As promised, this week I bring you the once lackluster pumpkin muffins all gussied up for their big date with the blog. I found the original iteration of this recipe crumpled and forgotten in the bottom of my mom’s recipe box. And after tasting the initial result, I could see why. But with a few slight adjustments – I increased the amount of spices, doubled the streusel topping and increased the pumpkin factor by 50 percent – I think these babies deserve some time in the spotlight.
If you’re anything like me, I always have at least one pesky can of pumpkin haunting my pantry after Thanksgiving and this recipe is a great way to put it to work. Last Thanksgiving left me with more than one lonely can as Zach and I spent the entire holiday in the car, or so it seemed. To be honest, I look forward to the holidays all year because they provide a socially acceptable reason to bake more than any household could possibly consume. Especially when said household is populated by one baker, one sweets indifferent husband and a very skinny dog.
But alas, last year Zach and I packed our suitcases and made the long journey to Ohio for Thanksgiving with his extended family. My oven and I said our tearful goodbyes before I packed up the car (neurotic dog included) and set out for the warm embrace of the Days Inn Hillsboro. And while it was great to see members of his family that we see all too infrequently as it is, this year we’re taking a pass on sharing the holiday season with a 16 hour round trip drive made over two days.
This year we eat twice.
This year we drive 10 minutes and see both families.
This year there will be new homes, familiar beds, favorite dishes and warm, mulled apple cider and brandy.
This year we put our thoughts toward better health and give thanks to just being home.
Pumpkin Pecan Streusel Muffins
Makes 12-16 muffins
Ingredients
For the Streusel
1/4 cup quick-cooking oats
2 Tbs light brown sugar
2 Tbs unsalted butter, melted
1/4 tsp pumpkin pie spice
For the Muffins
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup quick-cooking oats
3/4 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
1 Tb baking powder
1 3/4 tsp pumpkin pie spice
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 cup pecans, chopped
1 1/2 cups canned pumpkin
3/4 cup milk
1/3 cup vegetable oil
1 large egg
1. Heat oven to 400 degrees. Line 12 muffin cups with paper liners and set aside.
2. In a small bowl, combine all of the streusel ingredients. Mix well and set aside.
3. In a large bowl, combine the flour, 1 cup oats, 3/4 cup brown sugar, baking powder, 1 3/4 tsp pumpkin pie spice, baking soda, salt and pecans. In a separate bowl, mix together the egg, milk, oil and pumpkin until completely blended. Add the dry ingredients to the wet and mix gently just until combined.
4. Using a cookie or ice cream scooper, fill the muffin liners until almost full. Top generously with the streusel and bake for 20-22 minutes until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Allow muffins to cool in the pan for 5 minutes, then remove to a wire rack or serve warm.

Ok, full disclosure, I have no recipe for you this week. And not because I didn’t make anything, because I did. Pumpkin muffins to be exact and they were gorgeous and smelled wonderful and seemed to be a keeper.
But looks can be deceiving.
Instead of whisking me away to memories of pumpkin pie they fell utterly flat on taste. Don’t get me wrong, they tasted fine…just fine. But they should be and can be so much more than okay. So though I have nothing delectable, spicy and pumpkin-y for you this week, I’ll get back under the hood this weekend and return with a much superior and recipe box-worthy version next week. For photos this week, I have some misc ones from the past few months that never found their way into a proper post. Plus, I needed a little spring and summer on this rainy, wind-crazy day…

…and a few laughs. So why not chat about Zach and I’s first apartment? Much like the muffins, our first place was full of promise and potential on first glance but on the second, third or fourth glance – anything but.
We were fresh out of college, broke, and 50% unemployed. The employed half, Zach, was working in the library of a DC think tank and though the feel good factor overflowed, the paycheck did not. With my employment status uncertain and full of naive enthusiasm, we signed on to a “deal” of an apartment in a really nice neighborhood in upper Northwest. Chic, big city living here we come!

Reality: It was a basement. The faded and stained red carpet, not even stapled down, slid and shimmied under foot as if we had our very own moving walkway a la The Jetsons. The shower was tiny. So tiny that shaving your legs required an act of contortionism typically reserved only for the cast of Cirque du Soleil. A leak in the foundation meant that a good hard rain turned the living room into a swimming pool and left tufts of mold growing on the toes of my pointy black boots.
Then there were the crickets. Commonly referred to as cave crickets, spider crickets or camelback crickets, I know them as my worst nightmare. Long creepy antennae, spherical mushy bodies and the rear haunches of a rabbit combined with remarkably poor vision, mean they jump unexpectedly high, spastically and directly at your face.
They carpeted the cinderblock walls of the entryway, crept up through the drains and waited in dormant luggage for your next trip. One fateful night, a leaky upstairs sink brought a waterfall of them cascading through the wet and dissolving drop ceiling of our kitchen.

Zach bore the brunt of the mania – trudging into the darkness to fling a flip-flop, clean up the bodies and talk me off the ledge. And finally, a job offer arrived for yours truly and with it, a way up. Leaving that first apartment, though a relief, meant swallowing a heavy dose of pride but hey, we all have to start somewhere.
It’s taken nearly 4 years, lots of tinkering and starting over, but we’ve finally landed home. I still find the occasional cricket mocking me from a dark corner in our basement laundry room but I’ve developed impressive sharp shooter skills with bleach spray.
If all else fails, I know my better half will trudge in to my rescue, flip-flop cocked, and swat swat away.






