The House That Farina Built

Back in Minneapolis, I was working as the assistant to the owner of a modeling and talent agency.  Not far from our office was an old building from the 1920s---The Cream of Wheat factory.  When I first drove past the strong fortress of milled wheat with that vintage sign emblazoned across the facade, I squealed like a five year-old.

“Cream of Wheat!  I LOVE Cream of Wheat!!!”

I got the idea into my noggin that we needed an office field trip---to The Cream of Wheat Factory!

Why modeling agents who spent their days pouring over comp cards and dealing with stylists went along with my scheme, I have no idea.  But by the next day, everyone in the office latched onto my enthusiasm for porridge and signed up for the adventure!

I was bursting with enthusiasm to the Cream of Wheat receptionist on the other end of the line. 

“I LOVE Cream of Wheat!  I bring Cream of Wheat to the office in the winter!  I can’t wait to meet you guys and have a bowl of Cream of Wheat with you!!!”

The rest of the exchange with the Fargo-accented lady went a little something like this:

“Oh well, we’re not open to the public, ya know.  It’s a working factory.”

“But that’s what we want to see!  We want to see the Cream of Wheat being made.  I love Cream of Wheat!  I eat it every day!”

“Oh, that’s so nice of ya, dear.  We’re so glad ya like it.  Yah.  You betcha.  But we don’t give tours.  Everyone’s busy workin’, ya know,” she tried to let me down with some Minnesota Nice.

“But…  But I love Cream of Wheat.  I want to go there.”

“Oh that’s so great!  Yah.  But it’s a safety issue.”

 “I’ll wear a hard hat,” I pleaded.

“Oh---I’m sorry, hon.  We’re just not set up for tours.”

“Well…do you at least have a gift shop?  With the history of Cream of Wheat and… maybe we can buy some Cream of Wheat bowls?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart.  We don’t.  We’re just a factory.  But maybe I could send you some Cream of Wheat?  How would you like that?”

I was so heartbroken that I felt myself sniffling as I replied to her generous offer of porridge, “No.  That’s okay.  But thank you.  I just really wanted to visit you guys, that’s all.”

I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over that. 

Or the missed opportunity of free Cream of Wheat.

Two years later, Kraft Foods moved production to Missouri and Canada and sold the building at 730 Stinson Boulevard.  It’s now a bunch of expensive condos with high ceilings and now-non-functional pipes running over-head.  I’d call them “slumming rich-people condos” except for the fact that I’m not rich---and I would want to live in the Cream of Wheat Building, too.

 At the closing, there were all sorts of nostalgic, local articles that covered everything from a former factory worker and his thousand-piece Cream of Wheat memorabilia collection to a local African-American actress commenting on the “Uncle Tom” aspect of the black chef on the iconic box.

Because what I've found out over the past few days is that EVERYONE has something to say about Cream of Wheat.

Cream of Wheat is one of those rare nostalgia foods that, turns out, is actually pretty good for you.

All the gluten-free blather aside, it’s milled wheat in hot water.  Pretty simple.  It fills you up, makes you feel warm inside, and it’s full of good carbohydrates, B vitamins, fiber, and you can add just about anything to it (fruit, nuts, spices, sweetener, or milk of choice) to boost its nutritional value.

This week on my way to work (knowing I was about to work a 15 hour-day on a cold November morn) I tossed a package of Instant Cream of Wheat into my bag.  At work there would be ready access to the basics of Cream of Wheat----hot water, milk, and sugar.

As I assembled my porridge that morning, I noticed several co-workers eyeing my breakfast.  

"You're eating Cream of Wheat?"

I spent the next hour barraged with an NPR's broadcast-worth of childhood memories.

The primary discussion that morning was on “lumpiness”. 

I like my Cream of Wheat slightly lumpy.  Apparently, I’m not alone. 

When I was a kid, this was easily achieved.  I’d open the packet, put the hot water in, and stir.  Without doing anything special, a certain lumpiness was achieved that gave the Cream of Wheat a fun texture that was sweet and smooth one bite, umami and al dente the next.

But no matter what I did (or did not do), this batch of Cream of Wheat was as smooth as a baby’s butt.

