Vignette: Morning

(On the "back on the horse" principle, also known as "post something!")

A muffin.

It was a blueberry muffin, at least. No bran, none of those odd little unidentified grain berries. Nothing to inspire the remark, "At least it's got fiber."

And it was hot, like a proper pulled-out-of-Grandma's-oven muffin. And the blueberries looked real.

But all the same, she didn't want a muffin. She wanted chicken. Or beef. Yes, beef. A nice ribeye steak, without all the fat trimmed off the way they insist on doing these days. And a baked potato, with one of those round scoops of butter.

Yes. That would do nicely. Would have done nicely. But here, instead, was a muffin, sitting sturdy and pudgy on the plate.

She picked it up and pulled off the steamy paper, and ripped its little muffiny head off, and put a pat of butter on the bottom of the top and another one on the top of the bottom. And watched them melt. And thought about sour cream and chives. And crispy fat. That was really a ribeye's reason for existence, that crispy fat. And beer. Don't forget the beer.

And you could follow a nice ribeye with pie. That would be a far better excuse for the blueberries' existence. Pie. With ice cream or whipped cream or heavy cream.

Breakfast.

Feh.

Image: By Kevin Payravi. Wikimedia Commons.