Normally when I am angry I make muffins.

This sounds either like a metaphor or some weird therapist-assigned coping mechanism, but it is neither! Angry baking is really awesome of its own accord. You get to smash things around and semi-accidentally drop metal pans on the floor until they go “clang” sufficiently for your purposes and make a huge mess and decide to ignore it until the morning.

I usually make the cranberry nut variety of the muffins in Mark Bittman’s How To Cook Everything because the first time I was angry and wanted to bake something that was the kind of muffins I wanted and that was the recipe I had. I mean, also because I really like cranberry nut muffins.

Today was a bit shite, in that I ran out of coffee grounds yesterday, realized at 8:02 this morning that I was out of bread and so could not make a PBJ for lunch, got stuck in the library for four hours doing nothing because I couldn’t get my brain to work enough to concentrate on the assignment, and then found out that a meeting I was supposed to go to for another project had been canceled when I called the person who’d set it up to figure out where exactly it was supposed to be.

So basically it just has not been a ~super functional day!~ So I made muffins. Which other than a large latte with a worrisome amount of syrup in it was the first thing I had to eat today.

The problem is, these muffins, made with baking powder that did not move with us from Cambridge in 1997 and dried orange zest that actually still smells like oranges and not dust, taste really, really good.

Normally I make them because they come out lumpy and weird and not really at all bad-tasting, if you can get over the way they feel strangely heavy and usually go from undercooked to burnt-looking in about 1.5 seconds. They are usually a food with which you can commiserate. “You will never leave me,” you can say. “No one else will want you because in the end it is kind of like eating citrus-y rocks.”

(Obviously first you tell yourself very sternly that you are not bad at baking.)

I mean, it was probably the baking powder’s fault. Apparently that shit expires, or whatever. But now I have these seriously delicious muffins and no more unwatched episodes of Being Human (U.K.) and nothing else to do but clean up the mess. When food actually turns out like it’s supposed to, you can’t just ignore how it got there.

This is ~450 words whining that the muffins I made turned out too well; clearly I should just go to sleep for the next five days.