Out of bread yesterday, at a loss for lunch, I cooked up some quick cheesy grits, sautéed the last mushrooms, and fried an egg. So simple, so delicious.

Later in the day I mixed the dough for apple cider cinnamon rolls, which had to chill overnight. It’s a yeasted dough, and was remarkable to work with. I could really see how gluten works. From a sticky, sloppy glop that I dropped in the greased bowl, it turned into a dough so strong that it was challenging to roll it thin enough. Four times last night I did the fold-and-turn dough building maneuver, scooping a damp hand under the dough from behind, stretching it up, and folding it toward the front, six or eight times, turning the bowl with each fold. By the end of the first set, it was already a little stronger; by the end of the fourth set, it was a smooth, firm dough. Overnight in the mudroom it doubled in size.

In the morning, I floured a board, kneaded the soft morning dough about ten times, and feeling its resistance strengthen with each knead until it was stiff and solid: all this change from sloppy to solid only from the alchemy of stretching the gluten fibers in the flour. The dough brick sat covered for an hour to come to room temperature, and I could only roll it half the specified size; it was still too cold and needed to warm and loosen a bit longer.

Another hour and I was able to roll it, just barely, into a 12″x16″ rectangle. I then spread the filling all over it, and rolled it tightly into a log, cut it into twelve more-or-less-equal slices, and set them into the baking dish, where they rested and rose for another hour or so before going in the oven.

I would definitely not win a bake-off: they’re not remotely uniform in size and shape except insofar as they’re all sort of square. And then I messed up the frosting. I mixed all the ingredients together without reading the directions, which called for the apple cider to be boiled down to half as much, before mixing with the other ingredients in a certain order. Oh well! I veered from a frosting to a glaze, and somehow after I applied the glaze, one of the rolls quickly disappeared.

I wanted some friends to have half, so I plated those immediately, lest one of theirs also disappear, and set them into the mudroom until we could work out a pickup or delivery. After class, just before dark, I checked the weather forecast, and decided they needed to have them right away. The snowstorm looked to be gathering strength to reach its height tomorrow morning, just when we’d all want to stay tucked in with hot coffee or tea and fresh cinnamon rolls. So Wren and I set out in a light drizzle to drive the seven miles to deliver.

We got half a mile uphill and it was snowing hard. Winding through low visibility for a mile, we then dropped downhill to the reservoir, where the snow turned to a light wintry mix. Across the valley the drizzly mix continued. It was a joy to approach their warmly lit house, and see the pleasure on their faces as they received the rolls. On the way home I chose a different route, on the chance that sticking to a slightly lower elevation would keep me out of blinding snow. The slightest difference in geography did make for a much easier drive home. I was grateful to have that fine awareness of my surroundings that allowed me to make a wise choice. It was barely drizzling in town, and as I dropped into the canyon the precipitation stopped completely until after we arrived home from our little jaunt.

And then we all tucked in cozy before the fire as the snow began in earnest outside. I’m grateful for another day alive, another day of awareness and meaningful activity.