I don't even like oysters. All that prying and shucking. All that shimmying. All that clinging, gelatinous muscle. You can have my share. Please. I much prefer a cupcake. No slimy abductor to deal with. No quasi-fishy liquor. Just tender, soft sweetness in exactly the right portion. Not too big. Not too heavy. Not too much. Just right. Except that it would have to be The Gluten-Free Casein-Free ve
rsion. While most people appear to sail without pause through the onslaught of sensory stimuli and proteins that is life in the twenty-first century, there are others, like my son, who have been blessed (and I use the term ironically) with the uncanny aptitude of hearing, smelling, feeling every little particle and nano nuance packed into their molecular frenzy of unstable equilibrium. He can sleep on a stack of twenty foam topped mattresses but if there is a single lonely hint of lemon beneath, he is sure to sense it. And it will keep him up all night. And give him schpilkis. Which brings me back to cupcakes. For those with acute sensory awareness (what some might dub the 'just chill out' disease) a cupcake is a small and rather lovely gift. When done right, a cupcake is tender and not too chewy, not too crumbly, mealy, or assertive. It's not abrasive in its flavor or flaccidly dull. It's not too clean skinny-chic or too over-the-top use a bucket of butter ya'll, sweet. It doesn't stuff you till you're stupid. And it doesn't demand attention. It's not a diva. It's not competitive, you see. A simple cupcake is perfectly happy to be just what it is even if it won't garner food awards or get its own TV show and cookware line. A cupcake is very postmodern zen and unapologetic. It is what it is. You can take or leave it. The cupcake doesn't care. Because a cupcake well done is simply perfection.
