170. Cinnamon rolls

My husband came back from the supermarket with bagfuls of stuff. He looked harassed: Baby would have made sure the items were exactly the ones specified on the list and had no doubt added her own very specific list of things. I knew I was right when I saw big huge cereal boxes of the type I never buy. I wondered how long that would last with the three of them on full boarding. 

'I got you cinnamon and brown sugar to make the rolls!'

'Great!'

So I had to make the cinnamon rolls I had been promising. I could not find Miss Organiser's recipe and I chose one myself. It seemed to be long and complicated. But this was Lockdown 2 after all. 

I ended up going to bed late (which I do not mind) and getting up early (which I do mind) to go through what turned out to be the most complicated recipe for cinnamon rolls ever. I was puzzled. Miss Organiser used to whip them up in not time at all. And they always came out as very soft, very sugary, very buttery, almost brioche-like and  everyone loved them. I was concerned mine would be categorised as taking the health considerations too far (the ingredients included wholemeal flour, which they hated the sight of and a ridiculously low amount of sugar).

I ignored everyone's considerations and baked away. The following morning a delicious smell reached everyone's nostrils and they quickly came down for Special Breakfast 1/Lockdown 2/. 

'Mum! Your cinnamon rolls are ... ugly!' My son exclaimed.

'Ugly! What do you mean ugly?' How on earth could they be ugly? After all the time I spent kneading and rolling! And cutting!'

The smell had even got Maths-Head to ignore her military schedule.

'They're ugly little things, aren't they?' She said. 

I was just about to complain about the lack of respect for home-made from scratch cinnamon delicacies.

'Amazing they taste so good! Goes to show ... l'habit ne fait pas le moine ...' My son finally managed to utter between two mouthfuls.

'They taste really good! Definitely yummy. So ... never judge a book by its cover.' His sister was pontificating, scratching her chin. 

I shrugged. I made a cup of coffee and helped myself to a warm roll. Coffee and cinnamon taste heavenly. Americans got that bit right.

Once everyone was gone I stared at the rolls. Maybe it was just a matter of fitting in with the  canon of 'Instagramable'  or 'YouTubeable' cinnamon rolls. I got them to taste good and that was what mattered the most. Yet I knew that I would make them again and this time they would look the part. After all what was the use of lockdown if not to perfect the art of the cinnamon roll?