In August, my friend Misty wanted to make cinnamon rolls. So we made the Pioneer Woman’s cinnamon rolls. They are ridiculously good. I made them for friends and holidays. I traded them for deer skull I wanted. (That’s a whole other story.) Seriously, everyone loved them. Everyone, except my son.
Jackson declared the Pioneer Woman’s cinnamon rolls tasted “a lot weird.” No kidding. He rejected the buttery, sugar and cinnamon goodness. He likes Sister Schubert’s Cinnamon Yeast Rolls.
Now I figured at some point I’d get thrown over for a hussy from Mississippi, but I figured that would be in college. I did not expect some Alabama tramp to lure my son away from home cooking with her store-bought rolls while he was still in Kindergarten. I declared Holy War on Sister and her devil rolls. (It’s possible I took this entirely too personally. But I’m not exactly a balanced human.)
I figured the issue was texture. He has quite a few texture issues. So I began to make modifications to the Pioneer Woman recipe to try to make it more to his liking. Still, he rejected each pan. Things were not looking good for my plan for cinnamon roll world domination.
This week, for no reason in particular, I decided to make bread from scratch. I googled something like “bread recipes for beginners.” I found a website called The Hillbilly Housewife. Really. The recipe for Beginner Bread was actually pretty simple and quite good.
While it was still warm from the oven, I sliced it up and we ate the whole loaf. Jackson LOVED it. He called me a “brilliant cooker.” We were all a little stunned by my success. Charlie kept looking at me, “Who *are* you?” I kept answering, “I DON’T KNOW! But this bread is so good!”
Because I am a brilliant cooker, an idea came to me. I bet I could add cinnamon to this! So I made another batch. I had friends coming over for coffee the next day. I had them try it. I got good reviews. They said I didn’t have to change a thing. We ate all but the one tiny slice I saved for Charlie because I promised I would.
Because my kid is a lot weird about glaze, I’m going make a few more changes to that before I serve it to him. I’m super jazzed. I think I may have finally figured out how to outsmart that horrible Sister woman.
OK, she’s probably perfectly lovely. If you know her, please don’t send me email telling me how she rescues puppies and keeps them alive with the healing power of cinnamon rolls. I don’t want to hear it. I hate her. My son likes her rolls more than mine. So I hate her.
I know it’s stupid and petty and obsessive on my part. I’d just really like to be able to make something that my kid loves. And I don’t. I haven’t found anything in six years that I make besides chocolate milk and peanut butter and honey sandwiches that he loves. Here’s hoping this plan works some magic.