Bran is Not Sexy. Bran Muffins- 8 points

Bran Muffin.  This does not conjure images of busty women smoking cigarettes in black and white film noir alleys.  It does not make one long for her college days and that steamy summer fling in Puerto Vallarta (I have never been, personally, but it seems like a great place for college-aged girls to make steamy bad choices).  Bran Muffin.  Nope.  Nothing.  I think of old people.  And poop.  Let's be honest.  Does anyone not think of poop when they hear "bran muffin."  You're a liar.  Yes you do.  In fact, Harajuku Mommy just stopped by to pick up the Harajuku Girl, and she was stoked to see bran muffins coming out of the oven.  "Yeahhhh.  I'm taking one of these and a cup of coffee on my way to work tomorrow!"  See?  Poop.

Mr. Ginger loves muffins.  He would leave me for a well baked, over sized muffin with some kind of fruit inside and those huge sugar crystals on top.  Fair enough.  I'd leave him for the perfect cheese.  No hard feelings here.  But he does not like a bran muffin.  So when I told him this week's recipe was poo muffins, he said, "Nooooo. Can't you make something good?"  Sorry Valerie, I thought they were a great idea.

Anyway, fast forward to the muffins.  Not nearly as hard to bake as my procrastination assumed they would be.  I decided to mix up the original recipe, found here, by adding raisins, craisins, and dried apples.  I figured the more fruit variety the better.  I guess a Raisin, Cranberry, Apple Muffin sounds better than bran.  Braaaaaannnnn.  It's like the word bran hails from the Midwest or something.

I followed the directions, threw them in the oven and voila!  Muffins!  I can't claim they are as good as a Henry's Bran Muffin or a Starbucks Bran Muffin, but I would venture to say they are probably healthier.  And really, if you're eating a bran muffin in the first place you're probably under the delusion of being healthy.  Somehow my recipe yielded more than the book said it would.  I ended up with 12 regular muffins, 12 mini muffins, and 2 ginormous muffins. Mr. Ginger and Harajuku Mommy raved!  I feel pretty good about this since Mr. Ginger was so down-trodden over bran being the pick of the week.  I don't think it hurt that I was wearing my apron, mascara, and earrings all on the same day.  I think I may have blown his mind with my June Cleavage, er, Cleaver.





Once again, I didn't do the best of jobs taking pictures.  The Dude has an ear infection and a bad attitude and was screaming at me the entire time.  Perhaps my greatest feat today was not so much defying all logic by making a delicious poop muffin, but managing to hold strong and follow through with proper behavior modification techniques in attempt to break my child of tantrums.  By the third time he came out of his room, he said, "Hi Mom.  Good?  Eat?  Nice?"  I guess he figured out that he needed to eat without throwing food at the dogs and that screaming at one's mother is not nice.  Or maybe his tiny little 20 month old brain forgot what he was so pissed off about in the first place, and he smelled baked goods (kid loves muffins.  Maybe more than his dad does.)  Maybe that's what led to the change in attitude.  Don't care.  Doesn't matter.

Happy Baby.  Happy Husband.  Happy Colon.

These muffins earn an 8.