I’m not sure about the incredible alchemy within these rolls…
Maybe it’s magic.
Maybe it’s the music playing as they’re making.
Maybe it’s the extra care I generate in the process.
They seem to mellow with age.
Sure, that first bite of a warm roll is divine, the puff of tepid steam full of cinnamon essence fills your throat and nose, wafting right into your brain…
Yet, later, the next day later, that same cinnamon steam, the unreleased essence has integrated itself into the dough matrix and has intensified yet mellowed at the same time.
Not only that, but the sweet, rich dough is not hardening like other ones. It remains soft and pliable right on the counter.
Three or four days later, it’s still mellow and pliable. After that, it can be assisted with a few seconds in the microwave to soften and warm it back to its former glory. At this point, if you want to make it obscenely gooey, add a little butter to the warming cycle.
Too much goodness at once?
Don’t worry, they freeze beautifully. After dormancy and hibernation, bring them back to life slowly on the counter to room temperature. They will be delicious, thick, and rich.
To warm them to just baked and barely cooled off temperature, set the oven on “bread proof” mode, 30-35C (86-95F) which is perfect to warm them without melting the frosting. If you’re lucky enough to have extra frosting, warm that to room temperature and then it can be thinned with a little milk. (If you can’t wait, then do what Ken does, microwave)
I like to think of my cinnamon rolls as a reflection of myself. Mellowing and getting better with age, maybe that’s the secret. After all, I created them and I’m creating myself every day too. Not sure, but I like to think so.
The divine dough likes music that is exactly 4 minutes in length as it’s rolling and stretching from a wad into a sheet