I don’t. Not any more. He’s dead to me.
I’m not sure when it happened, but it happened in my lifetime. The humble muffin is an endangered species.
I don’t mean the flat, yeasty, fork split panacea of English afternoons. I’m talking the deliciously portable baked treat of the wholemeal or cornmeal or branmeal with chunks of fruit and nuts and bits of foliage – has become nothing more than a glorified teacake. A bland, dry, processed sugar laden, crusty-topped teacake.
If I wanted teacake, I’d grab it from the Tasteless Shit fridge. A few strategically placed blueberries or a smear of tinned apple doesn’t magically transmogrify sugary bread into the innate awesomeness of true muffin-ness. Lipstick on a pig people, lipstick on a pig.
So, all you purveyors of baked goods. No more sneakily funneling the left over cake mix into muffin tins! The people on the street know the difference!
We’re onto it!
WE’RE MAD AS HELL AND WE’RE NOT GONNA TAKE IT ANYMORE!
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