An Early Minimalist Lesson: Dad vs. the Muffins

One of my early formative experiences with minimalism was when my family moved to the Mediterranean for half a year in my early teens. The story of that half year would take up a novel's worth of space, not just a blog post. The important thing to know is that we were extremely limited in what we could take. This was a time before we could simply order anything we forgot from Amazon or use technology to bridge the language gap to buy or borrow what was needed. What we had brought with us was exactly what we had. No more and no less.

To angstyteen me, it felt like we had moved to a deserted island. We were put in a position to very literally make the best of what we had on hand. My mother had put an enormous amount of time and energy into researching and planning what we would need most and packed accordingly. She did a great job and we found that we were able to get-by on almost all fronts. But once in a while, a little homesickness would creep in, usually in the form of longing for a familiar food.

Before the big move, my parent's had cultivated a family tradition of breakfast together each day as a touch-point to check in with one another. My dad would often take the lead on the meal-prep making things like muffins, waffles or pancakes from scratch and Dad had plenty of eager breakfast-making assistants in the form of my two younger sisters and myself. I felt so far away from friends and everything that was familiar.

While in Greece, pancakes were easy enough even with our limited access to cooking/baking supplies. Where the real trouble appeared was in the lack of a muffin tin. One morning, a month or so into our trip, I turned sadly to my dad as we discussed the breakfast menu and said, "I really wish we could have muffins." I felt so far away from friends and everything that was familiar.

A little taste of something "normal" would have gone a long way in curing that homesick moment.

Dad must have heard the longing for home in my voice because he paused, looked surprised, and said, "Well, why can't we?!"

I was speechless. Had my dad lost his mind? Was this the absentminded professor thing that strikes my academic dad at odd moments? "We don't have a muffin tin." I replied, as if stating the most obvious thing in the world.

"Bah, that's not a problem!" Dad said, with more enthusiasm than I felt the sad state of breakfast warranted. I was baffled. Dad had really gone off the deep-end this time.

Well, to my hungry-bottomless-pit-teen-glee, we mixed up a batch of muffin batter. I began to think that Dad had a muffin tin hidden somewhere that I didn't know about. Or maybe he was about to MacGyver a muffin tin out of nothing but rubber-bands and duct-tape. But no. My dad just pulled out the same old flat baking sheet we had used a hundred times and started smacking the batter down in sticky little globs on the tin. Before I could overcome my shock, Dad stuck the whole thing in the oven.

My mind began to spin. I wondered, is it still a muffin if it isn't muffin-shaped? Was it even going to bake properly? Should we have Dad evaluated by a mental health professional?

A few minutes later, a bakery-worthy scent wafted through the tiny flat in which we lived. The smell of this favorite breakfast from home caused my sisters to run into the kitchen, squealing with glee.

After explaining to them the experiment underway, we only needed to wait a handful of minutes. The tension in the kitchen built steadily as we sent furtive glances toward the stove.

As the baking time lapsed, Dad finally moved toward the stove. My sisters and I instinctively leaned forward and collectively held our breaths. Out of the oven, Dad pulled the baking sheet. On it sat fluffy baked mountains of dough. They were all golden, crusty top, hot and ready to eat. The oohs and ahhhs which this sight drew from us was reminiscent of fireworks on the Fourth of July.

Admittedly, after this first attempt, it took a little experimentation to get just the right consistency, but from that day on, muffins were back on the family breakfast menu! Their glorious new form closely resembled those fancy muffin tops which upscale bakeries will charge you extra for these days.

I learned a powerful lesson from this experience. The lack of a muffin tin was never keeping me from muffins.

It had been my mistake in believing that an object was necessary for the outcome I desired. Often you can make do with what you have with creativity and the right frame of mind. It was my thought process regarding the need for stuff which had kept me from muffins the whole time!

-L