I walked into class yesterday and the guy who sits next to me was eating mini muffins. Mini muffins. I didn’t know mini muffins were still around. I thought we had left them behind with Fruit by the Foot and Gushers and brown paper bag lunches. Since elementary school, they’ve made occasional appearances at hotels’ continental breakfasts, usually paired with the meal-in-itself Jumbo muffin. I’ve also seen evidence of them in my mom’s mini muffin tins she keeps buried in the archeological drawer of disregarded things, with the Styrofoam tortilla holder and tulip shaped cookie cutters. I thought they had only been a fad.
His mini muffins were clustered together in a little package like fruit snacks and he would pop a whole one in his mouth with grape-like ease. I didn’t hide my bewilderment. Are those mini muffins?! He was excited to tell me that he had been craving mini muffins when his roommate called him from the store. “He asked me if we needed anything. Did we need anything? Toilet paper? Toothpaste? Milk? I don’t know. I didn’t check. I just wanted the muffins.”
What is it about mini muffins that is so appealing? I asked him. He held a mini muffin up to his eye level and went into detail about their high level of moisture, their crumb-less-ness, their sweet and glaze-y top and edges, their total surface area, and he said that every once in a while, he would even get a blueberry.
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