#breakfast serial

Select shots from Quaker Presents Your Breakfast Serial (2001), the final appearance so far of Quisp.

That is one expressive comet...

DIRECTED BY @gabeswarr

LAYOUT features Gabe Swarr and @wil-branca​

INKING: Ray Morelli

ANIMATION: Matt Danner

PRODUCTION ASSISTANTS: Nikki Pontius, Eric J. Pringle (as Pringle)

FLASH ANIMATION: Tony Mora, Robyn Byrd

I put the water in the kettle on first, wait for a second to make sure I turned on the right burner, then turn away from it to get the rest done while I'm waiting for it to boil. The next thing to do is to empty the filter in the percolator. It's still got this morning's grounds in it. I scoop them out with my fingers and dump them in the container for composting. The ones left behind I rinse into the sink. The percolator body and lid always get rinsed also. They usually have grounds left over in them because I have still not got the knack of brewing coffee in it without some of the grounds spilling out of the filter. There's some perfect combination of amount of grounds to put in the filter, the coarseness of the grind, and having patience not to pour until the filter's had time to empty. I'm getting closer all the time, but it still eludes me. Now that the percolator's all clean, I start getting it ready for the morning. I put the stem in and fill the pot with water to just below where the filter sits, then take the stem back out. The basket gets filled with somewhere between three and four scoops. Four scoops is too many, and three heaping scoops is too few, unless you've got time to let it perk, and on my early morning's I don't. I'm not sure explaining the scoops is going to work. When I see the right amount of grounds in the filter, I know. I put the lid on the filter and put the stem through, and put the whole thing in the pot and put the lid on. The percolator goes to wait for morning on the front-right burner, I know now how to reach out in the dark of the morning and find the knob for that one. It's right,… here. The kettle is starting to pop, and the water in it is starting to fizz, just enough time to get everything else ready. I get the thermos out and open it up. I also open up the can I keep the oats in: steel-cut oats, or sliced oat groats. I'm not sure if there's a version cut in any other way. They'll cook overnight in the thermos with the water from the kettle. The thermos holds two cups, which would be a fine breakfast if the intention was to go back to sleep after, but it is not. I use the 1/3 cup scoop to get the right amount, which is the only thing I think I've ever used the 1/3 cup measuring scoop for. It goes in the thermos, as does a spoonful of chia seeds. I had the seeds for something else, I don't remember what, and I started putting them in my oatmeal just as a way to use them up. When the kettle whistles, I fill the thermos up to the right level, again I don't think I could tell you exactly what that is, with boiling water and close it all up. I make sure there's everything I'll want to mix in my bowl with it in the morning.

It used to be that my G'ma would make oatmeal for us when we would visit her in the winter. I can remember some chilly mornings at their house, waiting for her to cook up rolled oats and serve them up with a big wooden spoon, smacking the edge of your bowl with the spoon to get the oats to fall in. Back then, it was always a glaze of sugar I'd pour over it, and then smooth the surface of it before pouring a layer of milk onto it. Later, it was instant oats at my parent's house during the colder months. We'd always get the variety pack, and it was always a surprise opening up the box to see what was left. Not apples 'n' cinnamon, not apples 'n' cinnamon, not apples 'n' cinnamon, please. Dang, apples 'n' cinnamon, and there was my sister with a big grin on her face asking, "Looking for the ample and brown sugar? It's right here in my bowl," when she liked the stupid apples 'n' cinnamon. In college, I'd get back to the apartment after the early morning workout, and put the kettle on as my eyes watered and my sinuses thawed out and blood started to flow again in my finger tips. I'd look around the kitchen to see if there was a clean bowl, or else rinse one out, then leave the water to boil while I showered and got dressed for the day. There was never enough time to get everything done then, and I got used to doing at least two things at once. By the time I got out, the water would be boiling, and I could pour it over a package of instant oatmeal, stir it up and eat it while studying something before rushing out the door to get to class. I always had an 8:30 class to get to. We'd get the big box of raisin, date, and walnut then, and when I say we, I mean I would get it and everyone in the apartment would eat it. It had crunchy and chewy parts to it, which made it more palatable than just a bowl full of mush. One particular morning, my reading got interrupted by how bitter the crunchy bits were. When I checked, my appetite was ruined my the discovery that some of the "walnuts" had legs. Apparently, water left in the kettle is a draw for roaches, and if you're not going to keep your kitchen clean, you should either use a kettle with a stopper at the end of the spout, or not keep water in it. Probably both. When I was bicycle commuting, the easiest breakfast to keep in the office was instant oatmeal. I could keep a box of it there practically indefinitely, it was easy to bring more packets in with me in my panniers, and it was easy to fix. Just a glass measuring cup in the microwave for a minute, pour it all in the bowl, breakfast is done in less than three minutes. My receptionist came in early one morning, and was there while I was eating breakfast. "I wish I could eat more oatmeal," she admitted. I started wondering. I'd never heard of anybody being allergic to oats before, but it's not impossible. Maybe she'd had something like my college experience and never gotten over it. She didn't explain, so I had to ask her why she couldn't eat oatmeal. "Oh, I hate the stuff," she said, "but it's supposed to be good for you." If you ever met her, the logic would not have surprised you, and you would have had to merely nod your head as I did.