I was intrigued by the neat coils of this little confection, and also by its whimsical name. A morning bun. It sounds like something that would be served by a sweet granny in a bed and breakfast, piping hot with homemade sweet cream and butter with pretty trees and horses outside, the kind of granny who calls everyone “sweetie” and makes you feel guilty about having sex in the room.
But imagine if, under that friendly, sweet exterior, that granny had a few screws loose. Maybe she grows marijuana amidst marjoram and marigolds in her garden. Or maybe she’s an underground hustler and the bed and breakfast is just pretense for her granny pimping. That was what the Starbucks Morning Bun was like to me.
It started out nicely. It was flaky and tasty and a little warm. But then, things got ugly. Some mild threats. A little too dry in one spot. A flavor that mocked almonds in its essence. A greasy inside. And the flavor was friendly and wholesome, but it just tried too hard. I saw through this morning bun. It was dry and tasteless and needed a slap in the face and some whipped butter to go with it. The morning bun had seen better days at one point and had now turned to whoring, smoking, and cheap ingredients to lure in its customers.
Do yourself a favor. Cook something.