edge of the continent

Imperial Beach, CA

I baked my own cupcakes for my birthday this year, because I am proactive like that and gosh darn if I don’t like a good cupcake. It’s a mini-cake! What’s better or cuter than that?

So I had whipped out the Ina Garten (aka la Barefoot Contessa) cookbook my sister gave me a few winter holidays ago and proceeded to make The Best Cupcakes in the World ™. Their given name is something akin to ‘Peanut Butter Cupcakes’ or some such gloriously understated moniker, but what I birthed from my own two hands was, quite seriously, angelic. I’ve never described anything I’ve made in the kitchen as remotely ‘angelic’ — digestible, perhaps, or sort of neat if you like picking sage out of your teeth for days, even — but holy mother these were worthy of some serious veneration, a couple of epic ballads, and perhaps a one-act play for good measure. The chocolate cake-part just melted in the mouth, which elicited equal measures of disbelief and joy. The peanut butter icing was just, well, icing on the cake. Angelic cake.

The rest of the weekend wasn’t so bad, either, as it was filled with plenty of quality time with my family, lots of good (though not nearly angelic) food, and lovely, thoughtful gifts that included a trio of piggy banks… saving your pennies is essential in these unsteady economic times of ours, after all:

I also had a chance to hang out with an old friend, with whom I used to wander the streets of this beach town at night back in my rambling, rumbling youth. Here he is, capturing the jailhouse in Julian:

Vahid and I drove around a lot, drank a fair bit of coffee, and visited both the beach and the mountains in one afternoon. If he isn’t secretly working for the Portland tourism board, he ought to be given a job there, tout de suite: he’s nearly got me convinced that his town is the best thing since sliced bread.