Joe was making wine in a grape juice bottle when an idea came to him. Due to the messy nature of the wine, he had opted to make the wine in his bathtub. As his bare feet became increasingly stained purple and the fruity aroma began to coat his nostrils, the word came to him first: sizzle. With the faucet dripping in rhythm, the rest came through: Not a snap, not a crackle, and certainly not a pop. A cereal that sizzles.
The field of cereal chemistry was ruthless. In the small town of Manhattan, Kansas, where Kansas State University’s Cereal Chemistry Laboratory was situated, every employed chemist was a rival of the others. Postdocs were itching to find the new Cheerio and take the cereal world to dazzling new heights. In Radina’s, KSU’s on-campus coffee shop, coworkers would knowingly steal Joe’s iced mocha to get a leg up in energy for the day. Joe had taken an isolated approach, spending non-work hours holed up in his crammed one-bedroom apartment microwaving Trader Joe’s chicken tikka masala, drinking Barefoot wine, and crying at episodes of The Bachelorette.
Joe’s secluded lifestyle had, inevitably, affected his work performance. His PI demanded Joe up his game or she would lay him off by the end of the quarter. In the insular world of cereal science, Joe knew a lay off would oust him from the field. He needed a new project that would stun his colleagues, something so delightful his fellow grain scientists could not help but be jealous. Bethany and Mark, a tragically toxic cereal couple, always whispered about him at their table, going so far to point and directly address him. When Joe had first joined the lab, he went to follow Bethany on Instagram and discovered he had already been blocked. However, Mark had not blocked Joe, and Joe scrolled through Mark’s feed until his body felt sweaty and his eyes turned glossy. Joe was desperate to prove himself.
In food science school, there was always a lecture about Rice Krispies. How did they make that sound? Everyone knew the basics: each individual Rice Krispy was jam packed with air-filled tunnels and caves. Through the process of baking, each piece gets bonded so tight the krisp essentially becomes a piece of glass. When you put a Rice Krispy in liquid, all the air is compressed, forcing the tunnels and caves to essentially collapse. The result is the onomatopoeic snap, crackle, pop.
As a child, Joe would insist on Rice Krispies for breakfast. Even in youth, Joe knew he wasn’t cut out for sports. His oversized feet had no sense of coordination. In gym class, he would be picked last, having already sweat through his tie-dye gym shirt before the class even began. Once puberty descended, he was handed a dose of cystic acne so severe that he wore a mask to hide his face. When the pandemic hit in his twenties, Joe felt an odd comfort in placing a mask back on and shielding himself from the frightening forces of the world.
But cereal was something Joe could count on and Rice Krispies was the most enticing of them all. It was the full sensory experience: sight, taste, smell, touch, and sound. Joe would hold pieces in his hand before dropping them in his bowl of milk, then, he would crane his ear to best hear the delightful pops, snaps, and crackles. When the sounds ceased, Joe would pound his fists on the table in despair. Before bruising his hands, he would remind himself he always had the next morning to look forward to.
The natural first step in his sizzle project was to utilize the originator itself, Rice Krispies. After finishing his wine, Joe went to Hy-Vee and picked up twenty boxes, just to be safe. He also snagged a couple boxes of minute rice, just in case that was the more fruitful option. That night he got to work, cracking open the first box and studying the grain. He smashed a single Rice Krispie into pieces and spread the dust like particles across a cutting board. Joe’s first instinct was that for the cereal to sizzle, the air pathways had to be even smaller, the pressure even greater. When he placed a typical piece in milk, if he squinted hard enough he could see air bubbles rising through the liquid. Joe mashed a broken piece in his hands, an intact piece at hand, and compared as he pushed the broken pieces more tightly together. The shards of broken Rice Krispie refused to stick. He grunted in frustration, and packed a box of Rice Krispies in his backpack to pull out in the lab tomorrow. The Bachelorette Season 24 Premiere was about to be on anyways.
The next morning, Joe made his way into the lab five minutes past nine. He typically rolled in twenty to thirty minutes late, unable to arise out of his thick, wet blankets, and wash his face. It didn’t help that the lab, for science purposes Joe supposed, was sterile. The lights were always a titch too fluorescent, and by the afternoon each day a migraine would form in the corner of his left eye. Today, however, a new pep in his step emerged, resulting in the bold decision to put gel in his hair. He had no idea how to use the gel, and it was a little clumpy at the top of his head, but he was tall enough to know no one would be looking at the top of his head.
