The blueberry muffin

I thought I might apologise to Starbucks, which as anyone who knows me understands I DO NOT LIKE, especially outside the US in countries where the coffee and tea are superior and tea rooms or coffee shops are a way of life. However, while waiting for a friend the other night I wandered into one in Geneva and I saw -- drum roll, trumpets, singers going Hallelujah -- blueberry muffins.

Blueberry muffins and rasin cinnamon bagels are things that I constantly miss. Well maybe not constantly, but the memory of them tiptoes over my tastebuds at least once a week. My daughter when she visits always brings some from Dunkin Donuts and more than once she has been teased as she entered the plane about taking her own food on board when attendants have spied the pink and white Dunkin Donuts boxes.

I will say the Starbucks clerk was nice and friendly and I do not expect the same family feel I get at the tea rooms that I frequent regularly from a corporate chain. He came back to me in English as many people do as soon as they pick up on my accent that screams ENGLISH SPEAKER ENGLISH SPEAKER. His accent was adorable.

I bought the muffin. and even ate more circumspectly at dinner so I would be able to treat myself to the muffin for dessert. No way did I fool myself that I would be able to wait until morning.

At home I carefully unwrapped the muffin and put it on a pretty plate to increase my enjoyment. I cut it in four pieces so I would eat it slowly, savouring every mouthful. I lifted it to my lips, felt it on my tongue, swallowed.

It was too sweet and stale. Even an hour later there was an unpleasant chemically aftertaste.

I wonder where I can find a good blueberry muffin recipe so I can make them for myself during the blueberry season here. Then again maybe the joy when my daughter brings them leaves blueberry muffins as a treat to be treasured rather than taken for granted.