The fridge was humming louder than usual and I couldn’t tell if it was the cold or the quiet that made me put the pot on.
I didn’t mean to make cinnamon rolls. not really. I meant to boil the last potato. I meant to do something with the milk before it soured again.
But the wind slapped the porch door open—twice—and it felt like a day for dough.
Martha’s recipe showed up like it always does. smug. soft. certain.
Her cinnamon rolls—the ones with potato in the dough and a glaze that knows it’s being watched.
What the Original Looked Like
Her Highness makes them neat.
Bread flour. mashed russet. softened butter, not melted. the dough gets kissed by yeast and milk and left to rise somewhere warm like a spoiled cat.
Then comes the swirl—brown sugar, cinnamon, more butter, rolled tight like she’s never had her hands shake from too much coffee.
And the next morning?
You bake them golden, bless them with a cream cheese glaze, and serve them like Sunday isn’t a performance.
Mine didn’t feel like that.
But I followed her. mostly.
What I Did Differently (and Honestly? Glad I Did)
I used the wrong potato.
It was smaller and had a soft spot but I cut around it like it was a memory I didn’t want to look at.
And the butter—I melted it. fully. because the room was cold and I didn’t want to wait.
The glaze got more vanilla than she called for because that bottle always makes me feel like Christmas before everything fell apart.
I didn’t measure it. I just poured until the air changed.
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
I started mashing the potato with the same fork I dropped behind the stove last fall. found it clean enough.
The milk was just warm—not “110 degrees” warm—and the yeast didn’t foam like it should’ve. I used it anyway.
I stirred with the broken wooden spoon. the one with the crack down its neck like someone tried to split it and stopped.
Mae texted halfway through: “did you make those cinnamon things again?”
I hadn’t. yet. but the dough felt like yes.
I used the dented Dutch oven to mix because it holds heat better and I like tapping it with the spoon when I’m waiting for the rise.
(it sounds different now. like a bruise that never quite healed)
Rolled it all out on the counter Mae once glitter-bombed.
Spread the butter with my hands. forgot the salt.
Fixed it later with a whisper over the glaze.
What I Learned (Not That I Was Trying To)
Cold rooms make slower dough.
The rolls still rose. eventually.
The fridge door creaks when I lean on it. never noticed that before.
The glaze doesn’t need to be pretty to be loud.
What I Did With the Extras
Froze three. forgot one.
Mae took two back to school and texted a photo of one half-eaten, captioned:
“Still the best thing you make”
I don’t agree. but I saved the text anyway.
Would I Make It Again?
Yeah.
But only if the day is slow and the wind’s being a jerk again.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The kitchen smelled like vanilla and heat.
I sat on the floor while they baked.
And for a minute—
I didn’t want to be anywhere else.
If you’re after something sweeter but less structured, I made a lemon cake once that caved in and still felt like love.
FAQs
Yeah, but they lose a bit of their drama. still sweet. just softer. warm them slow—not microwave-harsh.
You do if you want that pillowy thing to happen. otherwise? they’re still rolls. just not these rolls.
Join the club. just sneak it into the glaze or sprinkle it after. no one’s measuring joy.
Totally. skip the overnight chill. just let them rise longer and trust the dough when it feels ready—not when a timer says so.
Not cloying. just… cozy. like if brown sugar and a hug had a baby.
Check out More Recipes
- Martha Stewart Butternut Squash Soup
- Martha Stewart Chicken And Dumplings
- Martha Stewart Chicken Salad
- Martha Stewart Chocolate Cake
Martha Stewart Cinnamon Rolls
Description
Warm, sticky, and a little defiant. Like me, that afternoon.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Boil the potato: Cook it until soft, mash it with a fork or whatever’s closest, and let it cool while the kitchen warms up.
- Wake the yeast: Warm the milk just enough, stir in the yeast and let it bloom—five minutes if you’re patient, three if you’re not.
- Mix the dough: Add sugar, melted butter, mashed potato, egg, flour, and salt (unless you forget it like I did—just toss it in later and pretend it was on purpose).
- Knead it out: By hand or mixer, until it’s soft and slightly sticky but not annoying. I tapped the dented Dutch oven while I waited. it helps.
- Let it rise: Place in a buttered bowl, cover it with whatever clean towel you’ve got, and forget about it for an hour or so.
- Make the filling: Brown sugar, cinnamon, salt—just swirl it together and try not to eat it with your fingers. I did.
- Roll it up: Flatten the dough into a rough rectangle, smear on soft butter, then coat with the sugar mix. Roll it up tight like you’re hiding something.
- Slice and rest: Cut into 12 pieces and place in a buttered dish, cut-side up. Cover and let them chill overnight or rise again right away if you’re feeling impatient.
- Bake the rolls: 350°F for 30–35 minutes, or until the tops are golden and everything smells like childhood.
- Make the glaze: Whisk cream cheese, powdered sugar, milk, vanilla, and salt until it flows like a memory. pour over while the rolls are still warm.
- Eat one standing up: No plate. No plan. Just you and the quiet sugar steam.