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October spells Cinnamon Buns

October has to spell cinnamon.  Cinnamon Buns to be precise. And as I had never made them before I was determined that they be a success.  But the entire process felt like a birthing, a careful process, one that I guarded with utmost diligence. I wanted to prove something to myself more than anything else. And it was challenging, to say the least. 

There is lots of flour to begin with. Well not lots but enough to cause your arms and hands to cry out in pain with all the mixing and stirring and kneading involved. I was fine up to the point where I had to find a warm place to allow the dough to rise because our house is cold. The men will disagree with me, but believe me if you are a woman in this house you will find that it is cold. Very cold. Unless you throw on three cardigans and a pair of fleece boots and a hat that is, but by then you tend to end up looking like an eskimo who hasn't seen her neck in over ten years. But nobody seems to notice me  but that's another blog for another day. 

I thought the linen closet might be the best place to stow my beautiful, smooth and silky dough. It was warm in there. The water heater dominates. It hisses like an old, gurgling steam train. I placed it up on the shelf by clearing off  the pile of vacuum bags and hot water bottles. It nestled close to the water tank. I tiptoed away . I crossed my fingers.

After forty minutes I opened the door  in the fashion of stealing into a room where a sleeping child lies in dreams. The dough had barely risen. Thought bubbles erupted. Panic. Sweat. I took the bowl down from the shelf and paced around the house like Lady Macbeth, uttering strange things like; failure, waste of flour, nothing works just like my writing. I suddenly started to feel extremely hot. I even shed a cardigan. 

It was then that I saw the sunlight streaming in through the glass doors in the porch. I opened the door. It was like a hothouse in there, an oven, temperature surely a guaranteed 1000 degrees. I put the bowl with my precious baby, sorry dough, on the wicker chair and covered it with a towel. I crept away. I waited. I waited. Looked at the clock. Glanced at the recipe. Made the filling by combining the cinnamon and sugar, a handful of raisins. I waited.

I went back after ninety minutes. The dough was glorious, it filled the bowl, doubled if not more. I took it back to the kitchen like a queen with a trophy. Dusted the flour on the counter, rolled out the dough, painted it with butter, sprinkled it with the filling, rolled it up into one giant sausage, sliced it, put it into a pan, placed it back in the porch again until the buns rose and swelled. I dabbed some milk on top to ensure a golden finish and popped them into the oven. 

Oh the smell. Oh my god. October I love you. Cinnamon drenched October Cinnamon Buns and powdered sugar icing. And this is what happened; I take the buns out of the oven, they are a deep shade of  warm sunshine. I  ice them by drizzling a haphazard sprinkle of white and then I say to H, we have to taste them and we do and we stand there in the kitchen, five fifteen p.m. gorging on buns, warm from the oven. One of my sons comes into the kitchen, takes a bite and shouts, 'Starbucks eat your heart out'!  Beautiful baking from nothing but flour and yeast really. Now, the words have to come from ink and paper? No, sorry, stupid, they have to come from me. If only it were that simple. Now where did I hide the recipe for that?

17 Comment count
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Mary, You have a way of


You have a way of describing your world in such vivid terms, that my mouth is watering as I smelled phantom cinnamon rolls baking in my own cold oven.

I loved the imagery of you walking around with that precious bowl of dough. I would probably be impatiently moving the dough from place to place searching for the magical sweet spot that causes the dough to perform it's miracle.


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Phantom Cinnamon Rolls!

Thanks so much, Annette. I must say, we will probably become very fat if I continue to bake like this! Lovely to see you, mx

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Yum Yum!

Yah rah for our side!  I loved this blog.  With no effort on my part, I enjoyed every minute of your work including the tasting. (And then telling us about it.)

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Well, Sue, I bet you can

Well, Sue, I bet you can discern a good bun from a bad bun any day! Wish we could have had you over for the tasting. mx

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It's always such a delight to

It's always such a delight to read your pieces. 

On a culinary note, I can never work with yeast.  Nothing ever rises.  I used to have more luck with fresh yeast but I haven't been able to buy that for years.  It's all the chemical powder stuff, which never seems to work with me.  My grandmother, a wonderful cook, would place a warm hot water bottle under the bowl with the dough.  

I'm suddenly missing her.

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Katherine, I know all about

Katherine, I know all about how intimidating yeast can be! But I am determined to master it. What a great tip to use a hot water bottle-I would never have thought about that, your grandmother was certainly resourceful and clever. Thanks, Katherine. m p.s. try the whole food store for the fresh yeast!

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Good tip.  Thanks.

Good tip.  Thanks.

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I'm always more hungry after

I'm always more hungry after reading your culinary blogs, Mary. And I love cinnamon rolls. I wish that I was good with breads that require yeast, but I’m not. Those are priceless words from your son.

A fun day in the kitchen, and I can still practically taste those delicious cinnamon rolls.

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One roll left, Rebb, with

One roll left, Rebb, with your name on it! mx

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WOW--those sound like such

WOW--those sound like such fantastic buns! It was worth every bit of agonizing on the "rising dough" part to end with such delicious smells spreading through your cottage.  Another great mouth-watering piece, Mary!  Now, I have to find my recipe and make some, too!

J :o)



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Hope they work out for you,

Hope they work out for you, Judee! They are very satisfying in the baking and the eating. m p.s. hate to dispel any romantic notions you might have that I live in a cottage! 

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Oops! Sorry about that

Oops! Sorry about that Mary--wherever you are--that cinnamon smell has to be the best, except maybe,  chocolate. . .And yes, the buns were great--I added grated orange peels to my raisins, cinnamon, brown sugar and butter. The smell was heavenly!   J :)

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Oh wow, love the sound of

Oh wow, love the sound of orange peel in the buns! I wish I lived in a cottage, nice half-door and far cosier than this draughty house on the hill overlooking the sea! m

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All of your art forms lead to

All of your art forms lead to such beauty. Lucky for you that some art forms are edible! Happy eating. Thanks for sharing this sensory splendor with us.

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Edible Art!

Hi Eva, thanks for reading. The Sumac trees are turning into beautiful October shades; tints of Turmeric, Cinnamon and Ginger  simmer on the lawn. Best, m

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Oh, Mary!  This is the most delightful blog post I have ever read!  It is like a tiny novel, full of emotions, descriptions, and so fluidly written I felt like I was standing there beside you, waiting anxiously for the end result!  This is fabulous!  You have captured my heart and tempted my senses!  I feel a comraderie (I try, on occassion to bake bread for my kids) with you, and all those who try so hard to create something for ourselves and those we love.  You give the reader so much with your lovely writing! :)

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You are too kind, A.J. I

You are too kind, A.J. I guess it takes one to know one!!! Happy Baking. m