So I went online for answers.  Just Google “Cream of Wheat lumpy” and you’ll see hundreds of desperate posts from grown-ups with good paying  jobs and mortgages who took the time out of their busy and stress-filled day to go online, create an account on Yahoo, and ask the simple question, “How do I get my Cream of Wheat all lumpy like when I was a kid?”

The answer to this puzzling question boils down to two words.

Um....  

You’re old.

I'm sorry about that, but let’s break it down.

Cream of Wheat came about thru the desperation of a failing small business and the breakfast porridge of one man who made it special for his family. 

During the financial panic of 1893, a small flour mill in Grand Forks, North Dakota was on the brink of failure.  With nothing to lose, the head miller suggested they try to sell some of the stuff that came off the first break in the flour mills (the first break is what eventually produced the highest quality flour).  The head miller, Tom Amidon, often took some of this home and cooked it up as porridge for his family.  If his kids loved it, why wouldn’t the money guys in New York City like it, too?

The desperate business partners agreed to gamble on his gruel.  They shipped a small batch of it along with sacks of flour to their New York brokers. 

The company was so broke that Amidon had to make the packaging by hand---cutting up bits of cardboard to make the boxes and scrounging thru a few old printing plates to find an illustration that would look at least somewhat relevant to the hot breakfast cereal they were trying to sell.

But with Victorian illustrations being pretty heavy on the flowers, corsets, and caged singing birds----the blue collar guys must have been thrilled when they stumbled across an illustration of a smiling Negro wearing a French chef’s hat.  Knowing Victorian illustrations, I’m guessing it was between the cherubic baby with angel wings and the black chef.

The chef won.

Because who wants to eat Stillborn Baby Porridge?

Since the wheat came from the top of the milling they called it Cream of Wheat, put it on a train headed east, and crossed their fingers.

NYC sent a telegram back, “Never mind shipping us any more of your flour, but send us a carload of “Cream of Wheat.”

Stop.

Whenever I quote telegrams, I always like to add the “Stop”.  It just makes it fun.

Eventually, they began enriching the milled wheat with extra vitamins and minerals to make it even more nutritious. 

And the packaging kind of stuck. 

Because once you go black… 

The original Cream of Wheat took about 10 minutes to cook.  In that horse and buggy era, 10 minutes WAS instant.  WAY quicker than spending half an hour over a hot pot of groats.

But once we moved from the telegram to the telephone and got cars and highways and all…people expected breakfast to come a little bit quicker, too.

So the Cream of Wheat people sped up the process by inventing “Instant” Cream of Wheat.  The cooking time went from 10 minutes to 2 ½ minutes.  How?  They just milled it a little bit more.  Smaller grains equals quicker cooking time.  Easy peasy.

Eventually, once it was acquired by Nabisco in 1962, they put it into little individual packages and kids could simply put it into a bowl, pour boiling water over it, and stir.

Kids not being the best cooks, they had a tendency to not measure out enough water or not stir it very well---hence the lumps.

But if video killed the radio star----Internet killed the lumps.

Kids wanted everything NOW! 

“I woke up and within one minute I’m on Facebook chatting with my Spanish pen pal in Guatemala.  Why isn’t my Cream of Wheat ready already?  Waah!”

So the former “Instant” was changed to “Quick Cooking” and they ground up the wheat even more to get it down to a 1-Minute cooking time to get a true “Instant” and smacked that onto the label.

Unfortunately, the new Instant is so finely ground that it just doesn’t lump.  No matter how much you try.  And I’ve tried.  Trust me.  Even if you manage to get a lump or two, it will break up once it hits your tongue.

It’s depressing, really.

But good news----if you like your Cream of Wheat perfectly smooth....

As old as you feel right now, take comfort in the fact that kids today will never know the joy of lumpy Cream of Wheat. 

Unless you are their parent.  And you are willing to sacrifice an extra minute and a half of your morning (or 9 minutes if you’re REALLY Old School) to ensure they know the pure bliss of a bowl of lumpy Cream of Wheat on a cold winter day.

And don’t you want a bowl of Cream of Wheat right now?

Okay---If the Cream of Wheat Factory doesn’t let me in after this post, I may have to get all naked Miley Cyrus on their ass.

What does it take Cream of Wheat People?!?! 

I love you so much.  Why won’t you let me in?  Why?

Hello.

Hello? 

I’m outside your window…