Today was a day for cinnamon buns.
Not that it was any particular “type” of day actually. Come to think it, every day should be deemed “Cinnamon Bun Day”. Let’s face it, the smell of fresh bread baking, the cinnamon-sugar butter spiraling throughout.
The epitome of comfort food.
My mom had a hankering to bake today. She (much to my family’s delight) finds comfort and pleasure in baking yeast goods. And she’s good at it. She has the MOST amazing molasses bread recipe. Multiple loaves are consumed at family gatherings at a disturbing rate.
But back to the cinnamon buns. A recipe she’s used since I was a little girl; a simple white bread dough recipe with flour butter and sugar crumb topping and ooey, gooey cinnamon sugar swirl. And there was a sense of happy anticipation for most of the morning. An anticipation that had somehow spread (familial telepathy?) to my sisters’ households so that around three o’clock in the afternoon we all met at Mom’s and indulged.
Sticky fingers and butter shiny lips all around.
And after the gorge fest we all left for home, each of us, tucking protectively under arm, our own little bag of homemade cinnamon buns.
Cinnamon bun day is one of my favourite types of days