I’ve been dying to make cinnamon rolls for months, since before I even moved to Mexico. They’re kind of tedious, but when the recipe works — when the bread is light and chewy, and the buttery-sweet crumbles dissolve on your tongue — it’s as if the skies had opened up and chubby, fat-footed angels had started singing. God. I still remember the cinnamon rolls I made in seventh grade. The way the smell filled the house…
(Shaking herself out of her cinnamony reverie) Ok. Well. Anyway.
I’ve been drooling over Smiten Kitchen’s cinnamon roll recipe, so I decided to give it a go today. Everything was fine until I started kneading.
There my cute little ball of dough was, waiting for me to whip it into shape. But when I pressed my palms into the dough, but it wouldn’t give. The thing was as hard as a rock. I stopped and stared at it. WTF? Who does this dough think it is? I pushed harder, sweat droplets forming on my temples. The dough gave slightly. I think it smirked at me.
I wiped my hands and rushed to my computer, googling “tough dough to knead hard as a rock,” but mostly what came up was people complaining about kneading. That wasn’t me. I loved kneading. Usually.
Finally, after maybe 10 more minutes of searching (my dough resting, the little wimp), I realized that — even though I’d followed the recipe exactly — I’d added too much flour. High altitudes sometimes call for less flour when baking bread. Muffins, however, usually don’t need adjustments. (Which explains why my mamey muffins were fine.) It’s weird though, because I’ve also read the exact opposite — that high altitudes call for more flour in baking bread.
Really, what it comes down to is trial and error. And so, armed with my new knowledge, I placed the dough back in the mixer bowl, doused it with 1/4 cup of water and proceeded to mash the thing to smithereens. (Trying not to yell, “Ya like that dough?”) Soon its little doughy fibers unlocked, and the water seeped in, and it twirled around the mixer paddle and eventually formed a ball.
Minutes later, I placed the dough ball on the floured countertop and proceeded to knead. Ahhh yes. This was good. Much better. Oh so much better. It was softer. Lighter. Not a dough brick that made my wrists hurt.
And when I lifted up the kitchen towel after the first rise: Oh man. This looked awesome. It felt like silk. Like a smooth, elastic piece of silk waiting to be smudged with butter and sugar.
So. The rolls are on their second rise now. About half of them aren’t rising very well, so I don’t know what’s up. But I’m not panicking. I already know I’ve won.