2021 theme: RUPTURE

MY MOTHER’S ROLLS Kathryn Durrant My mother’s rolls were the star of Thanksgiving meal, not the turkey or pies. We timed the entire meal around the warm creations. They were so tempting that we couldn’t help reaching for one hot out of the oven, even though we knew we risked burning our ingers. It was a risk all of us were willing to take.

My mother passed away ten years ago, I never thought to ask for the recipe while she was alive. I’d seen the stained card throughout the years at family Thanksgivings. It always lay on the counter, dusted with lour, just out of reach of the dough my mother would roll out to the perfect thickness. Over the years following her death, I searched for the recipe in the books I’d inherited from her. Sprinkled throughout the pages of her Betty Crocker cookbook and a few others, I’d found 3x5 cards in my mother’s handwriting. Good recipes, for sure, but never one I was seeking.

By chance, my cousin mentioned Thanksgiving and my mother’s rolls to me as we reminisced about our childhoods. “You know,” she said, “that recipe was really my mother’s.”

A tremor of excitement moved through me. “I didn’t know that.” I cleared my throat, not quite daring to hope, “do you have the recipe?” She couldn’t possibly have guessed how much a positive answer to this question meant to me after all this time.

“Yeah, I can email you a copy.”

I looked down at the printed email when it came as if it was a sacred text.

Combine the lukewarm water and yeast. I sprinkled the tablespoon of tiny tan beads into the water and watched as they ruptured open. This action was a sign the yeast was alive and would grow. I set aside this mixture while I combined one cup of boiling water and one cup of shortening in a large bowl. So much shortening, I thought as the mound of white melted into the steaming water like a miniature iceberg. To this, I added salt, sugar, cold water, and four eggs before returning to the smaller bowl. The yeast had grown and was now lovely tan foam. I inhaled deeply, enjoying the heady yeasty smell before pouring it in to do its magic with the other ingredients.

I glanced at my Bosch mixer. No, I gave my head a shake. My mother 52