“Pft. I could make those, I bet.”
Fateful words, uttered one lazy day while watching Man vs Food, which is how I ended up spending my Saturday morning glaring at dough. The challenge? Cinnamon rolls.
I figured they’d be really easy, given that I’ve made other pastries in the past relatively easily. What I didn’t plan on was trying to make dough rise in a chilly apartment. What the recipe doesn’t tell you is that cinnamon roll dough is made of the stickiest substance on earth, stronger than duct tape, superglue or even Superman, sticking to the bowl and to the knife and to my fingers and to the counter. “Lightly dust the counter”, the recipe says. Lightly dust? There isn’t enough flour in my canister to prevent this dough from nigh-permanently bonding with my countertop, which was something I discovered AFTER spreading the dough with a metric buttload of butter, sugar, and cinnamon, when I attempted to roll it up and instead of rolling, it ripped and tore and made a hell of a mess and I invented at least three new curse words.
Man, fuck cinnamon rolls.