I mean, seriously, OH MAH GAW-
All I want for my birthday is THIS. Or THIS. Even THIS would be good.
Actually, all I want for every holiday from now on is anything anything anything from THIS.
On the topic of cupcakes..
When I lived with The Analyst, we kept a change jar labeled, "Cupcake Money". One day, The Analyst brought home some cupcakes from the grocery store. Soon after, a general rule was made that we needed to have cupcakes in the apartment at all times.
Soon after that ,we decided that we also needed to keep Fluff. I don't know who bought the Fluff first (prolly me) or how it came into the apartment (ahem, me), but once there, we realized how empty our lives had been before it. It saddens me to note that some of you MidAtlantic types may not know the Fluff. For some reason, Fluff can only be found in northern climates.
You ask me, what is Fluff? Fluff is marshmallow creme, but better.
You're like, pffft marshmallow creme, who cares about that shit?
No, I swear to god, better. Better in a way that can't be described, but once you've had it, you can never never stop eating it.
We did a lot of bar-be-queing up in Boston. It was summer, it was hot, and air conditioning isn't so common up north. Here, summers are horrible long affairs where everyone is like, "its not the heat, its the humidity" and then I'm like, "motherfucker, its hot up in here!" Here, we have air conditioning everywhere. North- some newer apartments and houses do, but since there are really only two to four terribly hot weeks to deal with, its a waste of money. The Analyst and I had air conditioning, but it was so expensive, we almost never used it. When we did, everyone and their mother came over to "hang out".
Bar-be-ques go really good with beer. And this was the summer after college, so beer drinking was high on the list. In the student housing ghetto, there are a lot less newer buildings like ours, and a lot more almost-slums with three thousand fans in every window.
A lot of times, we just went over to Busty's aparatment. She was on the first floor of a house, with shady trees and a nice front porch, a big ass weber grill, and a penchant for buying beer. Put these things together and you spell summer fun.
It was there I learned the fine art of grilling s'mores.
Someone once mentioned (oh, right- me) that it seemed a waste to have the grill going for so long after we were done cooking. And really, what else do you do with fire than roast marshmallows? Mmm, roasted marshmallows. Mmm, roasted marshmallows means s'mores.
We quickly found that s'more making is tedious and lame. The marshmallow gets burned, the chocolate is hard and cold, and the graham cracker falls apart with the first bite. However, if you wrap the uncooked s'more in tinfoil, and then wait til the end of the night- when you are good and drunk, have eaten a shiteload of grilled chicken and pasta salad, and the coals are almost burned down- you throw that foiled s'more onto the grill for about ten minutes, you have the best s'more ever.
The second best thing to a grilled s'more is a graham cracker with chocolate and Fluff.
All of these cupcakes make me recall a recipe for carrot cake that I have. Really good fucking carrot cake. And carrot cake has cream cheese frosting. But even better than cream cheese frosting is cream cheese mixed with Fluff.
See how it call comes back to the beginning? Fluff.