The Secret of the Cinnamon Roll and other stories of sweet things

I'm reminded today of the special people I have in my life, as I finish off a pan of the most perfect Cinnamon rolls ever, for a late breakfast.  My friend Tonia, who I met with her husband Steve at the place where I was a featured singer for the past 12 years, made them for us along with some fantastic salsa and brought them to us on St. Patty's Day.  They started coming out to hear me about 4 or 5 years ago all the way from Hugo Oklahoma, which is located in the very Southeastern part of the state, one hour East of Durant and 15 miles North of the TX border.

Every time they came in to see me, they brought different groups of people, and it was obvious quite early in our friendship that they were the kind of people who attracted quality relationships with quality people, who were dedicated to them in the most respectful and loving way.  As the years went by and we became more acquainted on facebook and in their visits to "the city", our relationship grew to the height of closeness. 

Tonia and Steve are friends to the end, but today's story is focused on the Cinnamon Roll.  Through the years I have become quite an expert on this tasty treat, growing up in a family that takes cooking to levels that would make Paula Dean envious.  My Nana, Aunt Francis, Aunt Barbara, Aunt Linda, Uncle Mike, Aunt Marty and Uncle Pat, Aunt Jean, My brother, and my parents all in their own rights are the greatest cooks, bakers, and chefs I've ever come to know, and people believe me when I tell you I have eaten more than my fair share of good food and places tauted as the finest.  My first memory of watching Cinnamon rolls being made was by my dad, who had perfected the art of making homemade rolls and bread by watching the little old cafeteria ladies in Gage, OK where he was the Superintendent of schools.  He took their very large recipe for hundreds of rolls, and whittled it down to family size with some sort of scientific formula, and lots of trial but hardly any error.  He made the dough, let it rise gingerly, spread it out on the counter, and he and my mother spread brown sugar, white sugar, Cinnamon, and pats of butter all over the flattened dough.  They rolled it up together with butter on their fingers and then proceeded to do one of the most creative things I had seen in the kitchen by the age of 9.  They took a piece of baby blue thread from my 4-H sewing kit, slid it under the roll about an inch and a half, pulled the ends across as if to tie a knot but instead kept pulling so that the thread cut right through the dough.  Now to those of you seasoned bakers, this is elementary, but at that time, it was total magic to me, and I think it was that day that I realized just exactly how intelligent the group of people who were raising me were.  Give me a break, I was only 9.  There would be many more magical and far more intelligent experiences I would have through the future years, but that is for another day.

The smell of those Cinnamon rolls in the oven that day is one I will never forget, and I'm reminded of that funky little kitchen in Gage every time I smell the school's cinnamon rolls at the school where I work.  The white icing that my mom mixed up in a green Tupperware bowl and spooned over the hot twisty sugary filled layers of perfection melted into the cracks like ice cream dripped on a hot Gage, OK sidewalk.  The first bite filled my entire mouth with a taste, warmth, and feeling that can only be described with one word - "Home."  I've been an addict ever since.

Through our years traveling from small school to small school, some of the best we ever experienced as a family were in the Fargo, OK basketball concession stand.  That's right folks, you could go to the concession stand at the Fargo tournament, and come out with a styrofoam plate full of one of the greatest feats of baking perfection, covered in the sweetest caramel icing ever.  Fargo had the market cornered on Cinnamon Rolls, Gage had the best hot ham and cheese sandwiches and bierox known to man, but that is for another day, as well.

In college, Oklahoma Baptist University in Shawnee, OK, my friends and I would venture South of the campus onto Kickapoo Spur, to the Rainbow Inn, where all kinds of treasures to delight the tastes of poor college kids and late night bar-goers could be found.  The item on the menu, besides the toast made out of homemade bread, that we all craved and could share between four of us, was the "cinnamon roll, that was bigger than your head."  The waitress would load it up with pats of butter on the top, and reheat it while smoking a cigarette, and bring it to us with 4 forks.  It was a mountain of sugary goodness that took us all home for just a little while and gave us a good distraction from the studying we were supposed to be doing.  I'm proud to say that I've introduced that restaurant to several of my musician friends who played with me at Dietrich's, next door to the Rainbow and coincidentally the place where I met my husband Jon, and most of us have shared a cinnamon roll or two.  It was also the place where I was sharing a cinnamon roll with my friend Katie and two of our other friends came in and announced that they had just eloped.  There are many more stories like this, I'm sure, but sadly the Rainbow Inn is closed.

Today, I've come to be very pleasantly surprised on the days that the cafeteria at my school has Frito chili pies or taco salad, because that is also the day that they make cinnamon rolls.  The fabulous smell of "home" can be taken in all over our campus.  For my friends from the past, it might surprise you that my fascination with food has led to quite a gain of weight through the years, so those of you who remember the almost anorexic Brenda, not a chance these days.  It might also surprise you all to know that I have a special way of picking out the best cinnamon rolls at school.  You look for the ones with the highest number of twists, the most evenly spread layers, and look the brownest on top (with innards, not from baking too long).  Thin, consistent and numerous twists means that you will have more of the sugary insides to get to, and brown on the top from innards, means there are more sugary insides as well.  There is also a way to eat it correctly.  You must eat a cinnamon roll all the way around.  You can't bite through several layers at once, because that will cause the whole thing to fall apart, and you might get to the best part too quickly.  No, I say eat it all the way around and soon you will find the best treasure of the entire experience, the sweet, moist center - the epicenter of all that is good and wonderful.

The cinnamon rolls we received from Tonia and Steve, back to the original inspiration for this story, were those of perfection.  They came complete with just the right amount of twists, turned consistently around the gooey centers of love.  The perfect size, so that you could have two (or three) and not feel totally piggy.  The taste and smell of "Home," underneath a foil covering in a small round pie pan.  The taste that for me brings back memories of close and comfortable family gatherings, and great times with close friends that I'm so happy to have had or still have in my life consistently.  Much like a good friendship - there are twists and turns, but lots of comfort, leading to the sweet, moist center - the epicenter of all that is good and wonderful - the heart of our family members and friends.

Thanks Tonia, and all the other wonderful bakers in my life who have provided such fabulous feelings of warmth and comfort, and thanks to all those friends out there who have been around for all the twists and turns, but have remained to show me their true hearts. 

Life is like a cinnamon roll, Forest - now we're both gonna have to do some running to work this fattening stuff off.

Sweet Brenda