Cupcakes for choice.

For Sue Steele, who rows, and fights the good fight.

I've been germanely cautioned against politicizing food.

Avocado--and forgive my mislaying your eloquence, said something to the effect of it must benefit you constitutionally before it benefits the others. And for the most part--hell, in no part, have I grown from this virtue.

Give a moment's amnesty to me.

Sue put me on some riling notion about pro-lifers having a National Cupcake Day and I couldn't wash away the picture of all those dutifully born babies galavanting around this world with no parents and no food to which they must filially attend, but hey life is so crucial and fundamentally special and the needs of a woman whose burden it is well...

I made cupcakes for choice. Our partiality belongs to us like a flaw.

Actually the crux of this derivation comes not from me but from the wildly sensuous Nigella Lawson and her essential baking guide, How to Be a Domestic Goddess. It's a pretty basic concoction. I did sub blackberry jam for the cherry she likes, but you'll find in the end its a palate issue and it won't, whatever you choose, reflect adversely on the conclusion. Once completed I opted for a chocolate and cream cheese icing, blanketing it over a quenellette of warm jam. The protruding effect was quite intentionally that of the abdomen of a pregnant woman.

Once finished I let them cool, served to some drunk people, and made a quiche. More on that later.


With due apologies for not producing a recipe--it's elementary anyhow, here is a depiction of, to the left provolone quiche in brik and, to the right, a blackening bun I used to fortify my rouille.

There is sufficed to say a tandem excitement to butter-singed parsley and oozy mild provolone. I don't know if eggs give out Nobel prizes but if so the candidacy should be quite apparent. But like I said more on that--and the accompanying rouille, in short turn.

p.s. There might even be a few remaining cupcakes at Gooski's. I work the door tonight so short of us ending up in a fistfight--don't rule it out!, I'll pass one along. You know, for choice.