Everyone likes a fluffy muffin

Well, today I went on an exciting adventure to Leeds’ 8th biggest shopping mall, the Merrion Centre, to sample the delights of a coffee and bun at one of those random, makeshift shacks that like to erect themselves overnight in indoor ‘ultimate shopping experience’ circuses up and down the country.

The aim of this visit was to sample the food and make sure it was ‘of acceptable temperature, taste and quality’. And I have to say that my muffin was exceedingly better than anything Mr. Kipling ever whipped up.

There must be an art to muffin making. There’s a whole isle for them in supermarkets nowadays (cos I’m now old enough to say the word ‘nowadays’), but most of them look like shit. Most of them are products of the bastard consumerist companies that have driven this country into the mire it is currently in (or something like that). Smarties. Dairy Milk. Skittles. All colourfully packaged to sell to the demanding child. Smarties. Dairy Milk. Skittles. All pumped with ridiculous crap sweeteners and a lottery of E-numbers. Smarties. Dairy Milk. Skittles. The supermarket isle looks like the dessert section of Peter Kay’s repeating buffet.

How the hell these buns are sold at all is a mystery. Why would you want to buy tiny Smarties buns for over £2 when you can get a fresh, homemade one for £1.50? I just don’t understand how people can be so influenced by packaging that they will buy a product that was probably made in China from recycled newspapers and plastic bags months ago.

Thankfully, it made my muffin taste even sweeter. To know it’s had the care of being hand-mixed, hand-poured and oven baked in a kiln you can see in front of your eyes. I’ve got to say, I do like fresh muffins.

There was something about this muffin which was extra special however. It reminded me of the extravagantly greasy doughnuts you buy at tacky English seaside resorts, where you can almost see through the other side of the thing because of the grease content. It had the frothy, cloud-like texture that is far from the froth you get on a badly poured pint. But it had also been cooked to perfection, where the crust was crispy enough to break off, but didn’t shred the roof of your mouth and leave your tongue disabled for 3 weeks.

The fact that it had layers of texture and taste put it far above the lump of coal you often get in the pre-packaged supermarket. What really confuses me is that a fresh, well-made, nicely presented muffin can cost less than a tasteless, semi-carbonated, often chewy, mound of leather.

But then again, I’m here to judge, not to act!