🥖All You Really Need is Rolls

With a special family recipe hidden inside!🥖

Growing up, Thanksgiving was a big affair. In my early childhood, we’d cook and eat at  Gramma’s house. My mom, my sisters, and I gathered there along with three of my mom’s sisters who lived nearby.  Someone woke up extra early to put a huge turkey in the oven, its cavity stuffed with a mixture of old stale bread, carefully chopped carrot, celery, and onion, and a dash of salt and broth. No one worried about salmonella; they figured the turkey baked long enough to kill any germs.

Thanksgiving was one of those meals where my Gramma’s traditional midwest fare meshed with the Southern food traditions my mom and Aunt Amy married into.

We had mashed potatoes and sweet potato casserole; green bean casserole and my Granny’s southern-style green beans, cooked so long they melted like butter in your mouth. We had two kinds of stuffing: the kind made with stale white bread and southern cornbread dressing baked in a casserole pan. My favorite was the pickle and olive tray. Tiny sweet gherkins, homemade bread and butter pickles, and black olives straight from the can. The olives were the best; I’d put one on each finger and eat them off one by one.

Though we never used paper plates on ordinary days, at Thanksgiving we did. I made my mom buy the divided kind, so that no food would touch. While my mom and aunts piled their plates high, I kept mine nice and neat—only getting what would fit in each compartment on my plate. When I finished one section, I’d get something else, but only after wiping it clean first. 

No matter what we had on the table, my Gramma’s Rich Hot Rolls were always the star of the show. Slightly sweet, with a texture like a cloud in your mouth, they were best right out of the oven. We’d break them open and put a very large pat of butter in the center. Our mouths watered while the butter melted and sank into every crevice and crack, the yeasty aroma carried by coils of steam.

When our friends, who’d become like family, asked if we wanted to enjoy Thanksgiving together our first year in New England, I knew I had to make Gramma’s rolls. As our friends were vegetarian, I celebrated a chance to eat seasonally with veggies from our newest farm share. We got a Thanksgiving-themed box for our first winter pickup, so I embraced “Sides-giving” and made a meal plan around what we received. I was excited to take my family’s traditional meal plan and change it up a bit. Instead of bread stuffing inside the cavity of a turkey, we’d have Butternut Squash Stuffing. Rather than making my Granny’s green beans, I’d roast brussels sprouts instead. I found a recipe for homemade cranberry sauce and put my friend in charge of the mashed potatoes. 

When I told my husband what I had planned, he was appalled. "We can't have Thanksgiving without a turkey!" he said. And so we bought the smallest bird we could find, and brined it the Alton Brown way, in a five-gallon bucket from Home Depot, lined with a large Turkey bag. 

Wanting the rolls to be the last thing out of the oven before we ate, I started them late in the day. I opened my family recipe book to the page with Gramma’s recipe, dotted with milk stains from previous uses. First, I scalded the milk in the microwave, being careful not to let it bubble. The sweet smell of hot milk brought back memories of Aunt Jay doing the same. I mixed the warm milk with shortening, sugar and salt and set it aside to cool. Then I added yeast to a cup of warm water, letting it proof while I measured the flour and grabbed the eggs from the refrigerator. By the time I was done, I had a beautiful sticky dough that smelled heavenly. Yeasty and sweet—I knew it was going to be good. 

When well mixed, I covered it with a tea towel and moved it to our mudroom, which was filled with windows, making it perfect for proofing bread on a sunny day. While the dough was rising, I worked on the cranberry sauce. Homemade cranberry sauce is such a different treat than the canned jelly stuff we used to have when I was a kid. The cranberries burst open with a POP to tell you when it’s time to add orange juice and sugar. In less than half an hour your kitchen will smell amazing and you’ll have cranberry sauce ready to eat. Some people eat it cold, after it’s rested and had time to gel, but I think it’s best straight off the stove. 

