think about it any further.

If I feel bad about the sugar, I feel a bit ashamed that I have to add butter to my kasha, because it nixes the whole vegan thing. I really do want to somehow eat a vegan breakfast one of these days (which reminds me, I have to find out if gummy bears are vegan). I suppose my sugared, buttered kasha is still a gluten-free breakfast, and that’s got to count for something. Besides, if you can trust a guy who drinks primal smoothies, butter is good for you.

Buckwheat Groats

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