Adults Get A Taste Of Childhood's Simplicity

[Momma Rosie]

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Adults get a taste of childhood's simplicity

Some PJ-clad adults aren't going Grape Nuts or Froot Loops -- they're just looking for the Golden Graham days of their carefree youth.

Aline Mendelsohn

Sentinel Staff Writer

August 29, 2005

Charles Martin is debating the merits of Boo Berry, Franken Berry and Count Chocula.

Seated on an oversize chair at the swanky Peacock Room bar in Orlando, Martin recalls his childhood ritual of waking up early on Saturday mornings, watching cartoons and gorging on the "monster" cereals. Sometimes, Martin reminisces, he would consume the brown, blue and pink varieties in one sitting.

"By the end of the day, my tongue looked like a lab sample," Martin says, and a beatific smile settles on his face. He is in a happy place.

Around Martin, pajama-clad bargoers huddle around TVs flickering with Speed Racer and Bugs Bunny cartoons. Others sit at the bar, eating Frosted Flakes and Froot Loops.

On this August day, the Peacock Room is hosting the inaugural Cereal Sunday, a monthly event featuring cartoons, PJs and, of course, cereal. Trix might be for kids, but Cereal Sunday is for adults 21 and above.

"This taps into the one part of childhood that wasn't traumatic," says Martin, 43. "[On Saturday mornings], you were left alone, just you and your animated friends."

The Peacock Room is one of several businesses trying to re-create childhood experience. You could call it cereal nostalgia.

Last year, the Cereality Cereal Bar & Cafe -- a restaurant chain that serves only cereal and cereal-related foods -- debuted in Tempe, Ariz., Philadelphia and Chicago. Similar concepts are cropping up in other cities.

The Food Network recently featured The Secret Life of . . . Cereal, which looked at the history of that breakfast food.

And, naturally, there's a book: The Breakfast Cereal Gourmet, by television writer and reporter David Hoffman.

Hoffman contends that cereal isn't just a food. It's a food group.

"It's one of those experiences that cuts across generations, across socio-economic lines," Hoffman says. "An upper-middle-class kid going to college can sit down with a cop and talk about Cocoa Puffs. There isn't one of us who hasn't tasted Cap'n Crunch or Trix or Lucky Charms or Froot Loops."

Sugary thoughts

Cereal evokes strong memories. It is comfort food. It is a reminder of simple childhood pleasures. It is candy disguised as breakfast.

"It's a reference point that's powerful," says David Roth, co-founder of Cereality Cereal Bar & Cafe. "Cereal is one of the first foods you eat."

Baby boomers might recall Quisp vs. Quake, or the days when Corn Pops were Sugar Pops and Honey Smacks were Sugar Smacks -- a simpler time before daily headlines bemoaned childhood obesity.

Generation Xers and their parents might remember the Life of Mikey, Tony the Tiger, Toucan Sam, Snap, Crackle and Pop.

"Cereal is universally appealing," Roth says. "It speaks to the sense of joy and freedom and happiness and indulgence people feel."

For those reasons, cereal is among the most commonly bought items: According to the research firm ACNielsen, 95.5 percent of households purchased at least one cereal product in 2004.

"People have very strong opinions and feelings about it [cereal]," Roth says.

No kidding.

This year, Harvard University students protested when cafeteria officials dared switch from Froot Loops and Cap'n Crunch to cheaper alternatives such as Tootie Fruities and Colossal Crunch, The Boston Globe reported.

Separate companies produce generic and name-brand cereals, says Robert B. Fast, co-editor of Breakfast Cereals and How They Are Made. During the past two decades, Fast says, the differences between the two have become less pronounced because companies now use the same processing equipment.

"The biggest difference is the price on the shelf," Fast says.

That's not how the Harvard students saw it: They formed a committee called Harvard Students for the Reimplementation of Brand-Named Cereals, the Globe reported.

Two years ago, at the University of Central Florida, a few students formed a club called the Cereal Eaters Association. Although the association has since disbanded because of the officers' other obligations, it makes sense that such a club would form on a college campus. In college, many students rediscover cereal as an inexpensive, easy-to-make meal.

Not only that, but students can decide which cereal to buy. They often revert to old favorites.

As a child, Erik Reiss wasn't allowed to eat Fruity Pebbles -- his mom blamed the ban on some red-dye scare. As soon as Reiss arrived at the University of Florida, he went on a sugary cereal binge.

"I lived on Fruity Pebbles," says Reiss, 36, an instructor at Full Sail, the media-arts school in Winter Park.

Lots of college kids live on cereal, even on TV. On an episode of Gilmore Girls, college-age character Paris concocts a mix of Cap'n Crunch, Rice Krispies and Shredded Wheat and declares that cereal "rocks."

Cereal chillers

At the Peacock Room, Dennis Jenkins compliments a fellow customer.

"I like your jammies," he says.

Jenkins, 58, is wearing bright yellow SpongeBob SquarePants pajamas.

Reflecting the ageless appeal of cereal, the Peacock Room's patrons range from the 20s to the 50s.

There's Rosie Serpas, dressed in puppy pajamas, Care Bear slippers and a sleep mask labeled "Sleeping Cutie" swept over mussed hair. Karen Trudeau, 42, wears zebra-print silky lounge pajamas -- "Any excuse to wear PJs in public is good for me," Trudeau says. Meanwhile James Panto, 25, clutches an oversize Pikachu Pokemon stuffed animal, while Reiss is more low-key in his flannel bottoms.

The group makes a beeline for the buffet spread of a dozen kinds of cereal. Those that turn milk brown or pink are popular choices.

In the Peacock's back room, Tony Mauss, 33, lounges on the couch, yawning.

"This would be my normal Sunday-morning routine anyway, just in a different location," says Mauss, a deli manager at Albertsons.

He notes that it's a nice change to be lying on a bar couch without someone yelling, "We're closing."

Nearby, Erin Dorso and Ed Siemienkowicz are engrossed in cartoons. Last night, they were here, in this very spot, listening to a DJ. They went to sleep at 4 a.m. but returned by 11 a.m.

When she woke up this morning, Dorso didn't change out of her Superman pajama set to come here.

"That's the best part about it," Dorso, 22, says.

But for others, the best part is the opportunity to share in the cereal experience.

Although the bartender is mixing a few mimosas and Bloody Marys, most of the patrons aren't drinking.

Unless, of course, you count slurping the leftover milk in the cereal bowl.

Aline Mendelsohn can be reached at amendelsohn@orlandosentinel.com or 407-420-5352.

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