I wasn’t going to bake.
It was too warm for it. One of those spring days that pretends to be summer until the wind snaps back and reminds you where you are. But the house was empty—really empty. Mae had gone back to school early after Easter. No crumbs on the floor. No cup with the spoon still in it. Just… silence.
The recipe was taped to the side of an old flour tin. I must’ve printed it years ago. Her Highness’s yeast rolls. Shortening, sugar, water, egg. Simple. Or, supposed to be.
I hadn’t made them since the lemon cake collapsed.
Different dough. Same weight.
What the Original Looked Like
Martha’s version is almost too tidy.
Hot water, sugar, and shortening mixed like a science fair, then yeast stirred in with reverence. She uses muffin tins, which feels surgical—eight perfect portions, no room for argument. The kind of roll you bring to a brunch where people wear linen and no one forgets the salt.
She says “beat the egg.” She means: behave.
They bake high and fast. 425°F, which is aggressive for something that starts soft. But Her Highness loves a golden top. And I respect it.
What I Did Differently (And I’m Not Sorry)
I didn’t have shortening. Used butter. Not even properly softened—just whatever was left in the ramekin from toast that morning.
The water was hotter than it should’ve been. I didn’t test it. I never test it. I go by hand-feel and memory and spite.
I added a pinch more salt.
Because the last time I didn’t, they tasted like regret.
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
I used the green Pyrex bowl. The one from college that still smells like cinnamon if you get too close. Poured in the sugar and water, dropped the butter like a dare. Watched it swirl. The yeast bloomed slow. Lazy little clouds.
Mae once asked if yeast was alive. I said yes, and she screamed. We were kneading something—I forget what—but she ran to the sink like she’d touched a bug.
Anyway.
The dough was stickier than I remembered. Maybe I didn’t measure the flour right. Maybe it was humid. Or maybe I just forgot how things feel when no one’s watching. I kneaded it in silence. No music. No timer. Just me and the dent in the Dutch oven I wasn’t even using.
It rose fast.
Faster than I thought it would. Like it wanted to escape the bowl.
I pressed it into the muffin tins with my fingers, not a scoop. They weren’t even. One looked like a mushroom. One slumped. One stood too tall like it had something to prove.
They baked fast. I turned away for one second—one second—and they were already brown. Not golden. Brown. Like I meant it.
What I Learned (Besides Watch the Damn Oven)
These rolls are louder than you think. When they hit the pan, they sizzle. When they bake, they puff like they’re breathing.
I remembered that sound. I remembered it from years ago.
The year Mae hid under the table because she thought the rolls were “too puffy to be safe.”
I remembered laughing. I didn’t laugh this time. But I smiled.
Close enough.
What I Did With the Extras
I ate one standing up. Burnt my tongue. Didn’t care.
Froze three. Forgot about them.
Wrapped one in foil for Mae even though she wasn’t home.
She’ll find it in the freezer and text:
“Did you make the puffy things again?”
Would I Make It Again?
Yeah.
But probably on a colder day. And with company. Or ghosts.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The tray was warm in my hands. The rolls were uneven.
The house wasn’t so quiet after all.
FAQs
Yeah, But Only After The First Rise. I’Ve Done It. Forgot About It For Two Weeks. Still Worked—Just Give It Time To Thaw And Don’T Rush It.
Use A Baking Dish. Just Plop Rough Scoops In Like You’Re Spacing Cookies. They’Ll Touch And Rise Into Each Other. Call It “Rustic.” No One Minds.
That’S What I Used. Worked Fine. Melted A Bit Funny, Smelled Amazing, Tasted Like Forgiveness.
Sure. Add More Sugar. Or Brush The Tops With Honey Before Baking. I’Ve Done Both When I Was Feeling Tender.
Sort Of. The Tops Go Firm, But The Inside’S Still Kind. I Reheat Them Wrapped In Foil In The Oven. Or Just Eat Them Cold With Jam, Over The Sink. That’S A Mood Too.
Check out More Recipes:
Martha Stewart Yeast Rolls
Description
Soft And Fast And A Little Burnt—Like That Week. But I Ate Them Anyway.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Prepare the dough: In a large bowl (mine’s that old green Pyrex I’ve had since college), mix the hot water, sugar, and butter—shortening if you have it, but I didn’t. Let it sit until lukewarm. Not measured. Just when the bowl stops steaming and feels like bathwater.
- Activate the yeast: Sprinkle in the yeast. Wait until it dissolves and swells like it’s waking up. Then stir in the flour, beaten egg, and salt. I added a bit more salt than Martha said—just because. Mix until the dough pulls together. It’ll be sticky. That’s fine. That’s good.
- First rise: Cover the bowl with a clean tea towel. Mine had a burn mark shaped like Maine. Let the dough rise in a warm place until it doubles—about 30 minutes if your kitchen’s kind, longer if the wind’s acting up.
- Shape the rollsGrease 8 muffin cups. I used butter and didn’t bother being even. Scoop the dough in with your hands. Doesn’t matter if one’s too full. Let them be different.
- Second rise: Let the rolls rise again in the tins, another 30 minutes or so. They should puff. One of mine slouched. One stood too proud. I let them all be.
- Bake the rolls: Preheat your oven to 220°C / 425°F. Bake for about 10 minutes, or until they’re golden on top and the smell fills the hallway. I forgot the timer. Pulled them when the edges looked just right. A knife in the middle should come out clean—but if it doesn’t, just eat the gooey one yourself.
- Serve and enjoy: Serve warm with butter or whatever else you’ve got. Eat standing up. Share one if you want. Or don’t. I wrapped one in foil for Mae. She wasn’t even home.