I had never seen divorce so close up. A very dear couple of mine separated recently and my feelings about the events were very different from what I would have imagined. If I were asked to illustrate a situation of such tragedy, I would do so with a summit formed by a series of stumbling blocks, where the only way to descend is by throwing yourself into the abyss of nothingness, an endpoint for an unsustainable situation. However, at the core of the breakup, there was an air of fresh start.
I was able to process this turmoil viewing the dynamics of marriage as if it were a bowl of porridge. Let me explain. Porridge is usually prepared for those you love. With care, the oats become a rich, warm and comforting mixture. The flavor is embracing, capable of curing any ailment. Every detail of the preparation is perceived as affection: the cut pieces of apple, the sweetness of the honey, the woodiness of the cinnamon. The aroma infuses memories and the mouth salivates, whetting the appetite of anyone bedridden. Yet all this concentrated experience can only be felt in the first spoonful.
This is not necessarily true for the second: the porridge loses temperature and the aura of coziness diminishes. In the third, the texture is viscous, the sweetness is exaggerated and the milk separates from the mixture. The smaller the remaining portion, the greater the aversion. Even the care with which it was made is pondered. “The porridge has to end.” From the delights of the first bite to the tiredness of more of the same; from the varied texture of warm grains to the tepid flavorless mixture. What was porridge is now mush.
“So we need to change”, they cry around. And what is the substitute? Polenta, obviously.
“Polenta is the new food, the definitive alternative to boring meals.” “Finally the solution for oats has a name and it’s called corn!” “Milk never again, from now on only water.” “It seems like the only alternative to experience the exotic variation of textures again, with a mixture of solid and softer grains.” “I need meals with more salt to sharpen my taste buds.” And again, the first spoonful is enough.
Romantic relationships are to variety as porridge, cereals and polenta are to nutritional options. They differ in flavors and ingredients, but they all end in mush. The small grains, once tasty, will become soggy. The variety of textures will homogenize into goo. However, I’m not here to discourage the consumption of porridge, polenta or cereal.
The lesson that is lost is that porridge does not prevail as a gastronomic experience. One who eats porridge expecting a festival of flavors is doomed to disappointment. Even more unfortunate, however, are those who exchange their porridge for polenta. It is a fact that porridge will never be polenta and vice versa, yet both are homologous. It is essential to persist with the porridge and live the paradox surrounding the repetitive meal analogy. It is a meal not to be replaced but transfigured: the flavorful porridge does not remain porridge, but it becomes manna. At the same time, the beauty of manna’s nature is its constancy, not its alternation; it is a recurrent, free given meal in spite of any merit, intended to carry one over, gifted from the highest.
Those who eat porridge and are happy do so by finding a way to attribute a higher meaning to their insipid and boring meal. Whoever decides to eat porridge, therefore, should eat not for self satisfaction, but for that of the other. Those who do so will be bound to a ‘porridgevore’ diet, it’s true, but it will guarantee them sustenance and energy even on the day the flavor becomes irrelevant or the teeth missing; until death do them part.
