Since my minor is hospitality, I'm currently enrolled in a Nutrition class- it's really fascinating and I'm totally loving it. Recently, we were assigned different recipes to explore the topic of food science. We were each assigned different variations of baked goods to see how a slight change in ingredients or processes could alter the food entirely. I was given blueberry muffins, the alteration being my close companion: whole wheat flour.
Typically, when baking, I also like to cut the amount of sugar in half. Often I'm thrilled that I've done so, because I can't imagine that what I've made would have called for more sugar. However, I also come across those recipes that simply need the full dose of sugar. They're not quite the same without it.
When I looked at this recipe, my first instinct was to slash the measurement of sugar. But since I was baking for a proper comparison, I resisted. And I'm glad I did. The presence of the whole wheat flour simply needed all that sweetness- and possibly more. Next time, I'd probably throw some raw sugar on top of each little muffin at the end of the baking time, so that the tartness of the berries is equally met with sweetness. I'd also probably use part whole wheat flour and part all-purpose flour, so that the muffin still maintained its health benefits but had a lighter consistency.
Regardless, I was just glad that one of my school assignments was to bake. It doesn't get much better than that! This recipe is unique and adventurous. It requires a close eye when reducing the blueberries and a soft hand when folding. But mostly just an anxiously awaiting palate.
So for you, a brief explanation of what went into these crafty little muffins.
I think that blueberries themselves foreshadow the joy of summer... the light, exquisite perfection of an afternoon meal, the crispness of crunchy vegetables, the juicy explosions of ripe fruit, the desire to savor every last precious flavor. These qualities pair so well with summer's mentality. In school or not, there is a feeling of freedom that comes with the warm season, in its lasting evenings, chirping grasshoppers, and daily curiosities as to what awaits us. It's about close companions. Dinner parties. Uninterrupted midday grogginess. Solitude with a book. Relaxing jazz. And continual hope for more.
I've been glimpsing all of this, lately, with spurts of warm weather, nectarous smells, blooming flowers, and melodious birds. They're all hoping, waiting, itching for the arrival. And I am with them. I'm dreaming about crunchy lettuce, delicate but ever-significant sprouts, fruit pies with flaky crusts and partially melted vanilla bean ice cream, the flawless tomato, and the sensation of lush grass on bare feet. Glimpses send hope, hope delivers inspiration, inspiration brings me joy.
I don't want to wish away the time between- you will hear much of my affection for that also. Right now, I'll relish life, for it is entirely pleasant on its own. But I won't forget about hope. He tells me to embrace hope, not to stuff it in fear of disappointment. He created hope of all types, see. My greatest hope remains in Him. But he also perfectly crafted the hope of seasons, and I know that He richly treasures both. So I'll also hope through blueberries.