I have a confession. It’s about blueberries.
I do not like blueberries.
I have always known deep down that I am not a blueberry fan, but I think I have been in some sort of denial.
I mean, what normal, healthy, American woman doesn’t like blueberries?
Well, unless they are in muffins.
Or a danish.
Or blueberry buckle.
Or that lemon blueberry scone they make over there at the Blackbird Bakery on Bainbridge Island.
Oh baby, GIMME.
If the world was coming to an end there was looting and pillaging and whathaveyou… I would not grab me a TV. Or a blender. I would be all up in the bidness of lootin’ for the last lemon blueberry scone from Blackbird.
I just think blueberries in their natural state are not at all delicious. Bake ’em, mix ’em with flour, drown them in sugar.
I also feel that the taught blueberry skin married with the squishy center feels a lot like what I bet it would feel like to chomp into a roach.
Alrighty, friends. Just needed to get that off my chest.
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