Mom’s Cinnamon Rolls, Redux

For the past several months, I have been craving my mother’s cinnamon rolls. This craving was made especially sharp because I cannot have the gluten or cinnamon; therefore I can no longer have my mom’s cinnamon rolls.

During the past Christmas season, I also missed my mom very  much.  She passed away in 2008. Maybe that is why I was really craving the cinnamon rolls. I wanted my mom. I wanted the warmth of her kitchen. I wanted the laughter we used to share as we made those cinnamon rolls or bread together. I wanted all those things I can never have again.

Life is funny that way sometimes. We always want what we cannot have. The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.

But, alas, I cannot have the gluten. I know this but I do cheat sometimes. Those Voodoo doughnuts we can get here in Oregon cast their magic spell, and I fall on my knees, sick from eating just one. I am sick for a whole week after just one delectably gooey doughnut.

Cinnamon. I love cinnamon but it does not love me. My migraines are not worth its spicy goodness.

And finally, I cannot have my mom back. I can dream about her. I can remember her each time I make borscht or clam chowder. And I can cry when I cannot quite get her recipes right.

Even with all these obstacles facing me, I still longed for Mom’s cinnamon rolls. So, I did the one thing I could do: I found the next best thing. I found a gluten free cinnamon roll recipe here, and instead of sprinkling cinnamon on the filling, I sprinkled my newest spice friend, cardamom. It doesn’t quite have the bite that cinnamon does, with its slight bitterness, but I am growing to like it, and it tasted absolutely wonderful. They were so tasty, I forgot to take a picture first!

And the tray of actual cinnamon ones, well, you’ll see they are almost gone already.  They could not keep their hands off, even though I insisted that particular tray was for our gluten free neighbor. I did manage to save a few for her.

While savoring each bite, they took me back to my childhood kitchen at mom’s elbow, which is really what I was after in the first place.