I hate Oats.

At age thirteen, I already had a proclivity towards hating the stuff. Calvinists, would say I had a total inability to like it on account of my parent’s choice to feed me cream of wheat, every Sunday, without fail. So when I tried Oats back then my hatred was to be expected and warranted.

The second time I tried it, in my early twenties, proved no different. For some reason I figured, looking at the table of white people enjoying heaping spoonfuls, that it was something I would like at that point in my life: I was wrong.

At some point in my marriage, as a boon to my wife (ah, the stupid things lovers do for each other!) I decided to try a spoonful. Horror of horrors, the flavor remained the same yet sprinkled with a bit more (perhaps a dash of) hatred.

But now I find myself on a road bereft of proper yumminess; eventually a downward trail towards the healthy, and finally embracing the Tasteless God of the Unflavorful; oats, I see, stands on the sideline—parading her wares.

So I plan to document about thirty days of Oats. I hope I prove faithful in this endeavor (both the blogging and eating) but more so, I hope these posts prove helpful for all those others that take this trip behind me trying to discover a way to eat, even while hating, oats.