Dec

16

Butler Pastries Are Still (Not Really) Delicious

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Bwog has been exploring the buried treasures of the Butler Blue Java Cafe some more since our last Zagat-quality pastry review. We have also found out that if you say or think the word “pastry” over and over again, especially if it’s 2 a.m., it starts to sound really weird. 

It’s got fruit in it!

Apple Turnover:

The sign in front of the turnover proclaims “An apple turnover a day…” with the teasing suggestion of health. I am suspicious because the quantities of icing and flaky bits on this pastry do not symbolize fresh fruits to me. There’s a hint of something that looks like applesauce inside — maybe that’s what they mean. This thing is ridiculously large. When I tap the icing it makes a “clink” sound. I’m not even hungry, I just want to get this thing off my desk so I can keep writing my paper. I bite. Ughhhh. Too late, I realize this pastry requires strategic eating: eat from the corner and you end up with a mouthful of dry flakes, crumbs all over your coat, and absolutely no apple to speak of. I try again, this time aiming for the center and the promised fruity goodness. Ok, I can’t even get to the center of the pastry; I’m forced to shovel down more flakes because this thing is way too sticky to break apart with my hands.

Whatever this “apple” thing is is foul. It tastes like it’s going to send me to the doctor faster than I would have gone without eating this damned thing. After a few bites, the offending triangle is ripped into multiple shreds, and I don’t know how to approach for another reluctant bite. The pastry has won: I don’t know how to eat it. Eating the top layer would choke me in a wave of flaky icing; restricting myself to the bottom apple sauce layer would leave a goopy consistency in my mouth and bring back traumatizing memories of cold baby food. I give up. I can’t even look at it anymore; it’s getting dryer by the second. Fuck you, apple turnover. Fuck you and your pretense of fruit and doctors and things that are helpful in life.

Chocolate Chip Muffin:

I can’t lie–I was excited by this muffin. Looking generally chocolatey with beautiful white icing scribbles on top, this was going to be amazing. I kept myself from diving immediately to the most delicious part, the muffin top, and instead pulled off the bottom. Biting into the spongey bottom, I found a smooth cake with no chocolate chips. It was a little bit bitter, without the mass amounts of sugar America has accustomed me to. Three bites in, I realize how goddamn large this fucking muffin is. My stomach starts filling up and I’m certain everyone in the room is judging me for eating, but I refuse to let the haters win. I will eat this whole muffin if it kills me, just to prove to these Butler campers that I will not excuse and I will not retreat a single inch, bitch. Though it would taste better with some milk.

Shoving the last few bits into my mouth and glaring defiantly about me, I greedily pick up the top part. This is what I bought the muffin for in the first place, and waiting has only made my anticipation stronger, my mouth water even more. Eagerly, I bite into–what the FUCK?! Wait seriously what the fuck is that? Is it burnt? This edge is making me want to gag. The sugary icing tastes as it should, but this edge is just too much. Maybe it’s just this bite. I try another one on the other side–nope, still sucks. I rip off all the edges and go for the center. Alright, that’s a little bit better, but now I’m sitting here eating suspiciously–what if the next bite has that awful burnt aftertaste again? I want to prove to the room that I can finish this entire muffin, but I’m so, so anxious. This could ruin my entire day in Butler if I’m left with this taste in my mouth. THIS COULD RUIN EVERYTHING. I feel like I’m letting the troops down, but I can’t finish this. I throw out the rest. I’m so sorry. I’m so ashamed. I need to get out of Butler.

Chocolate Chip Scone:

It’s that point of finals where my head/stomach/back/wrist/eyes are in a constant state of ache. My head pounds and I play out the symptoms like a new mom with her baby, trying to figure out what’s wrong–do I need to sleep? Do I need to drink water? Too much caffeine? Did I eat today? I figure that last one is easiest to test, so I go to Butler Cafe and pick up a chocolate chip scone and coffee. (Oh hush, I can’t stop drinking coffee right now!) Back at my desk, I peel off a bite of the scone. It is lovely, with a great texture easy to tear but not completely crumply. Chocolate chips are evenly distributed about the snack and a layer of sugar delicately covers some sections, making those even more delicious. It is not dry and stale. I tenderly dip a bite into my coffee, worried it’s going to fall apart into the cup, and smile as it easily absorbs the drink without breaking. Damn that tastes good. A few bites in, my stomach gets heavy, sending a warning signal up to my brain. Oh–that’s right–I already ate a lot today. Guess I just need sleep.

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10 Comments

  1. This

    was actually quite funny.

  2. the flawed mistress  

    why won't Bwog taste my Butler-wont muffin?

  3. presidentHRclinton  

    Not tonight Bill, I've had a headache since 1998.

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