The Muffin Man Is My Slave

Oh yeah, I know the Muffin Man. I made that booger kneel to me and squeal like a little piggy.

Saturday Morning. With the sun hiding behind a cloud, I entered my kitchen with fierce determination. As I prepared my morning coffee, I mentally prepared for the upcomming battle. As the robust smell of coffee began to permeate the air, I heard the snickering little laughter of that confectionary creep! Oh it was on. I may have run from the schoolyard bully, but, there was no way I was going to let this snarky confection get the better of me.

And so it began.

Armed with my trusty measuring scale, liquid measuring cups and a long big hard wooden spoon, I measured out my ingredients. Every item was weighed and measured to the exact requirement. I melted my butter, washed my blueberries and then laughed maniacally as I greased my muffin tin. With my batter stirred just long enough to wet the flour, I scooped it into the prepared pan. Then with a flair of style all my own, I slid the soon to be glorious treasures into the oven.

I began to wash the dishes while my muffins started to cook. In minutes, the smell of my plump, delectable blueberry muffin's filled the room. I began to smirk victoriously over my sink filled with bubbles. Even our cats could sense the ass kicking that was about to happen and sat in either doorway of the kitchen to watch! And then, the timer sounded. It was time. He was going down. I would make him my bitch and declare that I, Jeffrey Sherman Thompson, was King of the Muffin World.

I walked to the oven door, opened it up and saw them. THE DAMN THINGS WERE STILL NOT BIG ENOUGH! (And yes, size matters in muffins.) The little bastard got me again!!! WHY WHY WHY?! What is it that I did wrong?! Was I being mocked for mocking the Muffin Man?! I put my rise-challenged muffins on the cooling rack and retraced my steps. It hit me. I measured the butter melted and not the solid. That had to be it. I may have been knocked down, but I was not out. One round to the Muffin Man but the title would be mine.

I re-assembled my ingredients with one change. This time, I took my cold chilly butter and measured it BEFORE melting. Careful not to over stir my batter, I gently folded the wet ingredients into the dry. Then into a very well greased muffin tin and finally, to the oven.

I began doing the dishes for a second time and thought, now I've got him. I began to daydream about what I would find when the oven door opened. As I put the last bowl on the drying rack, the timer sounded. The wind stopped. The cats froze. I walked to the oven door, grabbed my oven mitt and prepared myself for whatever it was I might find. I opened the oven door and there they were. The perfect Muffins. Slightly golden tops, risen and pretty. I placed my muffins on the cooling rack and I will not lie... I danced around the kitchen like an idiot. I didn't care! The Muffin Man began to weep and I pointed at him and laughed!!!! IN YOUR FACE MUFFIN MAN!!!!!!

There was however, one more test. I needed to cut the muffin in half, check it for texture and of course, taste. Once they had cooled, I easily popped my muffins out of their hole. Spongy and still warm, I split one down the middle. It was beautiful. The Muffin Man cried harder. I took a bite. I teared up a bit. Then, after lovingly sharing a bite of my muffin with Jack, I beat the living crap out of the Muffin Man and told him to go find Betty Crocker!!!!