Year of Eating Differently (71): Candy Cakes

I didn't think I drank that much on Sunday evening - well, two bottles of Hoegaarden and two pints of Grolsch weissbeer - but that and the late night and the continual knackeredness leading up to Christmas and the pounding my body took riding on Saturday, plus the late night after and the long walk home meant that cumulatively I was a wreck on Monday. Blearily, I staggered down to Covent Garden to meet a friend and retrieve the iPod that I'd lost for the second time in two days.
Whilst down that way, stopped off at Candy Cakes. Admittedly, a great big bright green muffin ("that looks like child's vomit" as my bridge-building friend put it) and a bucket of coffee might not be the most nutritious of lunches, but it was all I could stand.
So while my chum launched into an f-word peppered rant about the iniquities of Geordie engineers that forget to put rebar into the concrete that they're building, I ate the muffin. Apple flavoured, rather than vomit, and with little jellied sweets embedded in the surface. A fine muffin, lacking in injected syrup or canker sores or anything else that Pret a Manger have seen fit to inflict on me. And after that, and the smoothest latte since Krispy Kreme on London Bridge station, I felt human again.