Not to brag or anything, but cinnamon rolls are kind of my thing.
They’re one of the very first things I ever learned to bake on my own, and I’m kind of hometown-famous for my buns. It’s kind of an unspoken rule at my parents’ house that my cost of admission is a freshly-baked pan of cinnamon rolls.
My mom always made them on Christmas morning, and it was the only day of the year that a sticky, gooey, sugary pastry qualified as a well-rounded breakfast. (Did your mom have the “you have to eat breakfast before opening presents on Christmas morning” rule? Is that a real thing? Because I’ve spent the entirety of my life believing that it’s a basic life rule that breakfast must be consumed before presents can be opened, and I only just discovered that this, in fact, is not the norm in most American homes.)
Hey there, friend.
Do you know that I think about you a lot?
I think about what you might want to make for brunch on Sunday. I’m thinking something with blueberries and cinnamon. Scones, maybe?
I think about your daughter’s third birthday party and what flavor her Princess Cinderella cake should be.
I think about the two dozen cupcakes your son needs for his fourth grade class by tomorrow…and that you just found out about today.
I think about how sometimes you just don’t have the time to make an intricate dessert for your Saturday night dinner party because the 3-year-old has gymnastics on Thursday and the 5-year-old needs a costume for the school play and the baby hasn’t slept in what seems like months.
I think about the hours you spend perusing recipes on Pinterest to find that perfect chocolate souffle for your fifth anniversary dinner.
I think about how excited you were when I told you that you could make French macarons and then you did. And they were awesome.
I think about you because I know that you come here looking for delicious, beautiful desserts. For inspiration. Maybe even for a laugh or a little encouragement, depending on the day. And I love giving that to you.
I make pie. And then you make pie. It’s a beautiful thing.
I thought about making an extravagant Easter brunch this year. I spent a few hours tossing the idea around in my head, planning the menu, envisioning the tablescape, designing adorable little place cards for each guest. I was thinking of going with a decadent Eggs Benedict. A fresh, spring salad on the side, maybe mixed greens with radishes and peas and some kind of lemony vinaigrette. Homemade croissants, obviously. Three kinds of jam. Some surprising, yet sophisticated and understated cocktail. The way Easter brunch should be done.
And then I remembered that we’re two weeks away from our move date. And that I’ve already packed up all of our dishes (not to mention any and all serving platters, flatware, and Easter decorations). And that I have two kids under the age of five who definitely wouldn’t appreciate a good Eggs Benedict and would instead ask for scrambled eggs and guacamole with a side of Goldfish crackers, thankyouverymuch.
Easter is an incredibly special day in our house. So even if my Martha Stewart-inspired brunch wasn’t meant to be, I still wanted to do something special for breakfast. I was scrolling through my Instagram feed when I saw a picture of this show-stopping Easter bread. Clearly, it was fate. Or an incredibly well-curated IG feed.