D’oh!Mestic

The Capt’n, like so many fearless leaders before him, has been struck by that most medieval of aliments — gout.

Or “teh gout” as we call it around these parts. Because adding “teh” just underscores how ridiculous that particular diagnosis is in the early 21st century. I mean, honestly, with a disease like teh gout, we should just pack up and move to the Tudor court. Turkey leg, anyone?

Anyway, Dr. Google informs us that a diet rich in dark red or blue-skinned berries will help ease symptoms, which means I had the perfect excuse to try out the yellow book’s brand of blueberry muffins.

The Capt’n likes to inform me that, because he’s an American-American, he enjoys a sweet muffin. Call him crazy, call him uncultured, but he is not all about a savory breakfast bread. Maybe he’s belying his cultural ignorance, but the line has to be drawn somewhere, and he’s drawing it in the vicinity of sweet cakes.

So I knocked the sugar content up by a quarter cup.

I did not make the adjustment for the high altitude — we’re talkin 5,500 feet above sea level, people! Denver, a measly 5,280 feet can suck it — and I used the Gigato-jumbo muffin tin someone gave me when I got married, which produced six slightly deflated muffins.

Next time? Smaller cups, a little baking powder for loft, and maybe two full eggs instead of one egg and one yolk.

Not that the Capt’n minded, mind you. Thirty seconds after I extracted the first muffin from the tin, half of it was stuffed in his mouth, and he proceeded to run around the kitchen, making a “mwaaaaaaat” noise, which signifies approval and also, hot.

I wish I’d had the camera ready for that.