An hour or so later, my bread dough was ready to be shaped. Remembering that Aunt Jay used round cake pans for this final proof, I pulled out as many as I could find in the kitchen cabinet. I took the dough from its resting spot and took off its towel blanket. I dumped it onto the counter and carefully began to pinch off little balls. Rolling them gently, I arranged them neatly in the pan, making sure they had plenty of room to grow. I don’t know where I learned to do this; I imagine I used to help Aunt Jay or Grandma do it when I was a child. Maybe it’s because of their note in my recipe book saying “it will double in size.” Or maybe it just came from my knowledge of making bread. I knew the dough would get bigger, so I made sure it had space in the pan.

I covered the pans with their blanket and returned them to their resting place on top of the play kitchen in the mudroom. A purple hue began filling the sky as the sun began to set, but the room kept its warmth from earlier in the day.

Our friends arrived just as I took them out of the oven. “We’ll have them with dinner, but they are so good right out of the oven!” I said. “Here! Have one!”

If there’s such a thing as a foodgasm, my friend’s husband had one at first bite. “These are amazing,” he said. “You must make them for every holiday ever, okay?”

That was in 2016, and we’ve had Gramma’s Rich Hot Rolls at every holiday meal since. The recipe is too big for just four (or eight) of us, and makes more than we can eat in one sitting, but for some reason I never cut it in half. I still only like them fresh out of the oven and won’t eat them leftover, but I’m told they make excellent turkey sandwiches for lunch the next day.

Although they are amazing, you probably want to eat more than just rolls. I’m still finalizing our meal plan for Turkey Day, but here are a few ideas for recipes to complement your new favorite rolls.

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I know in some families, the turkey recipe is handed down for generations, but if you’re up for experimenting, this brined turkey from Alton Brown is my very favorite, hands down.

For sides, I love this Butternut Squash Stuffing. I typically leave out the mushrooms, and I add blanched kale or spinach. It also makes for a great main dish or a side to roast chicken or pork chops if you aren’t doing the whole turkey thing. Roasted Brussels Sprouts and Baked Spinach are delicious ways to bring some green to the table.

Remember those boxes of Betty Crocker au gratin potatoes from childhood? In my twenties, I’d make a box and eat the whole thing in one sitting. This recipe for au gratin potatoes without the box pretty much nails the comfort potato dish.

If you’re heading to a potluck, bring these Twice Baked Potatoes with Kale. Double (or triple) the recipe while you’re at it. They freeze well, and will be a great lunch (or fast dinner) later down the road.

Feeling adventurous and want to veer away from the traditional Turkey dinner? How about this Squash and Sage Lasagna?

Don’t forget the cranberry sauce and the drinks! I love this Spritz of Giving by my friend Rachel, and this Cranberry Ginger Mocktail for the ones who don’t drink alcohol.

Now, for dessert. Maybe Pumpkin Pie, Pecan Pie, and Apple Pie? Or you could make Apple Cake, Pumpkin Cheesecake, or Chocolate Cake instead.

A note about pumpkin: You can substitute any winter squash for pumpkin in any recipe. Buttercup, butternut, and honeynut squash all make delightful pumpkin pies.

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Need some tunes to play on that kitchen speaker while you chop and mix? I put together a few jazz and classical tunes for your listening enjoyment.

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I mentioned in my last Newsletter that I’ve been spending a lot of time going through old writing, compiling pieces that fit together into what I’ve affectionately labeled as my “Book Amoeba.” Here’s a behind the scenes glimpse of what I’ve found:

Eleven Years Ago

I love food. Before I got pregnant, we would spend hours on the weekend planning out our meals for the week and then going to the grocery store to make sure we had all the ingredients. I know this may sound odd … but it was one of our favorite things to do together.

Since B-Rowe, we try to plan meals, but we’re not as good at it as we once were. Between ongoing nausea and food aversions, I just don’t like much food anymore. Don’t get me wrong … I have a fierce appetite … but most times nothing really sounds good.