Bethany worked at the table next to Joe, and as per usual, she greeted Joe with silence and menacing eyes. Bethany had been to a “school in New Jersey,” as she referred to it, and she had used so much heat on her hair it had started falling out. To avoid damaging the equipment with fallen strands, she now donned a clear hairnet and fangs (Joe liked to joke in his head). Bethany rarely spoke to him, but Mark worked at the table directly next to Bethany, and they would often make fun of Joe in his earshot. Mark was never seen without a frappuccino in his hand and his eyebrows were perpetually raised. He refused to wear a lab coat and called Bethany his “Blonde Bombshell.” Joe thought he had seen Mark stare at him across the room a few times, but every time Joe would look up Mark would whip his head to the front or walk to Bethany and kiss her on the cheek. Was there a chance Mark wasn’t looking at Joe in disgust?
Joe saw Bethany’s eyes glaring as he pulled out a box of Rice Krispies. “Brought a little snack today, Joe?” she asked.
“No, it’s for my next project.”
“Look Mark, the dipshit thinks he has an idea!”
Mark leaned his chin on Bethany’s shoulder and pouted his well moisturized lips. “Joe,” he said, “you know that has no nutritional value right?”
“You’re going to regret making fun of me soon.”
“Joe,” Bethany started, “we’re here to make grains healthier!”
Bethany was cut off by a splay of Rice Krispies hitting her in the face. Joe had been gathering a clump in his hands as they berated him and finally flung them at Bethany, aiming for her eyes. A couple passed her right by, but enough landed right on her left eye. She shrieked, her shrill voice reaching deafening heights. “Mark,” she barked, “Get the eyedrops.”
Mark pranced to her work bag and pulled out a box of Xiidra. “Did you know Bethany has chronic dry eye, Joe?” he asked, “Did you know your toddler antics could set her back weeks. Months, even?”
Joe did not know of Bethany’s dry eye. He spent the rest of the day in silence, occasionally looking over as Bethany blinked her eyes rapidly at Mark until he came and patted her on the back. He studied the bonds in the Rice Krispies and came up empty. The sizzle sound felt shrouded in mystery. Dread crept in. He pictured his head being on the chopping block, Mark and Bethany chuckling over his bloody corpse.
Joe came to the lab the next morning with an armful of recipes for homemade Rice Krispies. After returning home last night, Joe scrolled through endless TikToks from food influencers all insisting their Rice Krispy recipe was the best. He scrawled them all down, at least one of them needed to sizzle. The two ingredients used in all the recipes were salt and rice with minor differences in ratio of salt to rice and heat applied. It couldn’t be that hard to find the perfect combination, right?
Throughout the work day, Joe’s work desk slowly became covered in scraps of paper and salt. His finger was burnt from the first experiment because he neglected to put on gloves before he touched the cast-iron pan. He poked at the searing blister forming and sighed. None of the recipes had produced a sizzle. A couple of them barely even snapped, crackled, and popped. Joe felt an arm around his shoulder. He looked up to find Mark, staring at him with his beady, bright blue eyes. “No luck, Joe?” Mark asked, a smirk forming on his lips.
Joe shrugged Mark’s arm off of his shoulder and shook his head. Bethany came to the other side of Joe, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. “Looks like little Joe can’t do it!” she said.
“Can you guys just mind your own business?”
A glint of sympathy came through in Mark’s eyes. He watched Mark lightly tap Bethany. “Babe, let’s go home,” he whispered, dragging his well-lotioned palm from the bottom to top of her back.
Bethany paused and stared at Mark incredulously. Finally, she relented and swung her massive Kate Spade purse onto her shoulder. Mark waved goodbye as Bethany sneered, “Good luck tomorrow, but I bet you don’t have it!”
That night, Joe overpoured. He took a shower and sat down cross-legged, letting the water drip down his body. Lewis Capaldi droned on in the background, soulfully singing about a state of romantic misery Joe had never experienced. He was miserable though. He felt out of control, like a little skunk who only sprays when they feel threatened. That’s what he was: a stinky, little skunk. He was hairy, unkept, and engendered fear in his counterparts.
He needed a sizzle.
The next day, Joe was twenty minutes late. The wine from last night was creating an ache in his stomach and a dull ping in his head. He slumped at his table and grabbed a handful of Rice Krispies as soon as he sat down. Not to study, but to eat. He had neglected breakfast at home. Joe didn’t have the energy to carry any milk in his bag so he ate the pieces dry until his throat dried and he hacked onto his arm.
