It began, as these things do, in a cave.
Stan never set out to disrupt breakfast. He set out to find a quiet, humidity-controlled place to think. The cave provided this, and also — he would later insist — a terroir.
While there, he noticed his oats had developed a depth, a complexity, a faint disposition. He began aging them on purpose. Then he began massaging them, because they seemed tense. Word spread, mostly to people who already knew Stan.
Today every jar of Stan’s is matured in the original cave, hand-kneaded to a state of profound relaxation, and seasoned with herbs Stan describes as “assertive.” We make very little of it on purpose. This is why you cannot have any.