Last week, one of my sons asked for homemade blueberry muffins. That might not seem like an odd request, but it is. The child in question is a purist. He prefers his food in stable, sequential, non-overlapping arrangements—not suspended in unpredictable matrices, juices running all over the place. He eats his hamburgers with no ketchup, his salad with no dressing, and his pancakes with no syrup—and certainly no blueberries.
I can respect that position. But I also can't resist the opportunity to promote my favorite "food on the foods" (or "food in the foods," as the case may be), especially when it's all his idea. Luckily, we had a quart of blueberries we'd just picked at Carver Hill Orchard.
I made the muffins right away. I admit, I've grown accustomed to glowing reviews on my baked goods, but I didn't even come close this time. He politely choked down one muffin, and then wouldn't touch any of the others.
I couldn't help being a little disappointed, but I reminded myself that it often takes several tries to appreciate something new. Kids aren't going to like everything you make—not even close. Or maybe, just maybe, my blueberry muffins SUCKED! What kind of a cookbook author can't make a simple muffin? You mix everything together in a bowl with a spoon!
When I asked him what he didn't like about it, he said: Too many blueberries.
Too many blueberries? I secretly scoffed. There's no such thing as too many blueberries. He loves blueberries. We all love blueberries. How can there be too many blueberries in anything ever? I took a defiant bite out of one of the muffins and it was delicious. See?
Then I tried to view that same muffin from a kid's perspective. Here's what I saw: 20 percent muffin, 80 percent purple goo.
Okay, so maybe the kid has a point. Maybe not so many blueberries next time!