Milk Line Rolls - Part 4

A peek at proofing dough in a yellow bowl, photo by Andrea Sexton Dumas

As I was testing various rising times and techniques (upstairs in the bedroom with the portable heater on, near the window but not too close, covered with a towel, windows closed), I let a half batch rise in the refrigerator overnight. 

Knead, rise, punch it down, form, refrigerate.

The next morning I took the remaining dough to my cousin Kashina’s house in a glass pan instead of metal pan like I had been using. Kashina’s grandfather, my Uncle Ernest, and her father, my Uncle Robert, died two months apart; Robert was my first cousin and was buried on my birthday. Kashina and I didn’t grow up together and only became close towards the end of her father’s and grandfather’s lives. Our relationship has grown into a sisterhood in the recent years.

Rise, bake, cool, taste.

Ah HA! Metal conducts heat more quickly than glass, which is why the rolls were browning so quickly. And this batch I formed into little balls instead of rolled up little cigars. But I still wanted to be able to pull the layers apart like I did as a kid.

Kashina’s kids loved them. Her six year old daughter Bella asked, “can you make them again Auntie Andrea?”

Later, Sister sends me a video message:  “You remember Ms. Carla, Ms. Elaine’s daughter?  Ms. Elaine is the neighbor who knit that headwrap for my mom; she’s a Louisiana girl. Ms. Carla is a well-seasoned chef and suggested you look into the Danish roll, which is laminated and creates a flakey, layered pastry.”

Checkmate. I must have heard Ms. Carla through the ether. After some research it appeared that the Danish roll lamination is a butter and flour mixture, which was definitely not what Gran did, but this tidbit confirmed my inclination to do a lamination-like process. 

During the week I had another dream about my childhood community, but the details were less clear. I was at my Auntie Ophelia’s house and somehow my current office was in the mix, too. My day job is in digitization: we help families and organizations archive their photos, film, audio cassettes, slides, reel-to-reels and so on. It was interesting that my aunt showed up at my job in this dream because I started this work many years after her death.

Then a funeral card for one of my Grandmother’s friends found its way out of a stack of papers. It was for Mary Vierra, one of the few women at our church who was older than my Grandmother.  The other woman was Ms. Rita Surko, who lived with us for a while and eventually sold her house to Aunt Ophelia. In fact, most of the antique furniture I inherited from my Grandmother and aunt was Ms. Surko’s. She used to sit in the very first pew at St. Patrick’s singing at the top of her lungs in soprano, off key. It was wonderful.

The laminated rolls, however, were not.  

They were big and, as Prue and Paul would say on the Great British Baking Show, stodgy. Sean, The Aunties and Sister consoled me:

“But the flavor is there.”

“Mm hmm, we ate them all.”

“Well, now we know not to laminate them.”

“You know what we were just singing? Ms. Inola Jones’ song from church. Do you remember it?”

Sister starts them off and The Aunties join in, “And just as sure as the sun will riiiiiiiise…”

It took me a minute to recall the words, but I got there. And there we were, singing together over video recordings of each other. I could feel Ms. Jones’ presence in that moment; singing her song took me right back to hearing her sing it live.  She was also a soprano, on key, and made the best zucchini bread I’ve ever had. She made loaves by the dozens during autumn and winter, and even shared her recipe with me. 

When we keep up the traditions that make us feel good - the traditions of the people who make us feel cared for – we honor our relationship with our person, our people and oftentimes our lineages, milk or blood. Some folks call this after death care: continuing to relate with your loved ones even after death. Light a candle. Say their name. Pour out a little somethin’ from your cup. Make their recipes.  

I’m beginning to find my role in the family and community: I archive and restore memories, lineage, ancestral wisdom and recipes.