Sometimes books are about food, even when they aren't.
I read Robin McKinley's "Sunshine" a few days after I had Kip. It's a book about a girl and a vampire, but in addition to being our protagonist, that girl also happens to make the world's best cinnamon rolls (something that's only mentioned every third or fourth page of the book). Perhaps unsurprisingly, I craved cinnamon rolls for weeks after I finished devouring the book.
Today I made my favorite cinnamon rolls.
My husband and I disagree on how the best cinnamon rolls are made. He thinks cinnamon rolls should be spread out so they don't touch, so every roll is completely separate. I think cinnamon rolls should be baked in a pan, in as much contact as possible so they come out soft, almost gooey when they're fresh from the oven.
He loves a straight cinnamon roll, with lots of cinnamon and butter, and with raisins and pecans in the filling but not much else. I'm less of a traditionalist and love to throw in hints of orange peel and cardamom to make my cinnamon rolls almost like a Christmas Julekage, though I'm not opposed to other fillings, like chocolate or brown sugar and marmalade, though I'm not sure I've ever gone quite as crazy with toppings as these.
No matter how I make them, they must be topped with cream cheese frosting.
Sadly, I took a nap this afternoon and, in my absence, my children ate all the cinnamon rolls. The only evidence of their existence, dirty plates and small piles of discarded raisins and pecans.
Thanks to the connection with the world's greatest cinnamon rolls I will think about "Sunshine" every time I make my own world's greatest cinnamon rolls. The power of food, not to be underestimated.