Milk Line Rolls - Part 5

Perfectly brown rolls in a glass pan on a rack, photo by Andrea Sexton Dumas

I got this.  

Once again I made the dough at night. No lamination. I kneaded for 15 minutes and planned to rise three times, just like Gran.  

Knead, rise, refrigerate.

Later, I dreamt that I was with a woman I did not recognize on a patio. She identified herself as one of Gran’s descendants and said, “You’re doing it all wrong!” She then showed me a written version of the recipe.

Yes, for real!  In my dream I SAW the recipe!

The patio began to crowd as people came in to taste the rolls. And there she was, my Grandmother Alberta. She gave me a huge hug and we embraced for a really long time. I could feel her body against mine; she was short and rotund, sturdy and strong just like she was when she was living. We held hands as people began to eat the rolls and Grandmother said to me, “I like the weight you’ve gained. I don’t like it when I can see your collarbone.”  

I woke up before hearing what they thought of the rolls, and of course I couldn’t remember the recipe. But I was in stitches…she doesn’t like to see my collarbone?!  

Punch it down, rise, punch it down, form, rise, bake, cool, taste. Glass pan, covered with a towel not saran, buttered before and after baking. 415 degrees Fahrenheit, but 435 in my oven.  

They. Were. Perfect.