Sally in the Zen

Confessions of a Befuddled Zen Buddhist

Pineapple Bun

Fridays are usually when Zen Master and Zen Mum go grocery shopping at the Asian supermarkets in our area.  There’s this one place that gets their delivery on Fridays from New York and Philadelphia, and their meats are usually quite fresh, especially the chicken.  Fresh chicken tastes a bit gamey but you can’t beat the taste.  I highly recommend trying it, at least once!

There’s usually pastries too, and Zen Master would usually buy some pineapple buns as breakfast treats for the weekend.  If you don’t know what a pineapple bun is, it’s just sweet bread with a golden crunchy topping.  When you go into Chinatown, either in New York City or Philadelphia, these buns are quite commonplace in the Chinese bakeries.  Some would actually have pineapple filling, but we usually just opt for the no-filling treats.

So on Saturday morning, I’m fixing my coffee, and my pineapple bun is waiting at the table for me.  Zen Master is already at the table, munching on his treat and drinking his cup of joe.

I’m puttering around the kitchen, making my delicious cup of coffee just the way I like it — a healthy dollop of cream and a couple scoops of sugar — and with my large mug of coffee in my hands, I start doing my little happy dance back to the table, because in just a few moments I’m going to be sinking my teeth into a luscious…crunchy…pineapple…bun…

…when I see my perfectly round and perky breakfast goodie…

…wha?

…WHA?

WHAT THE HECK HAPPEN TO MY PERKY BUN?

Who had the utter NERVE to flatten my bun?!

“What?”  Zen Master asked as he calmly drank his coffee. 

“You manhandled my bun!”

“No, I didn’t”  He said.  “I just pushed it down.”

“WHY?”  I threw my hands up.  “Why did you flatten my bun?”

He shrugged.  “Just because.”

Morale of this lesson:  always protect your buns.

The End.

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