White Chocolate Cranberry Muffins

Pre-surgery week. Hannah is hovering in the way she hovers — checking in, asking if I've eaten, asking if I've slept, asking if I'm worried. I am not very worried. I am ready. I am tired of the shoulder. I want it fixed. The surgery is Friday morning. We drive to Tulsa Thursday night and stay at a hotel near the hospital. Pre-op at six AM. Surgery at eight. Out by eleven. Home by Saturday afternoon if the recovery goes the way Dr. Watt expects.

I made a freezer of meals Sunday and Monday. Eight quart bags of soup — three vegetable, two chicken, two venison stew, one chili. Six containers of cooked beans. Four containers of pulled pork. Three loaves of bread. Bean bread by the dozen. Hannah said: what are you doing. I said: I'm setting you up. She said: I can cook. I said: you can. But you won't want to. She said: you're right. I won't want to. She kissed my forehead.

Tuesday I taught my last day before the cohort change-over — a one-day class for some Cherokee Nation employees on basic shop safety. Twelve people. Three hours. They asked questions. I gave them the spiel about the eyes and the ears and the lungs and the hands, the spiel I have been giving for thirteen years to anyone who walks into a welding bay. Take care of your body. Your body is the thing that does the work. Without your body, no work.

Caleb came Wednesday — not Saturday this week — because he wanted to drop off a meal he'd made for the post-surgery freezer. A pot of his famous green chile sausage casserole, doubled, in two glass dishes. He said: I made this for you. I said: thank you. He said: I'll come Saturday after to help. I said: come Saturday after. He hugged me. He said: don't die. I said: I'm not going to die from arthroscopic surgery. He said: still. I said: I won't.

Caleb’s casserole was savory and warm and exactly what Hannah will want on a cold evening when she doesn’t feel like standing at the stove — but I wanted something for the mornings too, something small she could pull out of the freezer and have with her coffee without any effort at all. These white chocolate cranberry muffins were the last thing I baked before we loaded the car for Tulsa. They freeze perfectly, they thaw fast, and there’s something about the tartness of the cranberry cut with the sweetness of the chocolate that feels like a small, useful kindness — the kind you can leave in a freezer bag with a person’s name on it.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 12 muffins

Ingredients

2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup milk
1/3 cup vegetable oil
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3/4 cup dried cranberries
3/4 cup white chocolate chips

Instructions

Preheat. Heat oven to 400°F. Line a standard 12-cup muffin tin with paper liners or grease lightly with cooking spray.
Mix dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt until evenly combined.
Mix wet ingredients. In a separate bowl, whisk together milk, vegetable oil, eggs, and vanilla extract until smooth.
Combine. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and stir gently until just combined — do not overmix. A few lumps are fine. Overmixing makes tough muffins.
Fold in mix-ins. Gently fold in the dried cranberries and white chocolate chips, distributing evenly throughout the batter.
Fill and bake. Divide batter evenly among the 12 muffin cups, filling each about 3/4 full. Bake for 18–20 minutes, until the tops are golden and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.
Cool. Let muffins cool in the pan for 5 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely before freezing or storing.
Freeze (optional). Once fully cooled, wrap muffins individually or place in a zip-close freezer bag. Freeze for up to 3 months. Thaw at room temperature for 30–45 minutes or microwave for 30 seconds.

Nutrition (per serving)

White Chocolate Cranberry Muffins — Something Sweet in the Freezer for When You Can’t Cook