Before you all get excited waiting to hear some grand story of heroic bravery as I rescued a sweet bunny rabbit from imminent danger this morning in St. Stephen’s Green with the crowd cheering my name and an announcement that I will have a plaque in my honor, I am referring to pastry. But don’t be too disappointed, a morning bun is worth an act of bravery as well. As this morning proved, I will go to incredible lengths to protect a morning bun. If you cannot say that you would give your life to save this pastry, then clearly you have never had a morning bun. Croissants are great, muffins a joy, but nothing compares to the sheer majesty of this breakfast.
For you sad souls who have never enjoyed this heavenly treat, I will now describe it to the best of my abilities, but know that no words could ever truly do it justice. A morning bun is flakey like a croissant, covered in sugar like a snickerdoodle, shaped like a cross between a muffin and an old-fashioned donut, and more divine than communion. Conveniently for me, Bread 41 sits next to the church two blocks down from where I live on Pearse Street. If you ever find yourself in town, for around €4, you can get your very own morning bun and I’m certain it will change your life the way it did mine. Like potato chips or tattoos, you can’t have just one.
So now that you understand the significance of the morning bun, you will understand why I did what I did this lovely morning. Oh, lovely? Sorry, I meant freezing cold, grey, rainy morning. This is where the problem begins because I knew better than not to bring an umbrella because “it’s not really raining right now” when I left quickly turned into “motherfuck I hate this place.” It didn’t help that I decided to sleep in after a night of insomnia while trying to cope with my failures and fury (that’s a story for another day). By the time it hits 9:30am on a Sunday (when this was written), there is always a line out the door and I knew this, but chose to go anyway because…morning bun, obviously.
So I patiently waited in line while fuming over people who will not just fucking say “excuse me” (or “pardon” like I usually do that my mother recently informed me sounds classy but bitchy, which I’m not mad at). Instead they just stare at you until you shift slightly and then squeeze by. I thought this was just a problem when I’m using my wheelchair (PSA: if a disabled person is in your way, just ask them to move like you would anyone else), but no, apparently it’s just a general issue. While yes, I did enjoy staring at the hot man who was holding a coffee I desperately wanted, but the second I stepped forward, he walked out. Annoying.
Anyways, I digress. The story continues with me also purchasing two croissants and whatever a “salted knot” is and then going on my merry way after saying “pardon” to three people. But now it’s legit raining, not just misting and I have an open bag of pastries that is so full it can’t be folded over to protect the precious treats within. Maybe this is why gluttony is a sin because I had to find a way to not spoil a perfect breakfast, lunch, and dinner. In the spirit of SoCal (and because the laundry room had a leak), I’m wearing only a crocheted tank top under a lightweight hoodie, so I’m freezing since it’s less than 45 degrees out. But like the title suggests, I will go to great lengths to protect my morning bun. I pull off my hoodie, wrap it around my pastry bag and hobble as quickly as I can back to my apartment while hunching over it like my life depended upon maintaining the integrity of my pastries. Am I cold, soaking wet, and cranky? Yes. Am I the consumer of a delicious morning bun? Also, yes, so no regrets.
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