dear good people at kellogg’s of battle creek,

about a year ago, my taste buds and i were walking, gingerly, among the good people of france, my original countrymen, when our shared bipedal locomotion system unexpectedly took us to a carrefour city market on avenue de la motte-picquet which seemed, at the time, no more or less enticing a mix of design, shopping experience and well-packaged foods aplenty than any other parisian suppliers of the time. little could i foresee that within, lay a product of such pure righteousness and exceptional superiority that it would spin us into a frenzy not seen since bloody chum was first laid upon the sea in order to tickle a hungry and great white’s olfactory receptors. indeed, upon peeping the very package (designed by landor) on the impeccably arranged shelves of the admittedly diminutive cereal aisle, your aptly-named trésor jumped out at me as encompassing two my favorite things in the world: a crusty shell and a smooth chocolate/hazelnut center. the third one being mozart’s requiem. i will have you know that my buds and i had no reservation about forgoing a formal taste test of any sort before purchasing three boxes right there and then, armed with a bottle of demi-écrémé, rushed home to see how many i could possibly fit in my mouth, at once. 13. and it was just as luscious an experience as i had dreamed it could just be a few french taxi minutes before. the golden shell melting just enough to allow the first bite to feel consequential yet allow the familiar core to seep trough and invade the un-prepared mouth, which, mixed with enough of the white liquid made for a sweet explosion which blew me back to those nutella-filled winters in switzerland, sent there by under-caring parents who could not have, themselves, dreamed of such possibilities for they had grown up too much, too fast…

and so it was with glee that, upon my return, i jumped onto the web that is world wide in order to stock up for the winter that is long in all thing trésor. even though i had not ever seen it on the shelves of my local supplier, surely, a uniquely american company would have an outlet for such deliciousness somewhere within my state. so, color me shocked, dismayed and borderline manic-depressive when i discovered that nowhere within these contiguous united states was my youth elixir to be found. not on the internet, not able to ship from canadian supermarkets, NO-WHERE!!! why, WHY, i screamed in front of the understanding yet frightened gaze of my young children, why indeed was i not allowed to partake in the crisp chocolate/hazelnut succulence in the land whose freedom i have heard it said the whole world envies?! little by little, however, i had to admit to myself that such quest could not be fulfilled by lawful means for the powers that be had indeed forbidden my taste buds and i from an elation only once known in the confines of the french republic. what could possibly be the reason? why prevent three-hundred million people from chasing a dragon that is, until proof of the contrary, not hazardous to my health? is it to create a back-alley black market in which unmarked bags of the yellow puffs would be passed from chocolate addict to hazelnut junkie under raincoats specially stitched for the purpose? is it to attract the unwashed masses to shores un-american so as to alleviate the strain on social security? is it to simply make me angry? because i am angry. angry to the point of putting my family’s life in danger when i have to smuggle packs of the stuff in my luggage, wrapped in innocuous “paris rules” tee shirts in an attempt to get what i need where i need it under the noses of border officials!…

it is then with this letter, that i formally ask you, kellogg’s, to please release tony the tiger with a trunk-full of trésor unto the unsuspecting american public for my midlife depends on it. i love it more than one of my children, i love it more than venice, the way the sun gently hits the buildings in the afternoon, i love it more than a cucumber peel, i love it more than flipboard on the iPad, i love it only the way one loves a god, something i had given up on until that day in the french supermarket… please, pretty please, make this wish come true.

your humble servant,
stefan boublil