So I made English muffins from scratch. Pretty easy, really: a stirred-together, overnight fermented yeast batter, with a little baking powder and water folded in just before cooking to provide extra lift. The thick, puffy batter bakes atop the stove, inside cornmeal-dusted ring molds in an oiled cast-iron skillet.
And I realized…I don’t even like English muffins. Sure, the interior is all bumpy and holey, great for catching butter and jam. But the texture is all wrong, rubbery-flabby-squishy in all the worst ways. Like the thighs of a middle-aged couch potato, or the wobbly-tough texture of an industrial, pipe-sealing gasket. Even toasted, the muffins’ texture is insipid.
Of course, my better half thinks the rotten things are delicious, smeared with peanut butter or tarted up with eggs, cheese, and bacon. Now we have a freezer full of homemade split English muffins, ready for the toasting.
I’d still rather have a day-old croissant. Go over to Yeastspotting and gaze at breads way better tasting than English muffins….