Bethany glared at Joe as his coughs became louder and his breathing more strained. He motioned for help, flipping his hands up and down rapidly. To that, Bethany turned her back to him, and Mark just batted his eyes. Joe felt his airways constrict tighter.
Their PI, Amanda, exited her office and clenched her arms around his ribcage. She pushed on his diaphragm until the slivers of Rice Krispie expunged from his mouth. Once the initial relief of no longer choking was over, Joe realized something much worse. He was about to throw up. Before he could reach a trash can, last night’s dinner came spilling out in his mouth. Bethany plugged her nose as she dragged Mark out of the lab with her. Amanda covered her mouth and grabbed him a roll of paper towels. He could only muster a nod of gratitude.
“Alright Joe,” Amanda said, “When you’ve cleaned yourself and this up please see me in my office.
At that, she turned and walked away. When she was out of sight, Joe collapsed on the floor, the cool tiles drying the monumental sweat on his face. He let himself lie there until the smell became so foul he had to clean up. He gagged as he discarded his bile in the trash. After an initial clean up, Joe grabbed wipes from the supply closet and disinfected until the area looked almost as sterile as before.
Joe stood hesitantly in front of Amanda’s door. He was uneasy about her future words with him. He slid his hand around the door knob and entered. Amanda sat at her desk chair with a hand on her mouse, eyes not leaving the computer in front her. Her face was all angles. Her eyebrows were meticulously threaded and her skin glowed with what could only be a sign of a gut healthy diet. In his initial interview process, Amanda had been very friendly, excited to see a North Dakota State applicant like herself. Her hope in Joe had diminished quickly, and while Amanda still flashed him a smile every once in a while, Joe could sense falsity behind her whitened teeth. As he made his way into the office, her eyes were scrunched in focus, but when she became aware of Joe’s presence she gestured to a velvet lined chair on the side of her desk: “There is fine.”
“I’m sorry about this morning. I ate without water or, I guess, any liquid really,” Joe said, “It won’t happen again.”
Amanda finally removed herself from the pathway of the computer. “It’s okay Joe, but that’s not what I brought you in to talk about.”
“I have an idea,” he plead.
Amanda sat up. “Oh really?”
“I want to make a cereal that sizzles.”
She giggled. “You know there’s already a cereal that snaps, crackles, and pops, right?”
At that Joe gripped his hands on his cheeks. He pushed down the urge to cry, and instead just gritted his teeth against each other. “No but, its a different sound. Almost like steam coming up from the cereal instead of bubbles, you know?”
“No, Joe, I don’t,” Amanda exhaled, “Not that I don’t believe in your abilities to do it. It just feels a little bit… like a rip off. Look. I know you want to be here, and you have all the relevant degrees, but you just. You aren’t cut out for cereal. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to let you go.”
With that, Joe wept. Amanda indulged him for a moment but, clearly perturbed, soon ushered him out the door to clear his table.
Joe’s mind kept circling back to one line: I am a failure. Little Joe thought the cereal world was heaven, but in reality, it was hell. Maybe losing his job was the push he needed to find his true destiny. He could be a reality TV show host! No, he would need an established skin care routine for that. And would probably need to wash his hair multiple times a week. For the time being, that was out of the question. He could become a freelance nutritionist, but if he wanted to become a certified nutritionist he would have to go back to school. Nothing appeared as a tangible option to him.
Upon return to his apartment, he rotted on the couch. Time seemed to pass indefinitely until he looked at this phone for the time: midnight. He glanced at the kitchen counter. On it stood eighteen unopened boxes of Rice Krispies. He looked across to the bathroom. The bathtub was calling him.
The cool air of the fridge permeated Joe’s T-shirt and sweats as his eyes peered at the contents. He had a carton of half and half, two full cartons of 2% (one most likely expired), and a carton of soymilk from the last time his vegan mother visited. He carried the milk to the bathroom. He set it down grunting, but quickly headed back to the kitchen. The boxes were beautiful in the evening light. The bright aqua with smiling faces adorned on the front could not help but be comforting. Joe at least knew his short term destiny for the night: a bath of Rice Krispies.
The milk only got about a third of the liquid Joe needed to properly steep in. Once the last carton was dumped, he turned the faucet on and let the water pour out in the highest setting. While Joe wanted the ambiance of milk, he knew the cereal would work in any liquid. The faucet gurgled and Joe exhaled in relief. When the tub was almost full, he began to pour in the Rice Krispies. His ears were filled with the delightful cacophony of snap crackles and pops as he stepped into the bath. He closed his eyes and let the Rice Krispies do the rest.