Rolling in Comfort

By Zhuzhen Xie (Nina), Université Lumière Lyon 2, Lyon, France

“Would you like to come over and make cinnamon rolls?” my friend texted me. Although I hesitated for a few minutes, thinking about the full day of classes and exams ahead, I thought of the relaxation I would feel from a baking session after a long day.

“Yes, let’s do it!”

So we quickly decided on a meeting time and arranged the ingredients we needed. Despite having many classes on Tuesday, time slipped by as I looked forward to this rare finishing touch to my day.

When I walked out of my last class, the dark and windy winter night had already devoured the entire city. Unlike the hustle and bustle of just a few weeks ago, when we still enjoyed the last bit of summer twilight and lingering warmth, the chilling wind suddenly intruded upon the tranquillity, sneaking up the back of my neck through the collar I had unintentionally left open. I clenched my shoulders and took a minute to ensure I was all wrapped in warmth before marching toward the bridge.

Although it was only six in the evening, the streetlights illuminated the cobblestone roads with their soft yellow glow. I enjoyed my walk to my friend’s house, as I rarely saunter alone after the sky darkens. It felt like an early preview of the night scene—unbounded by suits and ties, with people chatting by the river or taking walks along the bank. It was almost like living another life that had just begun.

After reaching my friend’s apartment, we lit scented candles and put Bridgerton on in the background as we began to prepare the dessert. It had been quite a while since we last met, so we updated each other on our current plans, our holidays, and began to plan trips and dinner parties. She brewed some traditional Tunisian mint tea, and we sank into the sofa, giggling away the worries and anxieties that had overshadowed our deep-down desires for simple joys.

Then came the most tormenting part of baking: waiting for the fluffy rolls to cool. We impatiently stared at the glass pan, amazed by how the dough had turned perfectly golden brown, and the brown sugar was sizzling at the surface. So, we decided to brew another pot of tea to distract ourselves.

How can I describe the taste of the cinnamon roll? It tasted like the immediate gush of warm air that embraced you as you entered a wooden chalet on a windy night. It was the immediate sense of safety that swept you away from the crowds, the odors, and the sirens. It was a familiar taste of autumn, like pumpkin soup, ginger tea, and apple cinnamon porridge. Despite it being our first attempt, we were surprised to find the dough fluffy and soft—almost brioche-like—and the ideal sweetness of the melted brown sugar evenly spread out as we unfurled the roll.

It was a Tuesday night. Despite being the busiest day of my week, this complete change of ambiance tinted my black-and-white workdays with a tinge of warm brown and orange, sketching a glimpse of fall that would soon fade away.

Maybe enjoyment doesn’t need to wait until the weekends; maybe any moment deserves to be cherished.