Cinnamon Buns are my life. Call that sad. Call me mad. I call myself glad to have finally rolled up…read moreto Mav's Top Buns after all these years of hearing stories, gazing at photos and imagining how much better my life would be with these buns in my belly.
I was rudely interrupted by myself countless times prior to publishing this review. But simply put, this needed my full, undivided and unmultiplied attention. Stoic by nature, and by constant mental fortitude training (I'm only getting better folks), not much raises my eyebrows these days. Not much gets me to clench (or loosen) my cheeks. I still have my audacious smile, don't worry about that bubs. And arousal is no issue. But nonetheless. The word "WOW" rarely leaves my linguistic lips. My eyes rarely sparkle with the shine of Michael Jackson's sweaty and filthy glove. But Mav's Top Buns got a pure, unadulterated reaction from me. And for that, amongst other reasons, I appreciate it. Oh. To feel something again!
Coasting down dirty Jerz, I, the commander at the wheel whipped my break-pad-less car off the thruway and into beach town USA. Half the reason for today's beach trip was for these buns, but I'd never admit it if you asked. The other half was to show off my sweet bod in my new Greenland 51st state speedo (I kid, kids). But I don't kid about my sweet bod in that dynamite speedo developing my branzino bronze tan. You may not guess by looking at me, but I'm a stud.
Anyways. We neared Top Buns. My anticipation met fright. What if this doesn't live up to the hype. What if these calories aren't worth it. What if nobody loves me. I bounce over a few curbs and drive sideways up a ramp, straight into the front entrance. We luckily beat the rush that followed right behind us. Probably paparazzi. I stopped keeping track a long time ago. Some lovely lady behind the counter took our order. The only difficulty was stopping myself from ordering each bun. We knew we had to try the OG. And we opted for that Brookie looking one as our #2. On sight, my fears forbid themselves from my skull. Upon sniff, tears began to flow out of my muscular eyes. Upon touch, I nearly turned into a werewolf. But the moon wasn't out at full. Boy oh boy we all lucked out today.
The OG. My oh my, is it my oh myyyyy fault. Is it my fault for not dazzling my taste buds with this masterpiece before? The texture of this pup is divine without even tryin'. It tasted so fresh that it came off borderline healthy. This - posthumously - has been recorded as the 2nd best bun that I've ever run with. If you know me, that means something. Nobody knows me so take that with a grain of sugar. Yes, the OG is a real one. Cinnamon. Cream. Top tier dough. Secondly, the Brookie. Not often am I caught by surprise. Bamboozled. Outwitted. Whammied. I was thoroughly outclassed here. Never in my little feinting Casper-esque of a mind could I have concepted a chocolate chip cookied - brownied - cinnamon bun... my saliva is tingling just rethinking about it. I just regained the movement in my big toe. Daddys home. Anyways, this was one of the most unique things I've ever eaten in my life. It's truly a "ya gotta taste that" typa thing when it's on the menu. Then on top of it the cookie dough and brownie on top are "chef's kiss" as the teenagers say these days. TEAAAAA. Hold the tea, bring me more cinnamon buns.
Listen. I'm no criminal but it's a crime everyday I go without these pupparoni's. These dawgs got bite. These pups bark. This spot is truly the cats meow. I love you. Oops. It slipped. I said it. And I'm not taking it back. Love me back? No. I'm not desperate. But please... I'll be back. The beginning of a romance so grand that some spectacular writer such as Linguini Bonotucci may write about it. BRAIN BLASSSST. Seeeee yaaaaa folks. Full recommendation. Ten Bones from the burrowing Bobcat known as Bonotucci.
