Man oh man, those were some tasty sticky buns. Jeff choose to leave the orange cheese-cream glaze/sauce off of his saying it was sweetness over-kill. Marc, Angela, Baby Lucy and I disagreed. I love the man but when he’s wrong, he’s just wrong. As of noon all but one of the gooey, pecan-y, look at those toffee-like ropes as you pull them apart buns were gone. And while we made noise about feeling bad for our hearts, arteries and digestive systems, not a one of us slowed our pace as we sidled up to the counter for a second (or in Jeff’s case, third) serving throughout the morning.
When I was putting things together last night, I missed the ideal temperature when adding the liquids to the yeast so the dough didn’t rise nearly as high or as quickly as I’d have liked in the first rise or overnight in the refrigerator. That had me a bit worried. I haven’t baked bread in so long that I’d forgot about the picky nature of yeast. When I saw that the buns were very slightly raised but certainly not doubled, it looked like I might have killed the yeast off by having the melted butter too warm. Luckily it appears instead that the buttermilk had cooled things down too much and not all the yeast had been woken up. It’s easy to forget that yeast is a living organism with a small temperature range for activity. I’ve made a note to myself to use the baking thermometer next time.
That original ball of dough, so small and lonely in my big blue bowl, eventually rose enough to give us enough dough to roll out, fill with cinnamon sugar, and cut 12 rolls but they certainly didn’t fill out the 9×13 pan like expected. If you think I woke up a few times biting my nails to sneak a peek in the middle of the night, well, you’re wrong. I slept like the dead. It’s just flour and far, far, omg farrrr too much brown sugar and buttermilk. But I did pull them out and let them sit near the oven as it was pre-heating. And happily they did some puffing up before and during their time in the oven. Once they had rested a few minutes after baking, while I was cooking the orange sauce, Jeff inverted the pan onto a platter and all that caramel-pecan goodness was right there. Front and center. Oh my. Oh. my.
I’ll understand you if you and Gordon are just a wee bit jealous about the fact that we didn’t save any. Maybe next time.