In my family, there’s a lot of weight in the word buns.
It means family, savoring warm, homemade bread just out of the oven, topped with butter, peanut butter or cheese. It’s a family recipe, an heirloom passed down through generations, written down and shared for years.
What once was a bread recipe is now a recipe for little dinner rolls of deliciousness. The recipe calls for 10 1/2 cups of flour, a cup of sugar and a few other ingredients I can’t disclose because it’s an ancient family secret.
I saw my mom bake these buns frequently as a kid and never really understood the effort that went into such a delicacy. Now, as an adult trying to carry on the tradition for my family, I’ve made many attempts to perfect them. In Arizona, they weren’t complete failures, but they just weren’t as good as Mom’s.
Now in California, with the kids visiting from afar, I decided to give it another go.
Thank goodness for the KitchenAid mixer.
I poured the yeast into the warm (not hot) water and let it activate. I poured each ingredient into the bowl, following Mom’s recipe to a tee.
As I plopped the dough onto the flour-covered counter and began kneading, memories came flooding back of watching Mom do the very same thing.
The dough went into the big bowl, covered with a light towel. I crossed my fingers hoping it would rise.
It did!
Later that evening, I buttered the pans by hand, just like Mom always did. My daughter and I cut off pieces of dough, rolled them into little balls and placed them in the pans.
We didn’t quite make them as perfectly as Mom. We didn’t end up with 48 like the recipe says.
Now Mom’s buns? Absolutely meticulous. Each one precisely the same as the next. And maybe someday I will perfect them like she has.
And in the morning, I awoke to a true miracle. Fully raised buns, ready for baking!
Success!
The first thing I did was take a photo and send it to Mom, knowing how proud she would be.
The family ate bun after bun with all our favorite toppings and now we are all sitting around in a food and carb coma. Our bellies are happy, and I am happy knowing I’ve finally learned to make my mom’s buns. Or maybe even my great grandma’s buns.
Either way, the tradition lives on!