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In 1913’s In Search of Lost Time, Marcel Proust writes about biting into a madeleine cookie and being involuntary transported back to a memory from his childhood. In July 2019, I bit into a belVita Golden Oat breakfast biscuit and was transported absolutely nowhere, because it was my first time eating one. But it wouldn’t be my last.
Before we continue, I should say that this post is not sponcon or an #ad for belVita. (It is, however, an ad for me being incredibly washed.) My heat-sozzled summer brain simply demanded that I write approximately 1,000 words about a sensible fiber cookie and when I asked my editor “can i write about these fiber cookies in the kitchen” [sic], he said yes.
Anyway, I went 30 years on God’s green earth before eating a belVita biscuit, which come in packs of four that contain two grams of fiber, 11 grams of sugar, and advertise four hours of "nutritious steady energy" (this, I will say, is extremely debatable). And I would’ve blissfully gone 30 more had they not been offered for free in the kitchen of my new office. One fateful day during the dreaded Snacking Hour (3 p.m.) the pale yellow packaging—a color which suggests a product is either for toddlers or seniors and nobody in between—called to me. I unwrapped it to find the substantial “breakfast biscuits” (cookies), which were oaty, nutty, and just sweet enough. Mostly, they tasted like they were explicitly for people between the ages of 2 to 6 and 80 to death.
And they were pretty fucking good, okay! When I posted a self-deprecating tweet about my newfound appreciation for them, I was surprised to find dozens and dozens of people replying to profess their unwavering love for them. The secret, silent belVita stans who had been surrounding me came out of the woodwork in hoards to inform me that “the blueberry ones are choice” and “they're lowkey good” and “cookies for breakfast is the greatest breakthrough in breakfast since the McGriddle.”
“I'm not even sure how I became so obsessed with them, because they don't look all that appetizing on the package,” Ashley Reese, a writer at Jezebel and fellow belVita fan, told me. “It's safe to assume that it would be akin to a Nature Valley Bar: Good enough in a pinch, but not exactly pleasant to eat.” She first ate them after encountering them for free in an office kitchen at a former job. “I guess I was desperate one day, tried it, and realized that it was really fucking good,” Reese said. “Just a nice, simple biscuit that hits the spot when you want a snack.”
Brandy Jensen, an editor at the Outline, was first introduced to them while working an early shift at a diner by a coworker who referred to them as her "old lady biscuits." "What I like about them is that they are very straightforward and assuming and, unlike a lot of snack fare in bar form, do not pretend to be anything other than what they are," Jensen explained. "BelVita bars are just simple and filling without doing too much."
The next day in the kitchen, picking up more belVita biscuits to crumble into my mouth and also onto my keyboard, I commented to two colleagues standing there that I couldn’t stop eating them. They both perked up in enthusiastic agreement. Curious, I consulted the Amazon product page for the biscuits, where they had earned 4.1 out of 5 stars. “It was perfect for my need,” a user named Barbara Daniels wrote. Meanwhile, someone named Superbeejc posted about how belVita was also good for wives, specifically his wife. “Wife doesn’t like breakfast she is a brunch person but she can eat these!” Much like Barbara and Superbeejc, belVita biscuits are perfect for both my need and my wife, who is me.
Liking belVita biscuits, I realized, was not so much a hill on which to die but a chill, beautiful meadow on which we could all relax. Look no further than the mind-numbingly pleasant belVita Twitter account, which appears to be run by someone in their target demographic:
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This content can also be viewed on the site it originates from.
As far as snacks go, belVita biscuits are not sexy. They are not a granola bar with three egg whites whose minimalist packaging matches the muted tones of Outdoor Voices leggings. They are not the crispy Brussels sprouts by the Dadaism-inspired lifestyle brand I see advertised on my Instagram feed 600x times a day. They are distributed by a huge corporation and sold mostly in big box stores. They scream “FIBER,” but in the questionable French accent you picked up after spending four months studying abroad in Paris. FIBRE!
And despite the promises on the packaging touting them as a health food, with their added sugar and unpronounceable ingredients, they’re not even that good for you. (To be fair, “seems healthy but actually isn’t” is my favorite category of food; see also: Veggie Booty, Cracklin’ Oat Bran, all granolas and trail mixes.)
That hasn’t stopped consumers. According to a Chicago Tribune article from January 2018, belVita grows all the more powerful as cereal sales decline. Originally a French brand launched as Petit Dejeuner in 1998, they rebranded with their current name in 2010 and then expanded to the United States two years later. Would I personally buy them if they weren’t free and within a 100 yard walk from my desk? Honestly, no. (Or, as the French would say, non!) But biting into them will forever remind me of standing wearily in my office kitchen and thinking “huh, these are actually way better than they seem.”
It's time to stop the madness.
