The Ultimate Muffin Base (and a few of my favorite variations below)Īdapted a bit from the Cook’s Illustrated Cookbook. What will it feel like to hold him in my arms? What will his personality be? Will he be serious, or funny, contemplative, fastidious? Will he look like his dad? What little quirks will he have? Will he someday stand on a stool next to me at the kitchen counter and crack the eggs and lick the muffin batter off the spoon? Which kind of muffins will be his favorite?ĭelicious thoughts of anticipation as I wait patiently for those muffins in the oven… And not just the near-term future I mentioned above of exhausted days and sleepless nights. When I sit down with my coffee in those early morning hours, waiting for the muffins to puff up in the oven and to fill the house with their promising smell, I contemplate what the future holds. (And I suspect there will be more sunrises to enjoy in my future, as the days of sleeping in are surely numbered.) Our kitchen faces east, and for some reason, it just feels right to be making muffins as I watch the marsh outside our windows change colors in the first light of day. As my belly expands and the discomforts of pregnancy make it harder to sleep, I’ve been catching quite a few sunrises these days. Muffins are also the perfect thing to make early in the morning while the sun comes up. Blackberry-lavender, mango-ginger, blueberry-almond…the possibilities are endless. And now that I’ve got the basic recipe perfected–not too sweet, moist and cakey in the middle, crusty on the outside, golden brown on top–I’m having fun improvising with the flavors. I’ve been tinkering with the recipe to sneak in a little whole wheat flour, cut back a bit on the sugar, and generally come up with something that I don’t feel (too) guilty about eating for breakfast every day. In lots of ways muffins are the perfect food. In my quest for foods that are comforting, nourishing, and most importantly can be eaten with one hand, I’ve found myself on a bit of a muffin bender. For the last couple months I’ve been squirreling away home-cooked food in the freezer and pantry, preparing for the long-distance sprint of the early weeks of parenthood when–I’ve been warned–we’ll live our lives in foggy 45 minute increments between feedings and diaper changes, lucky if we get a chance to shower or feed ourselves. My nesting instinct has kicked into high gear.
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