Toppings of the morning to you!

 A modern re-imagining of Goldilocks and the three Bears...

Once upon a time, there were three bears. Let’s call them Mummy Bear, Daddy Bear and Baby Bear. They had a happy little dwelling in a soup café, on Forrest Road. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? Union of Genius. Charming place. You should pop in some time.

Anyway, the three bears liked porridge. They needed oats, shall we say, especially around Oat O’clock, which is approximately 9am, human time.

Now, these bears were very particular about their porridge. Each bear had his or her own preference when it came to toppings. None of the bears was interested in honey. ‘Pooh to honey,’ they chorused, acknowledging the wry pun.

Daddy Bear liked his porridge with dried fruit, like cranberries and sultanas, a splash of cream and a sprinkling of Splenda. Baby Bear turned her nose up at the Splenda. ‘Yuck,’ she said, ‘fake sugar. Yuck.’

Mummy Bear liked her porridge drowning in cream and sporting a deep golden brown tan from a truckload of muscovado sugar. Some would have commented that there was more of an emphasis on the cream and sugar, with a hint of porridge on the side, than the other way round. But not Baby Bear. Baby Bear wholeheartedly approved of the liberal use of cream and sugar. ‘Yum,’ she said, patting her little bear paws together, ‘yum yum yum.’

Baby Bear liked her porridge with a little blob of raspberry jam, ‘for the colour.’ Secretly though, Baby Bear resented the lack of bacon available for her porridge. But sometimes, if she was a good bear, Mummy Bear would let her have bacon – as well as porridge – on a Friday. Let’s just say, it worked very well as an incentive for good behaviour during the week.

But I digress. It was Oat O’clock on a Monday like any other. Daddy Bear arrived, beating his chest and roaring, ravenous for his morning oats. The bears assembled in front of the porridge pot with their bowls and the porridge was dished out. Baby Bear insisted on having a larger bowl than Mummy Bear. Not only was she greedy, but she had a slight complex about being an only bear.

They each took their preferred toppings and returned to the kitchen to nom away. They were only a few mouthfuls in when they heard the front door whine and bang, a sure-fire sign of a customer arriving in their soup café. Mummy Bear, quickest off the mark and with the greatest vested interest, put down her porridge and went to attend to the human’s similarly oaty needs.

Moments later, the phone rang. Daddy Bear and Baby Bear looked at the phone. Then at their respective porridges. Then at the phone. Daddy Bear was closest and Baby Bear had the hardest resolve, so Daddy Bear answered the phone. He put down his porridge and wandered off in to the corridor to deal with the enquiry.

Baby Bear sat in the kitchen alone, swinging her stumpy little bear legs from the high stool she was perched on and nomming her porridge. But all too soon there was the familiar ‘chink chink chink’ of a spoon on the bottom of a bowl. Her porridge was gone. Sad times.

As Baby Bear sulked in to her empty bowl, a young blonde woman, lost on her way to the toilet, charged in to the kitchen. She whipped her golden locks around and sniffed long and loud. ‘Porridge!’ she yelled delightedly, spotting Mummy and Daddy Bear’s bowls on the counter, their contents largely uneaten. Then without another word she abruptly scoffed their remaining oats. A horrified Baby Bear looked on. She was just grateful she’d already eaten hers.

With the final oaty morsels gone, the blonde gave a resolute ‘HUFF!’ turned on her heel and raced out again. Shortly after, Mummy Bear finished serving the customer and Daddy Bear’s call ended. They returned to the kitchen and looked down at their licked-clean bowls.

‘Who’s been eating MY porridge?’ bellowed Daddy Bear.

‘Who’s been eating MY porridge?’ sobbed Mummy Bear.

‘Erm, who’s, gosh, er, been eating MY porridge?’ Baby Bear echoed nervously.

Mummy and Daddy Bear looked up at Baby Bear. Baby Bear was familiar with the particular look she was being given and, fearing there would be no bacon come Friday, quickly told them the story of the golden haired woman who had just rocked up out of nowhere and eaten all their porridge! The bloody cheek of it!

There was a silence. Mummy and Daddy Bear exchanged glances. Daddy Bear, in his usual way, raised one sceptical bear eyebrow. Mummy Bear folded her bear arms. Baby Bear looked wide-eyed and, hopefully, innocent.

‘Baby Bear,’ said Mummy Bear, ‘I hardly think your story is true. First, there’s no one who could really be Goldilocks in this otherwise flawless analogy, and even so, I think we would’ve noticed a rabid oat-craving yellow-haired banshee charging through the shop. Secondly, your bear hoody is spattered with oats. You have Splenda all round your bear chops and your bear tongue is brown from a larger-than-normal quantity of muscovado sugar. I think YOU ate our porridge!’

‘Huff!’ cried Baby Bear, arranging her features in to what she hoped comprised a look of indignation. Damn Mummy Bear’s ability to see through her story! But the creamy toasted oaty goodness was just… so… tasty… It’d been too hard for such a young bear to resist the temptation of extra porridge, when it was sat there in front of her! Even the Splenda was tolerable if you ate it quickly enough.

‘Sorry Mummy Bear,’ Baby Bear said softly, blushing through her bear cheeks, ‘sorry Daddy Bear.’

‘It’s okay,’ Mummy Bear said. ‘I know I make the best porridge in town. Just leave some for our customers too!’ And with that reliever of tension, they all laughed and had more porridge and everyone lived happily ever after. Ah.

Join the Bears for porridgey goodness at Oat O’clock or any time 8am-12pm Monday-Friday at Union of Genius. A standard porridge is £2 and a large is £2.50. Both come with two toppings from a choice of 12 and as much extra milk and sugar as you want.. We won’t judge you if you have honey.