Bakery treats are my weakness. We all know this. I can easily inhale my own body weight in donuts and pastries, even as my body weight grows enormously from all the donuts and pastries I’m inhaling.
Best that I just stay the hell away from them.
I’ve been pretty good at doing so this year, despite dire temptation, particularly on my morning walks through Paddington and West End, which are both full of cafes and muffins I like.
My one weird trick?
There’s one cafe on my Paddington walk which has these incredible-looking chocolate and blueberry muffins. I often stop in there to grab a coffee to wash down my terrible protein bar, and of course, staring up at me from the counter every goddamned time is a plate full of these freshly baked tempty bitchez.
Until this morning I’d avoided falling on them like a giant muffin whale unhinging his jaw to harvest an ocean of sugary carbs. I did this by just imagining what they’d taste like. I’ve eaten so many blueberry and chocolate muffins that I have a very strong sense memory of the experience. And ten seconds after I swallowed the last bite, the memory is all I have left. So why not just go with that.
But this morning I was there with a bunch of friends and I thought, “Huzzah! I can get one of those muffins and share it around. So I’ll finally know what it tastes like and in future, my imagination muffins will be even betterer!”
Friends, it was okay, you know, as a muffin.
But not nearly as good as my imagination muffins. Their imagination blueberries were juicier. The chocolate richer. The crispy little crust around the edge of the make-believe muffin top all that much crispier and crunchier, providing a more satisfying textural contrast with the buttery muffin filling within.
I fear I have ruined my sense memory of imagination muffins.
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