Eight, warm, cinnamon rolls, the PA Turnpike and me
The last time I made Pillsbury cinnamon rolls – the jumbo ones with extra glaze – I ate all eight of them, all by myself, in one sitting. Before you pass judgment, understand that I was heavily pregnant with my now nine-year-old daughter, was pretty certain there would be no subsequent pregnancies, and was fully aware I could never again use the “eating for two” excuse.
I’ve been served cinnamon rolls once or twice since then, but was in polite company and therefore limited myself to only my fair share. And generally I am not tempted by the superhuman sized ones in the mall that do indeed smell good, but bring to mind my grandmother’s contention that too much food just isn’t appetizing. So I thought I was firmly out of my cinnamon bun binge stage.
Applying the fondant, a mixture of sugar, corn syrup and water that comes in a 5-gallon tub
But on Friday Chef showed us every trick in the cook book for producing these sweet rolls with a soft, sweet dough (the trick there is a two-day dough process that starts with a proper sponge) that held tightly to the cinnamon and sugar tucked inside (the secret here is a cup of finely ground graham crackers that absorb sweetness, holding it in place instead of letting it all melt to the bottom of the pan) and a glaze that didn’t fade to sugary water the instant it hit the hot rolls (this miracle involved some loose fondant and a single rubber glove.)
They arrived from the oven at 3:45 and were on the road with me – still warm and wafting sweet cinnamon smells from the back seat of the Ford Focus I drive home to Carlisle each weekend just 15 minutes later. I knew it would be a challenge to keep the ring intact for the three-hour drive, so I preemptively called home to let Andy and the kids know we were on our way.
But as the aroma consumed the car’s airspace, it donned on me that my family didn’t actually know there were seven rolls in the tin. I “could” eat the center one and make it look like a ring formation was its natural state. I contemplated this possibility as my hands were occupied with the standard transmission in rush hour traffic for the first 11 miles of our journey. But once I hit the open Pennsylvania Turnpike, I was straining my back to grab the tin of rolls I thought I’d put out of reach on purpose.
When you’re trying to grab the center roll without leaving crumbs as evidence, you have to surgically pull it straight upwards from its very center. It’s OK if you only get the very center bit on the first go. That is, after all, the best bite. All warm, cinnamon-y, crowned in glaze, and slightly doughy on account of its position in life. It’s the perfect bite to set your resolve so that you can press on with the job of devouring the pastry. The rest of the roll came out in a dangling spiral that required me holding it above my head and methodically nibbling at the end as I drove.
Should the “distracted driving” legislation under consideration include a clause for eating cinnamon rolls? Possibly. I ate two more this way before I hit the 70 mile marker on the Turnpike. I don’t dare say how many more it took me to get to mile marker 226 where I got off the road in Carlisle. Suffice it to say, I was not hungry for dinner.
Guess you need a new 12 step program. (I would too, sounds so yummy)
My mouth watered as I read this, and I had this feeling like I was in the car with you, enjoying every last bite! I suddenly have a craving for a yummy cinnamon bun!
Sooo… can you share the recipe for these? They look sooooooooo goooooood.
Sure. I’ve got to do some math first, to get the commercial yield down to the home cook range. Unless you want to make a batch of six dozen, that is!
I could have used you in the car to help me eat them.
You know, it only took 10 days, but I am with pastries where you are with pies!! I have been craving vegetables!