Vegan Blueberry Muffins

Hey guyz! It’s me! Molly! And I made some muffins, yo. I’ve also started ending my sentences with yo, yo. Things have really changed since I last posted. (Yo.)

I'm so excited to not see you in person!

In my hiatus from baking and blogging, I’ve been fixated on a dazzling array of things. What’s that? You said you want to read about these things in list form? 

I THOUGHT YOU’D LIST FORM NEVER ASK.

• Those new Ford commercials? With the press conferences? With the new Ford owners? They claim to be real? The fuck? The fuck. IAMNOTSTUPIDFORD. America is not stupid, Ford. Why do you treat us like we are so stupid? Is it because we look stupid? You are such an asshole. Now let me buy a Ford or twelve.

• I’ve haven't baked anything since moving to my new apartment. This is especially silly because my oven is really shiny and, like 12 brand new Fords, shiny = high quality. Also, my apartment is tiny (456 sq ft tiny) and the smell of fresh baked goods would certainly fill the space much lovelier than the smell from my garbage disposal.

• Blueberries taste yum.

Blueberries are so expensive that they should print cash on blueberries
so cash would have more value and save our economy.
Yall can stop occupying Wall Street now. I fixed it. 

So this evening I did something about these things. I made some Vegan Blueberry Muffins. Why vegan blueberry muffins? For the same reason I've made other vegan things... Because lay off my case. That's why. Also milk makes me feel yucky. Please don't tell anyone. I have to maintain my strong facade. I wish I'd never italicized the word "vegan" earlier in this paragraph. 


Can we talk about this recipes "wet mixture" instead?

I almost wish this was animal insides.
So it'd be less disgusting looking.

It's like anything but an animal bled into that bowl. Amiright?


Here. Have some streusel.

Streusel doesn't make anyone feel yucky!
No one!

Have you met my friend Streusel? It's like that natural exfoliating face wash you keep in the shower that, whilst washing off your freshly exfoliated face, tempts you to "forget" to close your mouth and taste a lot little of? Yeah. Just like that but double the brown sugar and imitation butter.

Do you want a nest of sugar and oats topping your muffin
or should I get used to telling you what's good for you?

So longest-story-in-the-world-ever short, these muffins are delightful. Like your sister but not the one that sucks, the one you like. Will you be my sister?

I can't wait to destroy you.
De. Stroy.

If you'd like to find the recipe (A SISTER WOULD DO IT), it was unceremoniously stolen from Delicious Sweets. And made slightly sugary-er. JK. I threw a lot more sugar into it.

RATE ME!



TASTE: 3.75/5 Bitches be yummy, yo. (THINGS ARE SO DIFFERENT NOW.)

EASE: 5/5 The hardest part of this recipe was taking a large bowl out of the dishwasher when it was still relatively hot from the drying cycle. So basically, it was the toughest.

FILTH OF THE KITCHEN: -5/5 Ok, get a load of this shit. I actually cleaned my kitchen so I’d have room to make these muffins. Stop raising your eyebrows in disbelief. You’ll get wrinkles and you’ll be ugly and no one will love you.

DID THE DOG EAT THE DOUGH: You know, ordinarily I’m sure he would have but currently he's focusing all his energy towards being afraid of his dinner bowl. I - I don’t understand. It’s like he told me he smells toast and had a stroke.

IMPRESS-O-METER: 5/5 Every time I take a bite of these muffins, a songbird flies through my balcony door and thanks me personally for not harming any of his animal brethren in the making of these baked goods. To be honest, I’m afraid of birds and I want them out of my apartment. But they refuse to stop tipping their tiny bird hats at me and I don’t have a broom to chase them out. Apparently, this is my life now.


Also, I cannot WAIT for my surprise press conference. I am going to make ALL the jokes.

Blueberry Muffins and Cinammon Raisin Bread

Here are some ways I remember when my birthday is fast approaching:

1. Something about football. Whatever. Score another run, fellas. Swish and stuff. Hat tricks.
2. It starts to get so cold outside that my body begins sweating majestic snow flakes at an alarming rate.
3. My dad and I discuss dinner plans.

Adorably enough, my dad's birthday is the day before mine and Babe Ruth's. So over the last forever, no matter where either of us have been at the time, my dad and I have celebrated our birthdays together. And Babe Ruth's. Mostly Babe Ruth's. Then last year we just didn't. I was out in Colorado drinking flaming drinks and Pisco Sours, he was boozin on Bourbon Street (he was not boozin' Bourbon Street but he could have been) and much like the twain, the two of us ne'er did meet. (I think I did that right?)

But while we missed each others' birthdays that weekend, we still got to celebrate them together. A week later, my dad made sure to drop everything (just kidding, he's retired) because I asked him to come out to Colorado on a day's notice just to hang out with me. And take me out to dinner. Oh we ate so many dinners!

So it's my birthday on Sunday. And my dad won't be here to eat dinner with me for the second year in a row. But it's his birthday on Saturday. And I won't be there to eat dinner with him for the second year in a row. I could wait to give him a present when he comes to visit later this month but you only turn very very very (very) elderly (60) once (thank God) and you better fucking believe my dad will celebrate it with a package of Blueberry Muffins, a loaf of Cinnamon Raisin Bread, and the painstaking task of deciding where we're going to eat over President's Day weekend.

My what judging cinnamon swirly eyes you have!

Ball's in your court, Daddy. Happy birthday eve!

PS: 23 and 363 days and 114.5.