Second Chance

Tamalehawk realized recently that not everyone loves muffins. He traces the muffin's malignment to several odious origins; stale towers of bran grenades at Days Inn continental breakfast bars, pallid Plexiglas prisons in gas station kiosks, and bland blueberry turds in a wicker basket at an 8 AM corporate quarterly meetings. It's really no wonder the muffin has become so divisive.

If you ever want to experience what a muffin can and should taste like, head to Angel Food Bakery, where the sour cherry variety or occasional ginger pear pairing will make your whole face remember the muffin's potent potential. These are so good that it is not without a flash of anger that you will place a piece in your tiny child's outstretched wing.

Malus Domestica

And so begins Tamalehawk's annual apple gauntlet, wherein he tries to draft a rational strategy for dispatching a vast sack of apples that he carried across a mud-slung orchard in Wisconsin. He immediately started scouring scrolls, folklore, and oracles in an attempt to unlock the secrets of the ubiquitous autumnal orb.

Later, back in his lab, he kicked things off with an inaugural crisp. He added everything in his pantry, shoved it in the oven, and summoned his hunger. His largest flaw was panicking that it was drying out and basting the whole thing with apple juice half-way through. The result was an apple stew with some promising ideas - namely the raisins, dried cranberries, and amaretto, walnut, and almond topping. The missteps didn't stop Tamalehawk from drinking the whole dish for lunch the next day.

Early Start

One benefit of Babyhawk's new habit of waking up yawning before the crack of dawn is the prospect of breakfast. Long his favorite meal, he normally forsakes it in exchange for a few more minutes asleep and dreaming about food. He has to say though, the smell of coffee and toasting almonds is an equitable alternative.

One quick look at his laughable larder, still reeling from its recent cleaning, revealed only oatmeal as an appealing premier meal. Though he's loathe to boil oatmeal in just water when it could be apple juice, coffee, or chocolate milk, swirling butter and brown sugar into a pot of anything will make Tamalehawk consider greeting the day with a modicum of positivity instead of the dubious half-scowl he typically fashions his beak into.

Sweet Memories

Among the highlights of Tamalehawk transatlantic journey were the fifteen minutes he hovered in a wooden closet of a produce shop in the bucolic village of Dedham. Surrounded by fruits and vegetables nestled in crates and still warm from the earth, tree, or vine they were recently wrenched from, Tamalehawk wanted to cook a huge stew in the middle of the floor using only his unbridled enthusiasm as a heat source. Local baby leeks? Strange potatoes and mystical mushrooms? Come on! It was too much for him to take.

He thought he had everything under control until he tasted these local strawberries, whose color and luster could make you blush. He only needed to eat one to realize that all other strawberries ever consumed by anyone in the world were in fact stupid and fraudulent. Just to make sure it wasn't a cruel anomaly, he ate an apple, which immediately mocked him with its complete perfection and tasted sweeter than a tiny angel's prayers.

Stateside

Tamalehawk has landed back in the states, wobbly, weary, and pleased from over a week of eating until his beak conceded defeat. He returned home to a devastatingly empty fridge and a jetlagged appetite that didn't know whether to eat breakfast or dinner. He split the difference by dining on the classic pizza with a cereal chaser.

He did get to shake the crusted rust off his trusty skills to make a traditional British roast with shown potatoes. The best part was a batch of homemade Yorkshire puddings straight from the pages of The Joy of Cooking. Tamalehawk waited with his trademark lack of patience as the rolls exploded from the morass of fat, proving to be a winning recipe that Tamalehawk has already remixed in his mind in nine ways.

Bigger Bite

What may look like a standard ham sandwich stands up to much closer scrutiny when the ham was carved by a third-generation British butcher, the roll (or bap) was steaming hot from the bakery across the street, and the whole sandwich was consumed inside the walls of 16th century castle ruins.

Tamalehawk continued to stretch his wings by coasting low over the high street, sipping teas and chomping chips and wondering if ale counts as one of his "5 a day."

Safe Landing

Having raced six hours into the future by touching down in the United Kingdom, Tamalehawk's biggest concern was all the eating he had to catch up on. Thankfully, he was immediately greeted with homemade scones, clotted cream, and jam. He ate three before setting down his bags.

The eating adventure continued with strange bacon, sausages, and premier austere beers. He soared over the ocean, communing with grizzled gulls and breathing in the sea spray. With no phone service, he's flying completely off the grid for the first time in a while, intent on descending for any delicious scent.