Okay, so cinnamon rolls. Right off the bat, they kind of seem like those things you either buy frozen or spend an entire day miserable over. Kind of like that thing you only try once when you’re hungover on a Sunday and then never try again because the dough has to rise and rest and rise again, and in there somewhere you’ve forgotten the yeast and end up with cinnamon hockey pucks. This version, though? This version is oddly manageable. Quick even. Not instant ramen quick, but definitely not “I’m going to be baking the whole day” either.
It’s one of those recipes where you squint at the ingredients list and think “wait is this gonna even work?” And yeah—if you’re not too persnickety about it, it will work. You aren’t creating an artisanal bakery empire here. You’re just making warm, gooey cinnamon rolls that eventually will do the job.
What Do You Need (aka, An Absurdly Basic List)
So the list itself is kind of a cluster in that cute retro-recipe-card kind of way. Here’s what you are getting:
3–5 tablespoons melted butter
400 ml buttermilk
1 litre of water (yes a whole litre—I know, right?)
100 ml yeast (which, just… this is a lot of yeast, but okay)
About 6–7 cups baking flour (amounts? vague. your call)
3 eggs
1 cup powdered sugar
6–8 tablespoons brown sugar
2 ounces cinnamon (thankfully a lot of it)
1 tablespoon vanilla
500 ml milk
Some of the measurements are kind of ballpark. Like you are not going to see “cups” for the flour or anything. It’s one of those recipes you get the hang of by doing it until you start to feel the texture of the dough, and your eyes will say, “Yeah, this looks okay.”
The “Process,” roughly speaking
You start by scooping some melted butter into a bowl. No anxiety here about measurements—just plop in a few scoops. Then add the buttermilk—two small cups, which apparently equals around 100 ml. (The ingredient list has 400 ml. The directions say 100? Who knows. Just split the difference or go with your gut. It’ll work out.)
Next: a glass of water. Which is vague but whatever. Say a cup. Then aim for 3 to 5 tablespoons (you choose sweetness level) of brown sugar, and again you just choose how much you want. More sugar, more dessert. Less sugar, more breakfast.
Now add in 3 tablespoons of yeast. Not the tiny spoon—the soup spoon. Yes, that’s a lot. Stir it in and let it sit for approximately 10 minutes. It will start to foam and look funny and smell like beer. Good. That’s what you want.
Then you hit it with some flour—enough to start thickening it up—a teaspoon of salt. Add the eggs and mix for 10 minutes. Mixing feels like a long time when you are doing it by hand, so get a podcast from whatever medium you like or just lean on the bowl and think about your life.
Let it rest for another 10 minutes and use this time to ponder if this is ever going to look or taste like food.
Now, add whatever granulated sugar you will add, and add more brown sugar if you need to, it’s 3 teaspoons we are talking about (research, if you are being really strict with this recipe) and think bold with the cinnamon, 2 ounces and I am not kidding, I know you think I am crazy, but it’s a lot and like I said, cinnamon rolls are not subtle or on the fence.
Add more melted butter, it is a butter party now, and now it is time to get involved with it.
It’s Dough Time
Flour a surface. Knead the dough out on it. It is very sticky at first, maybe too soft, and you will be likely questioning your existence, but just keep at it. Eventually it will firm up, or you are going to make some adjustments using flour until it does.
At some point you just stretch the dough out flatish into a rectangle vague shape and sprinkle with more cinnamon (because, why not?) and roll up to the length like a carpet, but it is a soft sweet butter-soaked carpet.
Then cut some cross sections of the rolled-up mess!! Make sure to not cut too thick or you will wait forever for them to bake and do not cut them too thin or you will burn them. Somewhere in that Goldilocks zone.
Lay those slices out on parchment paper on a baking sheet with just enough space to let the slices puff, but crowd them a little—the slices will basically melt into each other and form that pull-apart bread texture.
Baking and Topping
Then, throw the slices into the oven at 350°F for 15-20 minutes. Keep an eye on them! You want the edges to brown, but you don’t want that overdone thing where the slices are crispy on the outside, and raw dough on the inside.
While those are baking, you make the icing. This part is easy enough: powdered sugar, vanilla, and milk—no measurements again, but if you’ve made icing by eye, you know the deal—it should be pourable, but not runny. Taste it. If it tastes bland, add more sugar, if it is too sweet, add more vanilla, if it is too gluey, add more milk.
Once the rolls come out of the oven, dump that icing all over the top while they are still warm; it sinks in a little bit. And that’s it… basically.
You can change things up—more cinnamon, less sugar, toss in some nutmeg or cardamom if you want to go the extra mile. The dough doesn’t really mind. It’s not there to be perfect. It’s there to be delicious. Sticky, soft, warm from the oven, like you are supposed to be eating it when it is still too hot and burning your tongue.
Honestly, it’s fun because it isn’t perfect. Your rolls might not be identical. You might have a couple that flop over. The centers might rise more than the edges. Who cares! It’s cinnamon rolls. They are not supposed to be perfect.
Anyways, you’ve got about an hour. Not too shabby for something that tastes like you’ve spent the whole afternoon pretending to be a baker.
