A family story....
Growing up, it was always a treat to spend the night with my grandparents. Mainly because in the mornings, when we woke up, my grandmother would ask what we wanted for breakfast. I'd say French Toast and Coastie Brother would say Waffles. Rather than making us pick just one, Grandmother would make BOTH. From Scratch! Yum, yum, yum (this was obviously before heart disease awareness). Sunday dinners after church were also quite yummy. And the Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners were the stuff you craved all year 'round and looked forward when the holidays rolled around again.
Imagine my delight when I told my grandmother that I could make homemade rolls from scratch. Perfectly. She gave me a sweet smile and informed me that was something she could never master. Her dough would never rise. I was stunned but so pleased.
I jinxed myself. After that exchange, something happened to my skillz. MY dough started to not rise. My rolls were brick hard and ugly. How could this be? Filled with disgust, I put the recipe in the dark recesses of the pantry. I was out of the mood. Scratch was put back on the shelf never to be brought out again.
Until this year. Big D loves my rolls. Having been denied for many, many years, he asked that I try one more time. With a huge sigh, I said I would, for him. So at
the crack of dawn 9am this morning, I pulled scratch and recipe out of the pantry. With Lamb as my trusted sidekick, I attempted one more time to make my special rolls. I kneaded and kneaded while Lamb helped prepare the ingredients. I rolled and cut while Lamb dipped in butter and folded.
With bated breath, I waited. So far, so good. With more bated breath, I put in the oven and did a dough rising dance.
Look at the results!!!
Yum!!! The dough rose AND the rolls are tasty. I used a new pan so they are a little more well done than I care for, but still delicious.
Whew. Thanksgiving dinner is saved.