Best Blueberry Muffin

In Will Ferrell's fun Christmas romp Elf, Buddy the Elf has ventured from the North Pole to New York City to find his father. In his first turn around the city, he comes upon a coffee shop that proclaims they serve the "best cup of coffee in the world."

"Congratulations!" shouts Buddy as he explodes into the shop. "You did it!"

Buddy has never heard of hyperbole or superlatives.

I, on the other hand, have been known to live by them. On my fortieth birthday, my friends and family gave me a surprise party where they each got up and shared something I had said was "the best." The best coffee (Boston Stoker). The best chili (Skyline). The best shampoo (Herbal Essence in the old bottle with the hippy girl on the front). You get the idea. It was the best 40th birthday party I had.

While I at times pitch bon mots freely hither and yon, I am suspicious when others call their product "the best." So when I read a large sign in front of my new favorite coffee shop--Cafe Fusion at Believers Church in Tulsa--saying that their blueberry muffins are the "world's best," I thought Jeremiah had run into a sale on hyperbole at Sam's Club and wanted to use it all. Besides, I am not a big muffin person. If I want calories, give me cinnamon rolls or shortbread cookies. Muffins are mostly dry and tasteless overpriced bread. It would be like saying, "We serve the world's best cardboard shaped like cupcakes." I had no interest in the advertised muffins whether they were world class or not. I'll stick to the coffee if you don't mind.

One day last week, however, I was a bit peckish while at the Cafe reading. I went up to the counter and looked over the offerings. Sausage rolls (an Oklahoma thing). Raisin Bran muffins (actually pretty good for something that has the word Bran in it). And those "world's best" blueberry muffins. I tried one.

And now I am hooked.

Holy cow. World's best does not even come close to describing these gastronomic works of art.

First of all, Lauren and Jeremiah make them up in small batches--batches of six or so muffins at a time--so when you get one you know it is fresh and hot. But in saying they make small batches, this is not to infer that the muffins are small. They are not. They are meal-sized, larger than your fist but not quite as big as your head fruit and grain delicacies. Lauren and Jeremiah fill the muffin tins with hearty scoops of blueberry-packed batter so that, when they are in the oven, the dough overflows the tin. What you end up with is really two muffins in one. The first is the crispy top, with just enough crunch to make it seem like a fresh-baked cookie. You break off pieces around the edge of the top, then pieces of the top itself. This is dessert ahead of the main course. Actually, if you stopped here, you would stand, applaud and be very satisfied.

But there is more.

Once the top has been dealt with--washed down with whatever beverage you are enjoying at the time--you have the main "muffin" part of the muffin. You could say this is the entree, and it is nearly that filling. There is just enough warm dough to hold together all of the blueberries they packed into the tin. I'm not talking about two or three small berries. You really could not take a bite above the molecular level without enjoying a large berry or two. This is the blueberriest blueberry muffin in the history of food.

It takes me at least an hour--usually two--to make it through one of these BBBs (blueberry bad boys). At two dollars per, it may be the best food bargain this side of eating tree bark. Mark this down and do not miss it: When in Tulsa, you must visit Cafe Fusion and imbibe. You can blame Jeremiah if you become a blueberry muffin addict.

Next time, we'll talk about how this coffee snob got hooked on Rishi teas.

Next time.