Butta my biscuit, salt it up and make it creamy.
What is…read moreLinguini doing in Harrisburg? Relax. Let me and ya motha worry about my whereabouts. All alone. It's you and you in this world, not you versus you. The fat signal lights up the ambrosia sky and I jiggle my rolls into my fat mobile. Trusting my instinct, I drive.
My pet mule Pacho's friend chimpanzee was right, sometimes you just gotta throw that brown stuff at the wall and see if it sticks. Before I tangent, let me compliment the staff. A very friendly woman asked me my favorite shape. I was flustered and confused. What does that mean and why. What is my favorite shape? Turns out I don't have one. "Triangle" slips out from between my unconvincing and partially shamed moist and ever succulent lips. She had hoped for a more complex shape. I failed her. But she didn't fail me.
Tangent time. The rubber on my near rubber-less tires squeal as I continue my marathon thru PA. For what have I done to deserve such wear and tear? Yells my poorly crafted American vehicle. You guess the brand. You're probably thinking something exquisite and luxurious but think again. Linguini is a working man - like YOU - but not like you at the same time. As so, I've traveled near, far and between PA. I have hit it all. How? I'm not sure. But that's how life goes. One day you're staring at your reflection in the mirror - pondering - and the next day the mirror shatters at the sight of you as you spend not a second in thought.
I navigated this downtown in Simpsons Road Rage style. Rippin thru walkways and going oppo on one way streets. No cops. The citizens trolly around in their hipster gear without a worry. This town is like if Albany had an ugly baby. Took no genes from the father. Some question who the father really is. Not me I can promise you that... this time. The scents from the homeless soaking in the Susquehanna River detracts from the chocolate wind breezing over from nearby Hershey. And now I've got the squirts. Some innocent porta-potty is gonna pay for this. (Confirming, one did. An elementary aged girl was the next one into that potty. I'm sorry. You didn't need that trauma.)
Anyways. My cinnamon bun was frosted right in front of me and my cookie was slipped into a paper bag for me to enjoy on the run. I'm an important person, I don't have time for leisurely walks. My days of pondering are over, thank goodness I used them, wisely? I leisurely walk out of this bakery in thought and immediately forget where I parked. Trouble? No. I'm surrounded by me, a cookie and a cinnamon bun. What could go wrong?
Well, I take one bite of my delicious cookie and lose my sense. I immediately get accosted by a street preacher. She squares me up, disrespects me and the cross around my neck. "Anyone can wear one of those" she proudly attempts in a mogging fashion, with a mug face. Straight from the playbook, but I'm eating a cookie and I can't remember where my car is. So I entertain her. Fool? Maybe. Her heart is in the right place, but her approach and sense of superiority diminish her message. I decided to humble myself, for the Lord, as she couldn't... and I shared in prayer. I told her "hey I'm walking to my car and I'm gonna be eating this cookie but please help yourself." Help yourself she did. Educated me, LB, the dimwit. And as I used her as decoy to find my car, out of thin air, apparently, I was reborn. I now, out of the blue of the tantalizing and persuasive moon, turned born again Christian in the midst of Harrisburg. Or so I was told. I munched down the last bits of my fantastic cookie as I looked this woman dead in the eyes and prophecized "Have a great rest of your day." If not me, then who? Not YOU.
The cookie was really scrumptious though... every once in a while I looked over at her as she pestered me down the street and I mumbled "man this is a good cookie" as if she cared any bit about me, my life and my experiences. Self-righteous joke deeep out the pocket, good one LB.
And yet, after all of that, i still haven't got to the best part. With the truth of god leading me, flowing through my body, I physically cannot lead you astray. One of the best buns I've ever had - and it's crafted to my very liking. As if manifested just for LB. The icing was sufficient and very frosty. And oh... AMAZING BUN. If this thing was cooked for 1 less second it would be raw. Moist. I could've polished back a few but I couldn't go back for 99 reasons. And, unfortunately, I likely will never be back. But we'll always have this moment. And I hope that YOU, the reader, has this same moment one day. An amazing bakery in the heart of the heart of freedom. A country built on the word of God. 250 years in, with no semblance of the true meaning of Freedom and Pursuit of happiness we trek on. Proud, superior and hosting the World Cup. Cheers to us, Cheers to cinnamon buns!