About a week ago, I mentioned to my mother a sadness growing inside of me. I felt as though I was slowly losing my close and intimate relationship with baking. I couldn’t recall the last time I had baked anything at home, maybe 4 or 5 months ago? It was as if I was unconsciously drifting away from a part of me I knew I never wanted to lose. I knew I never wanted to lose my passion for baking or the constant high I received when I was in my kitchen for hours testing out recipes. You are probably wondering, well why did I stop baking? I stopped baking because I am a fulltime student, and at the time was working as a pastry line cook at a vegan restaurant. The only downtime I had was the two hours I had to relax before unconsciously falling asleep after I got home from work. My life was racing at full speed and part of me got a thrill out of it—I was truly embracing the New York lifestyle—the constant hustle and need to be somewhere and doing something all the time. Within all the chaos I knew I was going to lose part of myself, I just didn’t know what it was.
The semester had now come to an end, therefore I had plenty of time on my hands—I was ecstatic. My kitchen was longing for me, my rubber spatula, my steel whisk, my mason jars filled with a variation of spices were all longing for me. I had been craving cinnamon rolls all week, so these babies were first on my to do list. In my mixer I combined milk, sugar, melted butter, egg, vanilla, and yeast. Then I gradually started adding the flour as the recipe called for. Using the dough hook on my mixer I allowed this to become dough and then removed it when the dough pulled away from the edges of the bowl. I then let this proof (sit for an hour) covered on my stovetop until it doubled in size. Now came the fun part, I then rolled out the dough into a rectangular shape and spread on the dough a generous amount of melted butter and cinnamon sugar. When doing this I began to wonder if everyone got just as excited as I did when filling something up with sweet melted butter and cinnamon sugar (I’m actually getting hungry as I type this). Finally, I rolled up the dough, divided it into 12 rolls, let them proof one more time, and off to the oven they went. My apartment is pretty small, so the place definitely smelled like holiday cheer. At this point I was anxious. The entire place smelled like warm cinnamon goodness and I was hungry, so I kept creeping up to the oven every 5 minutes to check if they were done. Once they were cooled I plated one with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and sighed because waiting for a week was totally worth it. I would love to hear some of your holiday baking stories, or things my readers have thought of baking. Don’t hesitate to comment below.