Pink Mini Muffins

The baby is coming in May. Jenny is showing now — a bump, a visible promise, the physical evidence of the next generation growing inside my daughter-in-law. She came to Sunday dinner and I watched her eat and I thought about what the baby is eating through her, through the umbilical cord, through the blood — is the baby tasting the sofrito? Is the baby tasting the arroz con gandules? Is my grandchild learning Puerto Rican food before it is born? I choose to believe yes. I choose to believe the pernil reaches the baby. Science may disagree. I do not care about science when it comes to pernil.

Mami came to Sunday dinner and sat at the head of the table and looked at Jenny belly and said, It is a boy. I said, Mami, they have not found out the sex. She said, It is a boy. I can tell by the way she carries. High and round is a boy. I said, Mami, that is not scientifically supported. She said, I had seven children, Carmen. I am the science.

The table had fourteen people this week — me, Eduardo, Mami, Miguel Jr. and Jenny, Rosa, David from Brooklyn, Sofia, Ana who drove up from Bridgeport, and some church friends who stopped by because my house has an open-door policy that has been in effect since 1990 and shows no signs of changing. The food was the standard Sunday menu: pernil, arroz con gandules, tostones, ensalada de coditos, flan. The menu has not changed. The menu will not change. I have said this before. I will say it again. Repetition is a form of love.

Mami watched me serve and from her chair she said, Carmen, the flan is too sweet. I said, Mami, the flan has the exact same amount of sugar it has had for twenty years. She said, Your taste has changed. You are getting old. Your taste buds are dying. I said, MAMI. She said, It happens, Carmen. When I was fifty I could taste salt at twenty feet. Now everything tastes like cardboard. I said, Mami, nothing I cook tastes like cardboard. She said, Not your food. Other food. Your food is close. Close, Carmen. She winked. She WINKED. Eighty-one years old, three blocks away, sitting in my kitchen, winking at me while criticizing my flan. This is happiness. This is the specific, complicated, food-scented happiness that only a Delgado daughter can understand. My mother is here. The flan is too sweet. Everything is exactly as it should be.

Mami is sure it is a boy. She has been sure since the moment she saw Jenny walk through the door. I am not sure. I am the kind of woman who hedges her bets in the kitchen, and so while the flan is still the flan — unchanged, allegedly too sweet, perfect — I have been making these pink mini muffins on the side, sliding them quietly onto the table, watching Mami eye them without comment. They are strawberry-pink and soft and just sweet enough, and if Jenny’s baby arrives in May and is a girl, I will take full credit. If it is a boy, I will say I just like the color.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 13 minutes | Total Time: 28 minutes | Servings: 24 mini muffins

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup whole milk
1/3 cup vegetable oil
1 large egg
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/2 cup fresh strawberries, hulled and very finely diced
2–3 drops pink or red gel food coloring (optional, for deeper color)
For the glaze: 1 cup powdered sugar, sifted
2–3 tablespoons fresh strawberry juice or milk
1 drop pink gel food coloring

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 375°F. Lightly grease a 24-cup mini muffin pan with nonstick spray or line with mini paper liners. Set aside.
Mix the dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt until evenly combined.
Mix the wet ingredients. In a separate medium bowl, whisk together the milk, vegetable oil, egg, and vanilla extract until smooth and fully incorporated.
Combine. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and stir gently with a rubber spatula until just combined — a few small lumps are fine. Do not overmix or the muffins will be tough.
Fold in the strawberries. Gently fold in the diced strawberries. If using food coloring, add 2–3 drops now and fold once or twice to streak the batter pink. The strawberries will bleed color naturally as they bake.
Fill the pan. Spoon the batter into the prepared mini muffin cups, filling each about 3/4 full. A small cookie scoop makes this quick and tidy.
Bake. Bake for 11–13 minutes, until the tops are set and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Do not overbake — mini muffins dry out quickly. Cool in the pan for 5 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack.
Make the glaze. While the muffins cool, whisk together the powdered sugar, strawberry juice or milk, and food coloring in a small bowl until smooth and pourable. Add liquid one teaspoon at a time until you reach a drizzleable consistency.
Glaze and serve. Once the muffins are fully cool, drizzle or spoon a small amount of glaze over each one. Let the glaze set for 5 minutes before serving. Arrange on a plate and let someone’s grandmother tell you they’re too sweet.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pink Mini Muffins — Just in Case Mami Is Wrong