Talents

This holiday season I agreed to make Pioneer Woman's infamous cinnamon rolls for our family's Christmas morning brunch. My friend Erin made them for us last year (right?) and Mom just loved 'em. With limited time in Minnesota prior to said event, I decided to make the rolls before leaving here, freeze them, then pack them on ice and carry them with me to the Land of 10,000 Awesomenesses-es.

Two nights ago after work, I got down to business. I made my very first ever dough which was, as Charlie suggested it would be, super fun to *PUNCH!* once it had risen. BAM! BIFF! DOUGH SMASH! I was feeling pretty confident about the whole process and my skill at making baked deliciousness. Unfortunately, my spirit was to be crushed when I got to the step where I had to roll out the dough. I guess it wasn't so much the rolling out of the dough, as it was trying to re-roll the dough into a cinnamon roll log of delight after it was filled with butter, sugar and cinnamon...and butter.

You see, in an effort to keep our energy bills to a minimum (and because C-Murda has an uncanny knack for keeping the house both too warm AND too cold: read as 81 degrees F in the summer at its coolest) my house is kept at a balmy 852,001 degrees Kelvin in the summer and 4 degrees Celsius in the winter. Sadly, in SE Texas it is (though technically the middle of December) still 75 degrees Fahrenheit outside, which a cold-countertop does not make. This complicated the process of making the nummy log treat. The dough stuck to the countertop and as I was rolling it (PW says to keep the roll tight ....i did not succeed) I got sad, frustrated and almost started crying. I swore out loud in my kitchen about how it was always so Gosh Darn (GD) hot in this house and I Stink at making things and WHY can't this dough just cooperate, I didn't have time to deal with crummy, no good, rats-a-frackin' dough.... it was a sight.

I can't really explain to you why I thought crying too might make this situation any better, but on the verge of tears, C-Murda stepped in and suggested I do something different. He's the smarter of the two of us. He gently 'splained to me how I probably didn't use enough flour on the countertop (as I whined about how I didn't know how much to use and didn't want to use too much and...and...AND...*sniff* with extra pout face), picked up a flipper-flapper thing (spatula?), doused it in flour and helped scrape the dough off the counter so I could roll it. My HERO!

With the first roll complete, I was equally as sad to the see the finished product in the pan. My rolls are the stuff jokes are made of: floppy, thin, lame. Still with a severe case of pout lip, Mo-Murda asked if I wanted him to try the next roll. Um...yes please?

Like a professional, he began tossing flour on the countertop like a Pizza Maestro! Fling! Sprinkle! Poof! It all landed nicely in his target zone (unlike my attempt, which literally had flour ending up on the teapot on the oven, in the crack between the counter and the stove, on the floor and in my hair), then he plopped the dough on the counter, rolled in into a perfect 10"x30" rectangle like the directions say with right angles and knife edge precision...shake some flour here, sprinkle some flour there...finshed the roll all neat and tight, sliced it perfectly and VOILA! Second roll done and not a tear to be shed anywhere!! How does he do it? I don't have a clue, but I am thankful he's got a talent for hot-counter dough rolling and wife consoling.

Next dough project?...it's all his!