Monday, September 12


i didn't know how many apples to make to bake into galettes.
i mean,
i had no prior experience or point of reference,
so i fell back on my instincts.
i made way too much.
after letting the exxxtra lemon-juicy brown sugary new hottness marinate and soak in,
while the apples stayed crisp and cool in the cooler,
i had some kind of wonderful in a bowl,
ready for war,
ready to die,
and ready for ME.
with a rough ridin' dirty batch of spiced apples waitin' on me,
what'd i do?
i made muffins for breakfast.
yeah, man.
check it out:

mornings taste good around here.
that's no joke.
i had about a cup and a half of spiced apples, which i chopped,
and added to a creamed-together mix of
1 stick butterish
1 cup demerara sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp vanilla
cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and allspice
1/2 cup unsweetened coconut yogurt
then i fired up the dry bits:
2 cups flour
1 cup oats
1/4 cup tapioca flour
1 tsp ea. kapowder and b.soda
add a cup of vanilla almond milk, and you've got the wettest splat of batter
that you'll ever have the pleasure of blarping into greased muffin tins.
real talk.
350F, 35 minutes,
the usual.....
with brown sugar sprankles and rolled oats on top-
the sugar caramelized, and glued the oats in place with a pleasant nutty roasted note
playing across my mouth as i pounded treat after treat down with abandon.
go bake some muffins.
they are good for you.
i mean it.
i brought 'em to work,
where they got hyena-devoured before i could even scoople a second
to savor a second breakfast brunchtime munch-up.
that's how it goes, man.
if they sucked, there'd be more left over probably.
it's a good sign if i'm left wanting more, and there aren't any.
do you read this everyday?
for those of you who follow along in chronological stackable ascending order,
i'd just like to say:
i right.
after my super-fun exploration of holy hellacious heckfire on beau,
yesterday was the predictable flipsided battle-beastly ghastly assblast of hard styles
and tough tattoos in rough spots on disaffected and underimpressed people.
all dang day long ,
the doo-doo butter spread itself on exxxtra-thick
and while more than half of my clients were repeats,
and the rest were referrals,
i think i've done myself a disservice by always doing the tattoos that people want.
i'm serious.
if you do more than one difficult feat of fresh hot loud hardness on someone,
while motormouthing an entertaining tale
i.e. making it LOOK easy-
a.k.a respecting the fine art of showmanship;
they'll never understand that it isn't any sort of fun to constantly have to engineer
some approach to enact and exact the activation on too small,
too complicated,
too big,
or too terrible an idea....
do you understand what i'm writing about?
do it once, and you're cool for helping out.
do it twice, and that's suddenly just what you DO.
it happens with tattoos,
it happens with treats.
it happens a lot.
i do do what i do,
while the doo-doo gets dropped like douchey deuces on my dome.
what is that called?
is THAT what winning is?
....i hope so,
because i have the tallest trophy in the case if that's so.
i still get paid,
and those stacks on stacks of movie checks make the days a whole lot easier.
the muffins help, too.
this is it.
that is what's required,
and that is what i do;
never quiet, never soft.....

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