Dearest Sconehenge English Muffins,
I will never forget the moment my eyes befell you, sitting haughty and above-it-all on the display table at Draeger's. How I lovingly lifted you from your resting spot. How I spoke to you these words: Oooh, English muffins, I must have you! Why, you ask? Why do I love you so? Because you stand—nay, rise—an unbelievable two inches (I just measured you; this is fact). Because when split apart, you are dense and slightly crumbly. Because when dotted lightly with butter and placed in the toaster, your edges get crispy, but your body remains delightful in its squishiness. Because you sated my hunger completely, selflessly, and with unprecedented culinary aplomb.
I remain, now and forever, your servant in all I do,
And now, oh faithful Nesting Ground readers, behold: