Some may argue that by ordering a muffin – any muffin – at the fledgling Juan Valdez Cafe (JVC) kiosk in Philadelphia’s Suburban Station, I was asking for trouble. This is true.
But when a muffin – any muffin – is this offensive, this disgusting, this undeserving of the label “food”, let alone “muffin,” I feel a modicum of outrage is still justified.
The best I can say about the low-fat blueberry “muffin” I ordered this morning was that it looked like a muffin. When I attempted to separate a piece from the highly-coveted muffin top, this is what happened: Instead of a delicious crumb of pastry, I was forced to strip around the entire overhang to pull anything off.
This was no breakfast.
This was a piece of rubber masquerading as something edible. When, after at least twenty chews, I finally spit the monstrosity out, I swear I could actually hear the blueberries crying out, as if trapped in some horrible, chemically concocted prison. “Free us,” they screamed from inside the beast.
I saved as many as I could before burying what was left of the abomination in the closest garbage.
Though you may know a thing or two about coffee, ponchos, wide-brimmed hats and mules, Juan Valdez… you have a hell of a lot to learn about muffins.