By Jack Rake, UPI, San Francisco, Oct. 4

In a striking development that sheds light on the emergence of purely vegetal matter in the literary world, a so-called vegan "cupcake" all but saved the life of a California fiction writer who was found liable for fraud in a Manhattan courtroom this past summer.

The authorities said the cupcake, a chocolate-vanilla swirl made of rice flour with a soy-based icing, was instrumental in stopping the writer, Laura Albert, 41, from checking herself into a state psychiatric ward this week. "Without that cupcake there's no doubt in my mind that crazy bitch would have committed herself to the bughouse again," said one investigator, who spoke on the condition of anonymity. "It's a nifty bit of work for a baked good."

While cupcakes have long served as the dessert of choice for the writerly set, the selection by Ms. Albert (author of the novel "Sarah" and creator of the fictional persona, JT LeRoy) of a strictly vegan cupcake suggests, however dimly, that animal products from eggs to milk to cheese may finally be falling out of favor among authors. In a related development in Burundi, a little-known writer of East African situation comedies was discovered to have hanged himself last month in his blue Mini-Cooper with what the authorities in Africa have said was a suicide note taped to the steering wheel, stating he could "not go on" given the lack of vegan sweets in the region.

"I wouldn't say it's reached the level of a trend yet, but it's undeniable that things are popping at an almost alarming rate," said Demetrius T. Beauregard, professor of forensic gastronomy at Harvard. "We've seen an unprecedented rise in aggressive veganism not only among nonfiction writers but, unfortunately, among those who make shit up as well."

How this leaked to the press, I don't know, but nothing is sacred any more. You can't drive with a baby in your lap or try to jump off bridge in privacy! It is true; I had had a hard day. I had no more dark chocolate in supply. I couldn't even find a suitable fictional persona to get me through the day.

So I had one of those George Bailey It's A Wonderful Life moments. I live in San Francisco and thus I went to the Golden Gate Bridge. Leaning over the rust colored railing snow crusted my face – well, actually, it was fog frothing in – a small unromantic detail.

"I'm worth more dead then alive…." Did I say that aloud? I must have because suddenly a chocolate with white frosting cupcake sailed over my shoulder. It did not sally forth toward the water, but alongside me, heading into oncoming traffic! I instinctively jumped to the rescue of cupcake – the way anyone would if a baby were tossed toward you. I grabbed it, the vanilla butter crème frosting swooshing against my palm just before it would have collided with a Hummer.

I looked up – manna from heaven? A man-boy's form made its way toward me through a bluster of fog.

"Are thou an angel and art thou in search of wings?" I held the stigmata-like dripping mess on my palm out to the gangly being in front of me.

"Yes I am," the being said. A starched white cloth cape flapped behind him.

"But my name bee'th Sasha: Protector of Men." His eyes had a blue marble gloss.

"But I am not a man," I sighed, "Or have you not heard?"

"I have heard rumor of such, indeed." He stepped forward. "Your breasts are a clue as well. But I am not really a protector of men. That's just what my name means."

I noticed what I initially took for a cape was really an apron. It was just tied on like a cape.

"I am a provider of cupcakes!" He wore clogs, not the wooden little boy type, but the chef laboring in a kitchen kind.

I gulped, realizing who this was and what was smooshed all over my hand.

"Good humored sir," I held up my hand, "Is this vegan?"

He nodded. "How did you know?"

The chocolate under the frosting was the color of peat soil. It had an allure of something not sickeningly sweet yet still maintaining the promise of intense oral joyous satisfaction.

"I hear the call of all that need The Vegan Cupcake Treatment." He thrust his hand out, clutching a brown paper bag holding more of its kind. Six more to be exact.

"You are sent from the gods," I gasped.

"Kinda. Actually we have a deal with the Golden Gate Bridge – I have a jumper phone at my restaurant, Lettus. Someone reported you. Said you had that fraudulent fiction writer despondency vegan aura to you."

I nodded solemnly as I licked my fingers.

My attention was suddenly taken by police sirens. By the time I turned back, Sascha had vanished. I tried to assure the police I was not really going to jump, I was just into --chasing cupcakes.

Alas it was too late. An AP reporter now stood in the space vacated by Sascha.
Upon my release, I took to strolling into the habitat/restaurant, Lettus, in search of my vegan cupcakes, where I sometimes catch glimpses of the legendary clogs and apron/cape of Sascha Weiss as he jousts out of his kitchen toward bridge duty. Sometimes he is joined by Elizabeth Falkner of famed Citizen Cake. It turns out there were too many old-schoolers that balked at the sacrilege of a vegan cupcake – even though you would never know if you bit into one. (Midwesterners-- they can tell five feet away.) So Elizabeth's cupcakes can reach the purist suicidals. They are thick and juicy, the steak of cupcakes, but in the aesthetic San Francisco perfection way. Would-be jumpers often report, that after their first bite of a Citizen Cake cupcake they hear a big band playing swing – the taste of nostalgia that accompanies the senses.

I myself found redemption patrolling the ramparts of the wind- swept Golden Gate Bridge in search of fellow lost artists craving a leap into the beyond. I freed up Elizabeth and Sascha so they can stay chained to the kitchen and make more compact missiles of grace - no more bridge duty. My heart overflows to know that I can be of service. It matches the ache of my overstuffed stomach as I usually eat my supplies of cupcakes, both vegan and not, my melancholia getting the better of my virtue.

I have found delight in my work, except when I encounter a journalist. For them, there is only one thing that will work, which is not in my repertoire - I don't stock Twinkies.

~Laura Albert

Go There:
Lettus, 3352 Steiner, San Francisco, (415) 931-2777
Citzen Cake, 399 Grove Street, (415) 861-2228