Oatmeal - the search

So we thought nothing of missing out on food from NY.

I have heard that food in Japan was awesome and what was Amazon for anyway?

Alex's love for McCaan's Irish Oatmeal saw no end.

He realized he started missing the stuff a few days into our live in Tokyo.

"Alex, I will get your oatmeal tomorrow" went on for weeks.

Alex was starting to suspect I was a liar.

So off I went to the supermarket to get one.

We scouted the cereal isle and found nothing.

Tokyo seemed to be in the midst of a granola fad and there were many nutty granolas.

As Alex is allergic to nuts, we had to avoid those.

We went to another supermarket.

Same thing.

We finally saw the word "oatmeal" at the third supermarket we went to.

Alas it was the horrid instant type.

One look at just the picture must have brought back memories in the Bahamas. He was gone in a flash.

Does it look that different? I would never know.

So I turn to our trusted Amazon.

And I find our trusted Steel Cut Irish Oatmeal.

I buy, and I get stuck.

I failed to see the warning "This item can only be shipped to the 48 contiguous states"

Amazon dot com has a Japanese version that is Amazon dot co dot jp.

I go there and type in "oatmeal".

I see no steel cut.

I start to panic.

How are other people getting hold of steel cuts?

I e-mail some of Alex's classmate's moms.

The are mostly Japanese married to foreigners and have no idea what I am talking about.

The only American mom tells me I can find Quaker Oats at a supermarket in Hiroo.

I go ask on a message board for expat moms in Japan.

I get ignored.

The dire reality is setting in. We cannot eat steel cut oatmeal here?

I google frantically and find absolutely nothing. This cannot be happening. The internet has brought people and products closer than ever. You are supposed to be able to buy anything anywhere.

 I have to inform Alex of the unavoidable truth.

As long as we live here, he will not be able to eat steel cut Irish oatmeal.

Alex is crushed.

He goes to his room to cry quietly, recalling the texture, taste and aroma that has so eluded him.

Nearly a year into our life in Tokyo, I wander past a chi-chi supermarket in a chi-chi area. There I find the golden can. The real deal. I take as many as I could carry and then realize that all I have to do is come back here when I run out. So I buy 1 can and take it home.

Alex and Irish oatmeal are united. He eats it every day that the can is empty within a month.

I go out for another one, but of course, it's sold out. The store does not intent get anymore since procedures for grain import in Japan is a royal pain and the trade company just stopped doing it.

Alex does not understand why I cannot produce another can.

I am not trying hard enough, he claims. I should never give up. Persistence is the key. Keep trying.

Ugh, the things you tell your kids that come back to haunt you.

I am still trying.

Oatmeal - the introduction

We have brought up Alex on oatmeal.
Well, actually our babysitter, Joan, did. One day after Alex started solids, she recommended that oatmeal will be perfect for him.

I have had bad experience with oatmeal. I could not imagine dealing with that mushy stuff.
But still, life was all about making Alex happy so I went out and sought the best looking oatmeal possible. I didn't understand the taste, so I went for the looks.

I didn't like boxes. Imagine, the grain touching the inside of a box that you have no idea how it was made and where it was stored. Okay, maybe the grains are contained in a plastic bag that went in the box but still, I had phobia about food in boxes after I found something bad, really bad, in a box full of food when I was 18.

So in the isles of Citarella, there was this cool looking can that screamed "I'm traditional, I'm the real deal, I'm good". I liked the look of it, so it came home with me.

My mother abhorred cereal and anything related to that. I had to sneak in a box of chocolate Rice Krispies in the cart in the hopes that it will pass through the cashier (ah, those innocent times when boxed food was gold). I have had shouting matches at supermarkets and dramatic "you don't love me"s over sugary breakfast carbs. She considered instant oatmeal to be in the same category. "Bad food". To prove that, she made a tasteless one for me. Needless to say, I hated it. And now, I have turned into my mother.

So Joan, whom I am sure raised an eyebrow at the lack of normal household (boxed) food, must have been happy to see the shining can.
She made it the day she saw it and Alex was, as she had predicted, delighted. The can was big so it lasted quite a while, but I could tell Joan was feeding Alex this every day.

We taught Alex sign language for "more", when he couldn't talk. It's clicking all your fingertips together, and Joan would tell me he would do that obsessively when he sees just the can.

So we travel to the Bahamas and they serve all you can eat breakfasts at the hotel. I find Quaker Oats instant oatmeal with banana or something and think this will do for our trip. At least it is in a plastic container and not in a box.
I add warm milk and a few minutes later, it seemed to be done.
I put it in front of Alex.
He looks at it warily.
"what's this?" he asks.
"oatmeal" I answer.
He looks puzzled but takes a sip.
"no" he protests.
"yes" I reply.
"NO" he shouts.
"yes" I say irritated.
"NOOOO!!" he screams and bangs his fist on the table.
Quaker Oats spill.

"Alex, this is oatmeal. Remember that thing Joan feeds you every day? The one you sign 'more'?"
"no, no, no! This not oatmeal!!"

What in the world was Joan feeding him? Or did I do something wrong by choosing the banana taste? Or did I just make it the wrong way?

I taste what is left in the plastic bowl. It brings back horrible memories with artificial banana added on. Okay, so it was the banana.

I go back to find one without artificial taste. I make it again.
I force a distraught Alex to try it again since the banana is gone now.
He puts a spoonful in his mouth and proceeds to spit it out.
"NOT OATMEAL"

What am I doing wrong here?
Ken persuades me to give up on the oatmeal battle, and Alex goes on happily eating real banana.

On the way out of the restaurant, he is traumatized by the sight of Quaker Oats instant.
"ahhhhh! not oatmeal!"
He is close to tears.

We go back to New York and check out our oatmeal.
The can is almost empty and I am sure Joan is making it, not throwing it away. So I decide to make it and feed it to Alex, just to see if it has to be made by Joan.

It looks different than the Quaker Oats one.
Can't I just dump warm milk on it and wait 30 seconds?
I look at the instruction.
"Simmer uncovered for 30 minutes"
WHAT?
Isn't this oatmeal?
Isn't oatmeal suppose to be instant?
And this 30 minutes thing is AFTER I have to continuously stir until it's thick.
I spend nearly an hour tackling this.

I serve it to Alex, forgetting to sweeten it.

He gobbles it up like there is no tomorrow.
"mmmmmmmm. oatmeal."
He is a happy camper.

I look at the can again.
It says "steel cut" "Irish Oatmeal" "Uniformity of Granulation"
I look it up online.
Apparently they are completely different from the instant stuff.
I eat a spoonful.
It's nutty with a soft yet distinct solid feel.
Nothing like my mother served.
I am floored.
At the same time I am surprised at how Alex was able to tell the difference at 1.5 yo.
From then on, there was no looking back.
It was McCaan's Irish Oatmeal all the way.

Until we moved to Japan where grain import is a PITA.