Now, instead of a fun weekend activity, grocery shopping just feels like a chore. There are so many smells. So many people staring at my growing belly. By the time we get through the store, I’m exhausted. And starving.

I long for the day when I can get excited about meal planning, grocery shopping, and cooking once again.

There’s just something about taking raw food and making something new with it. The smells that overtake the kitchen. Watching the colors come together. When done right, cooking is a creative process. A spiritual moment. A time to use our brains and our senses to create something beautiful.

~From Thoughts On Food, a blog post written for Blog Action Day, October 2011

Five Years Ago

We sold our little house in the country today. And as I walked out the door for the last time, I couldn't help but feel just a little bit teary-eyed over my final look at the kitchen. Of all the things in that house, it was the kitchen that I loved most. And it was the kitchen that loved me best. I learned so much in that kitchen. About life. About love. About nourishment.

It was in that kitchen that I learned how to cook. I mean, I used to cook at our little house in Atlanta - but it wasn't until we moved here that I really took seriously the charge to feed my people well. Cooking became my creative outlet. It became the thing I did when I didn't know what else to do. When I felt lonely and depressed, I turned to the kitchen. And she never let me down. 

That kitchen saw me in all my best - and all my worst. I can remember falling to the floor, sobbing, as I cried out to my husband - and to God - time after time.

I don't know how to be ME here. I don't even know who I am anymore. I HATE it here. HATE it. Is it ever going to get better? I just want to go home!

~From A Love Letter of Sorts

One Year Ago

We compost all of our scraps, our attempt to return to the earth that which we won’t use. It turns out if you throw all your rotten tomatoes in your compost, then put that same compost all over your yard the next Spring, you end up with volunteer tomato plants everywhere. Like weeds. They grow out of every crack they can find. And because you worked so hard the last few years trying to grow tomatoes, you won’t have the heart to pull them out the way you pull out weeds. “Just let them grow,” you’ll say; “Maybe we’ll get a few tomatoes without trying this year.”

The months will go by and your weedy tomato plants will grow into the most beautiful tomato plants you’ve ever seen. They’ll grow so tall they’ll take over your towering asparagus plant. Baby tomatoes will hang off of them like concord grapes on a fully mature vine. At the end of the season, you’ll have more green tomatoes than you know what to do with.

~From Weedy Tomatoes and the Coming of Winter

One Year Ago

The day before my birthday, David and Eden head to the grocery store with a small list. Red wine vinegar (for the pork agrodolce I still haven’t made), hummus (for my birthday dinner), heavy whipping cream (for the frosting), and mayonnaise (for the cake). They come back with the smallest jar of mayonnaise I’ve ever seen. “We picked the best one!” Eden proudly says, when she pulls it out of the paper bag. “It’s organic!” “I’m sure it will be delicious!” I nod my head, keeping my real thoughts to myself: they probably should have bought Hellmann’s for something like this. 

“I’m going outside,” I say, grabbing my book. It’s sunny out—a beautiful 68 degrees—and I don’t want to be in the kitchen when they are. The truth is, I wanted to make my cake. The kitchen is my happy place. It’s where I can create something beautiful (most of the time) and delicious (also most of the time). The kitchen is where I go when I need to stop my brain from spinning in circles over the many things I need to do. In the kitchen, I pull out a list of ingredients, follow instructions, and end up with something to show for my time and energy. Sure, there are times when I have kitchen fails, but the act of creating in the kitchen brings peace to my soul. But my family is unwavering. They want to pamper me. So here I am, outside, while they take over my kitchen and bake.

~From The Mayonnaise Cake

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I am so grateful for you, dear reader. Your emails, your comments, your likes and your shares bring me so much encouragement. Writing is hard work but knowing my words uplift you makes it joyful work. As you make your own Thanksgiving preparations, I pray you are filled with gratitude and peace, even in the midst of the hard. Please know when we sit around our round table to eat our meal, I will be giving thanks for each one of you.

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Until next time,

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