Another week, come and gone, and I wake up slowly, greeting the weekend with no more enthusiasm than usual. That is, until the faint bittersweet charred smell of burnt sugar and chocolate wafts from the vent at the back of my room. I know what this means, suddenly bolting upright, throwing my blankets into further disarray before running down the stairs at full tilt. The anti-slip on the edges bite at my bare feet, but I couldn’t care less. Depending on the season, I’m tugging on a sweater as I speed down, or running a hand through my bedhead as I sprint by in just my pyjamas. My brother (he’s always been an early bird) is already downstairs, equally messy-haired, bright-eyed, with a clean plate in front of him. He greets me with a casual “Yo.”
The source of the smell and the rush is our dad, up every morning at 5 o’clock, having acquired some artistic dustings of flour in his tousled hair and on his zip-up hoodie and plaid pyjama pants in the 2 hours that have passed since he rose. A small bowlful of raisins and dark chocolate chips (for snacking) is kept on hand as he observes the treats cooking in the air fryer. Looking up at the sound of my brother’s greeting, he hugs me before returning to the cuffin-watching. A weekend tradition of his; cookie-muffins.
When my dad was my age, it would’ve been sugarless, egg-yolk-less bran muffins in a microwave, but now I join him and my brother under the yellow-tinged lights and grab a handful of snacks.
It takes a while; the cuffins need to stay in the fryer after the silvery timer has let out its cheery ding!. Time that’s spent tapping fingers, dancing, singing, and snacking. Fortunately, soon we’re each cupping a warm misshapen cuffin, with lumpy tops and that familiar burnt-sugar-chocolate scent, ferrying them quickly to the dining table to eat them before they cool.
The texture is always a little unusual – slightly crumbly, yet it becomes a thick paste once you take a bite. But every time, the chocolate is still smooth and melted from the heat, making for gooey surprises, and the raisins are plump and sweet, taking the bitter edge off the dark chocolate. The taste always reminds me of these slightly chaotic weekend mornings, before online school, before my dad leaves for groceries, a brief moment of peace with a little sweet treat to end the week.
The source of the smell and the rush is our dad, up every morning at 5 o’clock, having acquired some artistic dustings of flour in his tousled hair and on his zip-up hoodie and plaid pyjama pants in the 2 hours that have passed since he rose. A small bowlful of raisins and dark chocolate chips (for snacking) is kept on hand as he observes the treats cooking in the air fryer. Looking up at the sound of my brother’s greeting, he hugs me before returning to the cuffin-watching. A weekend tradition of his; cookie-muffins.
When my dad was my age, it would’ve been sugarless, egg-yolk-less bran muffins in a microwave, but now I join him and my brother under the yellow-tinged lights and grab a handful of snacks.
It takes a while; the cuffins need to stay in the fryer after the silvery timer has let out its cheery ding!. Time that’s spent tapping fingers, dancing, singing, and snacking. Fortunately, soon we’re each cupping a warm misshapen cuffin, with lumpy tops and that familiar burnt-sugar-chocolate scent, ferrying them quickly to the dining table to eat them before they cool.
The texture is always a little unusual – slightly crumbly, yet it becomes a thick paste once you take a bite. But every time, the chocolate is still smooth and melted from the heat, making for gooey surprises, and the raisins are plump and sweet, taking the bitter edge off the dark chocolate. The taste always reminds me of these slightly chaotic weekend mornings, before online school, before my dad leaves for groceries, a brief moment of peace with a little sweet treat to end the week.