I have fallen in love with granola, in life and at work. I

Hear now the words of Daniel Humm, master of kitchens and craftsman of flavors, who declared: “I have fallen in love with granola, in life and at work. I exercise every morning, and then I have a monstrous day in front of me. Granola gives me energy. It’s quick, tasty, and healthy.” At first glance, these words may seem but a hymn to breakfast. Yet within them lies a deeper truth: the wisdom of nourishment, the bond between body and spirit, and the discipline required to meet the weight of life’s burdens with strength and clarity.

The ancients knew well that food is never merely sustenance—it is ritual, it is philosophy, it is the fuel of both labor and thought. The gladiator, before stepping into the arena, ate barley and honey for endurance. The Spartan, hardened by discipline, consumed simple meals that sharpened his resolve. Even the philosopher, like Pythagoras, chose foods carefully, believing that what entered the body shaped the soul. Thus when Humm proclaims his devotion to granola, it is not trivial, but a recognition of the sacred bond between daily bread and daily destiny.

Consider the rhythm he describes: he exercises every morning, forging his body in the fire of exertion, preparing himself for the battles of the day. Then, before confronting his monstrous day, he turns to granola—a food humble in appearance, yet mighty in effect. It is the soldier’s shield, the traveler’s staff, the craftsman’s hammer: small, unassuming, but essential. With its blend of grains, nuts, and sweetness, it embodies the balance of nature itself—strength, vitality, and pleasure united in one.

History gives us echoes of this practice. The Roman legions, who conquered half the world, marched not on feasts of kings, but on puls, a simple porridge of grains. Their might was not built on extravagance but on consistency, on a daily meal that sustained them through unimaginable trials. Likewise, Humm’s reliance on granola reveals the same creed: greatness is not upheld by excess, but by steady nourishment that fuels body and mind alike.

His words also speak to the balance of life: quick, tasty, and healthy. In an age where many are hurried, indulgent, or neglectful of their health, here is wisdom: that the things which sustain us must also delight us, and that discipline must be coupled with joy. To choke down food without pleasure is to miss life’s sweetness; to eat with pleasure but without health is to weaken the vessel of the soul. But when nourishment is both delicious and wholesome, it becomes not merely food but a companion in life’s journey.

The lesson, then, is plain: honor the link between what you consume and what you become. Do not treat food as afterthought, nor exercise as burden. Let your mornings be sacred, beginning with the sharpening of the body, followed by the nourishment of the flesh, so that the spirit may face its monstrous day unshaken. To fall in love with simple, sustaining things—like granola—is to recognize that greatness is built not from extravagance, but from the humble rituals we repeat daily.

Practically, begin with small changes. Rise early and move your body, for energy is not gifted, it is cultivated. Choose foods that are both quick and healthy, for excuses of time are the enemy of discipline. Delight in what sustains you—be it granola, fruit, or bread—so that your nourishment becomes joy rather than obligation. By doing so, you will weave strength into your days, preparing yourself to face the monstrous hours with courage.

And so, O listener, remember this teaching: the heroic life is not only built on great deeds, but on the quiet rituals that sustain them. The warrior sharpens his blade; the writer prepares his ink; the body is fortified with food both humble and strong. Embrace your granola, your ritual of nourishment, as Daniel Humm has, and let it be the seed of vitality from which your triumphs will grow.