I have never truly contributed to Thanksgiving dinner at my parents’ house. It’s not to say I don’t offer. Every year it’s the same drill: I ask my mom what I can do to help and am assigned chopping the celery, opening the cans of olives, and setting the table. Anything to keep me away from the actual cooking. It doesn’t bother me; this arrangement has always been a necessity because of my notoriety for ruining anything that touches the stove.
This year I tossed out my usual offer to help, but several weeks ahead of time. My parents were hosting between two and four additional guests and I didn’t want my mom to be overwhelmed. To my surprise, she said, “Sure, you can be in charge of the rolls.”
Now I should be honest: my mom kind of thought I would just buy some rolls at the grocery store. At first, I kind of thought I would just buy some rolls at the grocery store. But damn it, I’ve worked hard on my cooking skills and a surge of confidence came over me. I was going to make the Thanksgiving rolls. From scratch.
Of course, I always have to have a Plan B. Just like Plan B for ruined dinner is a trip to Chipotle for burrito bowls, Plan B for Thanksgiving was a trip to the grocery store to buy some bakery rolls. For this reason, I made my rolls on Wednesday so I would still have time to hit the store that night if all else failed.
Before I continue, look at this picture of the rolls we had for Thanksgiving. You’ll have to keep reading to find out if they are Plan A or Plan B.
I mixed all of the ingredients, got in a mini-arm-workout stirring what felt like 50 pounds of wet flour, and stuck the dough in the fridge to chill overnight.
Wednesday, 1 p.m. Punched the dough down as instructed. (No one warned me baking was such a violent activity.) Divided it in two and honestly couldn’t imagine each half turning into twelve glorious and perfect rolls.
2:30 p.m. Took the first half of the rolls out of the oven. They…were…PERFECT! Tried not to squeal. Squealed anyway. Stuck in the second tray while the first twelve cooled on a wire rack.
I don’t want to toot my own horn, but I make adorable little rolls.
There were seven people at my parents’ house for Thanksgiving dinner, and I brought 23 rolls. By the time we cleaned up from our giant feast, only three rolls remained. If that’s not success, I don’t know what is!
I’m really pleased I didn’t ruin the first Thanksgiving item I’ve ever cooked. This year rolls, next year THE TURKEY! Bwahahahahaha!
(Just kidding, mom. Don’t scream. I won’t touch the turkey until it’s carved and on my plate.)