Muffin as madeleine

It is a miracle that I had any friends whatsoever during high school. Whenever I met a new friend for lunch, I'd bring the unsuspecting classmate to Downtown Delicious, a place very proud of its anti-Starbucks identity, which nevertheless charged as much as if not more than their much larger competitor, and which offered the decor of a corporate bathroom and a wide variety of Yura muffins and espresso drinks, along with some sketchy wrap sandwiches. Downtown Delicious is no more, but today I got lunch at a coffee bar in Midtown that sells Yura muffins, and felt drawn to the banana cranberry, despite knowing all to well that it contains what I'd guess are pecans.

Proust's madeleine brings back memories worthy of what might be the greatest novel of all time. What memories did the muffin bring back, other than that I do not like muffins with nuts? Did it bring back AP classes and the college process, or the surprisingly complex social life of New York's most fantabulous science high school? Did I remember the people with whom I ate these muffins and drank--as I did today--skim cappuccinos, or did I just remember how sometimes these muffins are stale and sometimes less so? I came to the profound realization that no classic novel will ever come out of my muffin consumption, along with the less profound realization that I should have gotten a blueberry muffin instead.