Mom told me once that cinnamon rolls were aphrodisiacs. Men like to eat home-baked goodies, and cinnamon is supposed to be an aphrodisiac, so I figured why not?
With this newfound information at hand, when Danny and I got back to our first apartment after the honeymoon, I made it my main goal to master the cinnamon roll. My first pan was completed before Danny came home from work and I was so anxious to share that I gave half the pan to our neighbors before even trying one myself. Much to my horror, when Danny came home and we tried them, I realized they were barely even palatable. After recovering my kitchen ego, I made a second attempt a couple of days later. This time I didn’t get the icing right. It had too much margarine and just oozed right off the rolls and onto the counter under the cooling rack. A few days after that, I got up early before work to try again. Unfortunately, I didn’t end up waking early enough and had to call in late with the promise of freshly baked cinnamon rolls to appease my boss and coworkers. However, I don’t think that went over very well since someone told me they tasted like pizza crust.
Practice makes perfect and I continued to “perfect” the pastry at the rate of two pans of cinnamon rolls a week. I continued with this mad, misguided goal of perfection for a couple of months before Danny finally told me he didn’t really like cinnamon rolls all that much and didn’t care to see another cinnamon roll for a long, long time.
Nowadays I make a mean cinnamon roll. But I'm a little daunted now to whip them up so casually. I usually only make them twice a year-- Father's Day and again Christmas morning (cinnamon rolls for breakfast Christmas morning is a tradition from my family). @@@@@@@ Cinnamon rolls . . . mmm!
2/6/07 Correction: I don't know why I was thinking Father's Day. It's Valentine's Day and with pink frosting.