Yesterday was grey and I felt blue, so I turned on all the lights, put some music on, and made some cinnamon rolls. It’s hard to stay blue when the kitchen is bright and fragrant with yeast and lemon zest, cinnamon and cardamom. Isn’t this, after all, how the Swedes get through their dark and endless winters, with sweet rolls and coffee cakes, fresh from the oven? And, how can you feel bad when there’s a batch of cinnamon rolls on the way?
Plump and gooey and ready for the oven
It’s been a punishing month – some significant personal setbacks, and the weather has been relentlessly grey and full of winter mush. And so it’s probably no coincidence that I’ve been making a lot of yeasted rolls and breads lately. Last week I made some curious and lovely ensaimadas that I found at delicious:days, and I’ve made a few batches of yeast-risen waffles. (I gave my 11 month-old a taste of those waffles earlier this month, and ever since then, she’ll rarely take even a first bite of a meal, if it’s not waffles. Lentils? Chicken and Leeks? Why would I eat those, when I could eat waffles? Smart girl.)
Working with dough just makes you feel better. Kneading is like a meditation. Let your mind go blank. Become the dough. And there’s the small miracle of putting together some flour, some yeast, some liquid, and having it come together in your hands – elastic, resilient, whole. It builds a small victory over doubt into your day: the dough will rise. The dough will come through for you. The dough will not let you down.
