What is wrong with me? I am sobbing over a failed dinner roll recipe, and I want my mom.
We all know that cooking doesn’t come naturally to me. If you don’t know this, you are clearly a new Odd reader (welcome to my Odd blog). Sorry I am such a mess.
It all started when the Pioneer Women posted a recipe for dinner rolls. The rolls looked so good — only had six ingredients — and the recipe set the difficulty level at easy. I said to myself, ” Self, you can make these rolls for Thanksgiving.” Homemade rolls!
However, I know myself better than to try a new recipe the same day I want to serve it, so tonight, I pulled out the ingredients and followed the recipe exactly—well, not the first time; the first time I forgot to put in the oil, but that was ok because I had noticed more than a few hairs in the pot I was stirring and was considering starting over, anyway.
The second time, all went well — no hairs, correct ingredients. I put the dough under a warm towel and waited for it to rise to double its size. It rose to at least triple its size. The next step was to butter muffin tins and then form the rolls by pinching off a walnut-sized piece of dough and rolling it into a little ball. I was then supposed to tuck three of those little balls into each buttered muffin cup. Cute, huh? Yes, except that the recipe said the number of servings was 24, and I had enough dough to make a Pillsbury Doughboy the size of Paul Bunyan. Rolling the balls to at least twice the suggested size, I ended up with about 75 dinner rolls. The next step was to cover the rolls and let them rise for one to two hours before baking them. Currently (in real time), my 75 plus dinner rolls are supposedly rising under warm dishtowels on my kitchen counters.
When I was done rolling the balls, I started to cry, and then I started to laugh at myself crying, and then I was glad Cole wasn’t home because I was standing in my kitchen feeling personally attacked by dinner rolls, sobbing and laughing at the same time.
The reality is I’m homesick. I miss my mom (who hopefully won’t read this — you know how moms are), and I miss my dad (safe here, he doesn’t read Odd), and I dearly miss departed Joe.
Why failed buns triggered such a wave of homesickness is anyone’s guess, but please pass me a tissue, and tomorrow I promise to let you know how the buns turned out.
If you need a pity party to crash, come on over ….Odd Loves Company.