I have a trick I use when I’m sad or scared or anxious. (Actually, I hesitate to call it a “trick” because it comes to me entirely unbidden—I don’t perform it as an exercise, but I slip into it reflexively and without intention.)
Here’s what I do: I imagine myself inside a children’s book. Not just any book though: the sort that has a little town in it, beautifully rendered in images. There’s a library, full of shelves of books in jewel tones, and a friendly librarian who peeks over her half-moon glasses at you. There’s a candy shop with glass jars of brightly colored gumdrops and jumbo swirled lollipops and baskets of taffy twisted up in waxy pastel paper.
There’s a little post office where the postmaster sorts stacks of letters, all with various addresses inked on the front. At the bakery, you can pop your head in and see a pan of muffins being pulled from the oven, tables busy with people having their morning tea, and a nice-looking grandfather in a dark green cardigan reading a newspaper and eating a slice of buttered toast.
There’s a tiny knitting shop full of soft skeins of wool, and a little sandwich shop with a cheerful hand-lettered menu. Next door is the ice cream store, and if you keep walking, there’s a little green with a duck pond.
Inside this little universe, there’s bustle everywhere: the local baseball team stands on the field in crisp white uniforms with royal blue lettering. Houses glow cozily from within at night; someone is leaning over a little stove, someone else is tucked into their bed under a soft, colorful quilt.
Sometimes I recognize details from actual books I’ve read. Books (especially children’s books, which tend to paint more colorful universes) often give me a feeling of being somewhere, but it disappears as soon as I open my mouth to try and pin it down with words.
There’s the farm in the Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle books, for example, where tiny wild strawberries grow in the thick grass of the cow pasture, and it’s always a warm summer day. Or there’s the luncheonette in Homer Price, where a doughnut machine turns out miniature golden doughnuts, each ring of pale dough dropping with a satisfying splash into the hot oil. There are the woods in the Brambly Hedge series—a cozy universe where there are kitchens full of delicious-looking cakes and puddings, and adventures sailing on makeshift boats down the nearby stream in summer where there’s a flour mill next to a dairy; the rushing currents of the stream turns a paddle that grinds the wheat, and where the water eddies in the cool shadows along the banks, pats of butter are wrapped in leaves and set down in baskets to chill.
If there are politics at all, it’s a lively-looking mayor smiling and waving and handing out pins outside the town gazebo.
Maybe it’s not a specific detail, but a sense of ambiance—like the scene in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe where they’re tucked underneath the river in the beaver’s house, warm and happy and eating potatoes doused in butter. At the end of the scene, they pull a “great and gloriously sticky marmalade roll” out of the oven for dessert, and that always seemed to me to be such a soothing British thing to eat.
Everyone has their own way of reaching for comfort, and this is (one of) mine—it allows me to quickly slip into, and inhabit, a reliably warm and fixed world.
But since we can’t physically inhabit those books, we might as well attempt a little shortcut of sorts. Mine for you today is a recipe (my mom’s) for orange sweet rolls, which seems as close to a sticky marmalade roll as I’m likely to get.
She used to make pans of these on the weekends every now and again—she would do them in a 9” x 13” glass Pyrex pan, so they’d soak up all the sauce. That’s a wonderfully messy way to go about making these, and the route to take if you want something particularly saucy (YOU DO, DON’T YOU?)—but you can also make them individually in the wells of a muffin tin, as I have.
Rather than mess about with yeast, as you would have to for a cinnamon roll, this recipe makes a quick biscuit-like dough, which you roll out and spread with an orange filling, then roll up and slice. The filling gets all jammy and warm as they bake: perfection.
Sticky Orange Rolls
For the filling
6 tablespoons (85g) unsalted butter
3 tablespoons flour
1/3 cup (75g) orange juice
2 tablespoons orange zest
1/2 cup (99g) sugar
For the dough
2 cups (240 grams) flour
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons cold unsalted butter
1 cup (227g) cold milk
To make the filling: In a medium saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter. As soon as it melts, whisk in the flour until smooth. Add the orange juice and orange zest and cook until the mixture thickens slightly (about 1-2 minutes). Remove from the heat, add the sugar, and stir until the sugar dissolves. Set aside to cool while you make the dough.
To make the dough: In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, and salt. Cut in the cold butter until it's in small pea-sized lumps.
Add the milk to the flour mixture and stir with a fork until the dough just begins to come together. Turn the dough out onto a well-floured surface and knead it very gently—folding it over on itself as you go—until the dough is fairly smooth. (You should still see chunks of butter which is good!)
Roll the dough out to a rectangle, roughly 15" x 10" and about 1/4" thick. Reserve 1/2 cup of the orange filling, and spread the remaining filling in an even layer over the dough. Leave a narrow strip of dough bare around all the edges.
Preheat the oven to 400° F. Grease a muffin tin VERY WELL (the filling makes these rolls very likely to stick!). You can also bake them all nestled together in a 9" x 13" pan.
Starting with a long edge, roll the dough up lengthwise into a long log. Pinch the seam closed very firmly so the filling doesn't escape. Using a serrated knife (or non-flavored dental floss!), slice the log into 12-15 equal pieces. Place each piece in the well of your greased muffin tin, or arrange them all together in a 9" x 13" pan. If you use a regular muffin tin, you might have extra slices, so just bake them in another tin or in a mini pie pan.
Bake for about 18 minutes, or until the rolls are lightly golden brown.
Remove from the oven, run a knife around the edges to help prevent sticking, and let them cool a bit before serving. Drizzle with the extra reserved orange filling.