Sampling: apple flake in a flash of cereal-centric restaurants

apple flake In today’s world of Roomba vacuum cleaners and self-watering plants, who can be bothered to pour their own morning Cheerios and milk? That question resulted in a flash of cereal-centric restaurants several years ago. While the recent arrival of Flake is probably a good season or two behind Juju (L.A.’s first cereal bar, located strategically by UCLA), the new Venice shop is still likely to take advantage of the throngs who wouldn’t think twice about paying $5 for frozen yogurt. Why wouldn’t they spring for a bowl of colorful grain to rekindle their lost childhood? Flake is set up to look like a cozy breakfast nook. Bright, retro-looking tables crowd the small space, and pictures of vintage cereal boxes hang on the walls. (Does anyone remember King Vitaman from Quaker Oats?) Another handful of tables spill out along the sidewalk. The cafe is already fitting right into its Venice nabe thanks to its artsy vibe and friendly, laid-back staff. On this particular Saturday, the place teems with locals: young moms with their toddlers, spandex-clad cyclists fueling up before 27-mile bike rides, tattooed badasses nursing hangovers. Cereal is obviously the star of the show, and Flake has pretty much whatever your heart desires, from healthy Bran Flakes and organic granola to childhood favorites like Apple Jacks and Trix. To top that off, Flake offers nearly 40 choices of fruits, nuts and sauces, as well as several selections of milk (sorry, no chocolate- or strawberry-flavored Quik). Because I grew up in a restrictive dietary household, I take the opportunity to fulfill my wildest childhood fantasy. I opt for Reeses PB Puffs and Cocoa Puffs topped with Nutella, organic honey and a side of almond milk. My concoction arrives in a zebra-print bowl with the milk served smartly in an endearing little carafe that looks like an upside-down light bulb. The first bite is every diabetic’s worst nightmare, but finishing the rest is worth any sugar-induced coma. It isn’t by design, but the Nutella and honey act as binding agents that pull the combination of cereals into a sort of glorified chocolate-peanut butter cup—except puffier. Without fail, my sweet indulgence sets off a craving for something savory. Flake must be diabolically aware of this vicious cycle and offers a good number of morning and lunch sandwiches. The Fatty, perhaps prophetically named, is a toasted croissant (or bagel, if you prefer) stuffed with smoked turkey, swiss and avocado and served with a house secret sauce that easily trumps Mickey D’s—it’s a chipotle mayo, not Thousand Island. In the end, Flake gave me one of the most filling breakfasts I hope to never consume again in my life. It was glorious. In my defense, however, the meal covered all the food groups: protein, dairy, vegetables and grains. Mom would be proud—just don’t tell her about all the sweet stuff.