Granola Boy

I’m a clog kinda guy. I’m not Dutch, I just like clogs. I’ve been wearing clogs for about 30 years. Maybe it’s a 70’s thing. Maybe that’s why I like granola. Slowly but surely I'm coming to grips with the fact that I am, for sure, a child of the 70’s. And the early 70's at that.

Back in the 70’s my oldest brother was living the good life in Santa Monica, back when Santa Monica was a neighborhood, not real estate.  His old house was always well stocked with an ample supply of candles, pottery mugs, and homemade granola. But while his house had great contemporary vibe for 1971, the granola did not appeal to the discriminating tastes of this 14 year old and so I never partook.

Fast-forward to the 90’s and I’m sitting at the counter of the Fountain Coffee Room. (Personally, the Fountain Coffee Room would be one of the top three reasons I’d like to live in L.A. again.) “Hmm, Housemade Granola.  I’ll give it a try.” Game over. In that moment I became a clog wearing granola lover.

Fast-forward a few more years and Tam is doing the home-made granola thing right here in Michigan. But, it takes time and sometimes that’s not easy to find the time. The supply will wax and wane. Subsequently I set out to devise my own mix. My friend Val makes a killer granola. Tam’s is killer. Mine? Well mine, let’s say, is a work in progress. When I nail it I’ll share it.

In the meantime, where’s that shirt with the bold stripes and the collar the size of a bird of paradise?

Crunchy Granola Suite

Neal Diamond Hot August Night 1972