Pumpkin Snickerdoodle Muffins

April rain in Portland is not like rain anywhere else. It is not dramatic — no thunder, no downpour. It is a mist that settles over the city like a thought you cannot quite finish. I stood on the apartment balcony this morning with Miya in the carrier, both of us watching the rain, and I thought: this is the first spring of her life. She does not know what rain is yet. She does not know what anything is yet. The whole world is new to her, and standing next to that newness makes the world feel new to me too, which is the only upside of sleep deprivation I have found so far.

I went to the farmers market for the first time since Miya was born. Just a quick trip — twenty minutes, in and out, while Brian stayed home and watched her, which he does with the cautious attentiveness of a man defusing a bomb. I bought spring onions and the first ramps of the season and a bunch of radishes so pink they looked fake. I held them at the kitchen counter and felt something I have not felt in weeks: appetite. Not just hunger — I have been hungry, nursing makes you ravenous — but actual desire for a specific food. I wanted to make something with these ramps.

So I made a rice bowl. Nothing fancy — steamed rice, the ramps chopped and wilted quickly with a little sesame oil and soy sauce, a soft-boiled egg, some of the radishes sliced thin. It took fifteen minutes and I ate it standing at the counter while Miya napped and it was transcendent in the way that only the first real meal after weeks of survival eating can be transcendent. I wrote a blog post about it — about how cooking is the first thing that comes back after the blur of new motherhood, because cooking is muscle memory and muscle memory is the last thing exhaustion can take from you.

Called Fumiko. She asked if Miya was eating rice yet. I told her again that Miya is seven weeks old. Fumiko made a sound that suggested this was an excuse, not an explanation. She told me about the cherry blossoms in Sacramento, how they are blooming early this year, how she walked to see them in the park near her apartment. She is eighty-eight and still walking to the park. I hope I have her stubbornness. I think I already do.

Brian opened a new IPA tonight and watched basketball. I nursed Miya and read a novel on my phone. We were in the same room and a thousand miles apart. This is marriage after a baby. This is the distance that feels temporary and might not be.

That distance I described — Brian on his side of the room, me on mine — made me want to make something warm and entirely for myself, something I could hold in both hands. Not a full meal, not a project, just a small golden thing that smelled like cinnamon and gave me a reason to stand at the oven for eighteen minutes while Miya slept. Pumpkin snickerdoodle muffins felt right: simple enough to make one-handed if I had to, warm enough to feel like someone was taking care of me even though I was the one doing the baking. I made a batch on a Tuesday afternoon and ate two before they fully cooled, standing at the counter in the quiet, and it tasted like the beginning of coming back to myself.

Prep Time: 25 min | Cook Time: 18 min | Total Time: 43 min | Servings: 16

Ingredients

Muffins:

15-ounce can canned pumpkin
1 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup neutral-flavored oil or melted butter
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 3/4 cups all-purpose or whole wheat flour (see note)
1 tablespoon pumpkin pie spice (see note for substitution)
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt

Streusel:

1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup butter, cubed

Instructions

Preheat oven. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line muffin tins with paper liners (this recipe makes about 16 muffins).
Mix wet ingredients. For the muffins, in a large bowl, whisk together the pumpkin, granulated sugar, oil, eggs and vanilla until well-mixed.
Add dry ingredients. Add the flour, pumpkin pie spice (or other spices — see note below), baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Mix until just combined and no dry streaks remain.
Make the streusel. In a medium bowl, stir together the flour, sugar, cinnamon and salt. Add the butter cubes and cut in with a pastry blender, two knives, or a fork, until the mixture is evenly combined and crumbly.
Fill muffin cups. Scoop the muffin batter into the prepared liner, filling the muffin cups about 2/3 full (a #20 cookie scoop works great for this).
Top and bake. Divide streusel evenly over the muffin batter (about 1 tablespoon streusel per muffin, give or take). Bake the muffins for 18–25 minutes until the tops spring back lightly to the touch. Remove from the muffin tin and let cool completely on a cooling rack.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pumpkin Snickerdoodle Muffins — The First Thing Exhaustion Can’t Take From You