black cherry, blog, muffin

Sour Cream Black Cherry Muffins

Sssshhhhhhh. I made these this morning. On my own. Without anyone hanging on my leg. Or another asking me if she could go to a late birthday party and no, she doesn’t need the contraceptives talk. It was all so quiet. Even the house beasts were behaving.

I spent last night baking what I thought was going to be my post for today. It was for the Fresh From The Oven Challenge. Until I read the fine prints and realised that the post has to be published on a certain date. Pah.

So in the early hours of this morning, I found myself plagued by the double cream rapidly creating its own micro colony in my fridge. After a quick mooch round my stock recipes, I settled on these sour cream black cherry muffins. Other than some cherries (frozen or tinned), there rest of the ingredients are pretty standard.


125g plain flour
1/2tsp baking powder
1/2tsp bicarbonate of soda
1/2tsp salt
200g caster sugar
1 egg, large at room temperature
30g butter, melted
125ml sour cream, or in my case, double cream that has gone beyond the pale
50ml cherry juice (if you’re using tinned cherries) or, milk
150g black cherries, well drained, chopped
Granulated sugar for sprinkling


– Preheat oven at 175C
– Mix well in a bowl the flour, baking powder, bicarbonate of soda and salt and set aside.
– In a large bowl, mix together sugar, egg and melted butter.
– Add to this half of the flour mixture, mix well, and then add the sour cream.
– Stir in the cherry juice/milk. Followed by the rest of the flour mixture.
– Fold in gently and divide the mixture into a 12 hole muffin tin that you’ve lined with muffin cases.
– Sprinkle with granulated sugar.
– Bake for 20 minutes.

And savour the silence. Quietness is a premium commodity in my household. The house is always buzzing with activity and since the arrival of the Seventh Wonder, I don’t often find myself on my own. This was one of the rare moments when I was the ONLY person downstairs as everyone was still fast asleep. Often, the Seventh Wonder would start crying her eyes out the minute I leave her side in the mornings.

And I was starting to get ideas above my station, thinking that maybe I could get started with the pineapple jam tarts, until Potato Bottom came downstairs looking forlorn with a freshly scrubbed face. Someone had drawn a Hitler moustache on her face during the night.

Morning has definitely broken.


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