Milk Line Rolls - Part 3

Rolls in cigar shape, overcooked and underproofed, photo by Andrea Sexton Dumas

The following Friday night, research and development continued.

“Sooooo, are we roll-testing this weekend?”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything, but I was wondering.”

“Sister, what’s up?”

Saturday morning after I walked Churro, I made a double batch and kneaded the dough for 15 minutes, just like the folks online.  Halfway through, I could feel my muscles working and my crevices beginning to sweat. I started to hear the Spirit of my Ancestors in my ear as I kneaded:

This is what we’re talking about. When you set out an offering to us, we want your sweat, your effort, your sacrifice. It's easy to take what you’ve made for yourself and set some on a plate for us, and call that an offering. But THIS! THIS is soul food. This is something you make with love and care and take your time with. When you want to make an offering to us, make us rolls.  

I understood the message fully. This is what grandmothers do. Or perhaps more accurately, this is what the milk line does. They take their time and take good care. No rushing. Full presence of attention with the intention to nourish and shape, just how I’m shaping these rolls. Just like the way all those Black women at church looked at me.  

Knead, rise, punch it down, form, rise, bake, cool, taste.

The next batch was delicious and much fluffier. Sister came over with Aunt Barbara, and took some back to share with the other Aunties. The feedback was minimal this time.  

“They’re still darker than what Gran made.”

“She didn’t roll them. That’s your thing and that’s okay, but hers were NOT rolled.”

“They’re good though!”

Why do I remember being able to pull the layers apart? How do we achieve that texture? I had been rolling out a piece of dough into a long rectangle with a rolling pin, dotting each piece with butter, then rolling it up like a cigar. But that wasn’t it. A new plan began to form in my mind: laminating the layers with butter.