If I were a monster made by SCIENCE, I would be Thankenstein.
So I tend to post about things that make me happy (being a generally happy sort of girl), and that means I've mentioned the Cups and Cakes Bakery in San Francisco a time or two. They make awesome cupcakes which thrill and delight; they're easily accessible on foot or via public transit; and they're just generally awesome people, tolerant of my crazy requests and of things like my publisher asking them to let me film while they make a few dozen brain cupcakes. My love for this bakery has been well-earned, and well-justified.
Last night, after work, I went by the bakery to pick up a dozen cupcakes. It was my sister Rachel's girlfriend's thirtieth birthday, and we wanted to celebrate. (We wound up celebrating primarily by going to the Old Spaghetti Family, because we are hard-core, yo.) Since the flavors hadn't been posted online before I left the office, I called Rachel from the bakery to list off the cupcakes they had in stock.
"Chris said she really wanted Grasshopper* if they had it," she said.
"Well, they don't have Grasshopper," I replied, and kept discussing flavors with her, not really registering the fact that the cupcake ladies had gone into bucket-checking overdrive as they dug through the tubes of existing frosting. We finished our phone call. I went to place my order.
Jennifer, the owner, held up a tube of green frosting. "We can make you some Grasshoppers, if you want."
Yes. The cupcake bakery, without being asked, made my sister's girlfriend her favorite cupcakes on her birthday. Now, they did it because they happened to have the frosting on-hand, but still! How many places will go to that sort of trouble just to make somebody happy? We plied Chris with cupcakes and flowers and balloons and faux-Italian food, and she had about the best birthday of anybody ever, and it was partially due to the wonderful women of Cups and Cakes.
And also the cupcakes were delicious.
I love awesome people.
(*Chocolate cupcakes with peppermint frosting and a Junior Mint on top. They taste like Thin Mints magically transformed into cake, and they are punch-a-Girl Scout delicious.)
Last night, after work, I went by the bakery to pick up a dozen cupcakes. It was my sister Rachel's girlfriend's thirtieth birthday, and we wanted to celebrate. (We wound up celebrating primarily by going to the Old Spaghetti Family, because we are hard-core, yo.) Since the flavors hadn't been posted online before I left the office, I called Rachel from the bakery to list off the cupcakes they had in stock.
"Chris said she really wanted Grasshopper* if they had it," she said.
"Well, they don't have Grasshopper," I replied, and kept discussing flavors with her, not really registering the fact that the cupcake ladies had gone into bucket-checking overdrive as they dug through the tubes of existing frosting. We finished our phone call. I went to place my order.
Jennifer, the owner, held up a tube of green frosting. "We can make you some Grasshoppers, if you want."
Yes. The cupcake bakery, without being asked, made my sister's girlfriend her favorite cupcakes on her birthday. Now, they did it because they happened to have the frosting on-hand, but still! How many places will go to that sort of trouble just to make somebody happy? We plied Chris with cupcakes and flowers and balloons and faux-Italian food, and she had about the best birthday of anybody ever, and it was partially due to the wonderful women of Cups and Cakes.
And also the cupcakes were delicious.
I love awesome people.
(*Chocolate cupcakes with peppermint frosting and a Junior Mint on top. They taste like Thin Mints magically transformed into cake, and they are punch-a-Girl Scout delicious.)