A couple years ago a friend made the comment about cinnamon buns I had baked. She said she liked the middle row and had wished I could bake more middle rows.
I used to have “tea at ten on Thursday” with friends. I would bake in anticipation of ladies showing up to eat whatever I whipped up. One of the things I used to bake was cinnamon buns. It is funny how somethings will get stuck in my mind. And having more middle rows are one of those things. It has been at least 8 years since the comment was made, and yet, every time I bake cinnamon buns, I can hear Monica say: “I like the middle row, I wish you could bake more middle rows”.
So, every time I bake cinnamon buns, I try and figure out how I can bake more middle rows. I do have double the number of middle rows now, since I bought a bigger baking tray, and instead of having 3 rows, I now have 4 rows, therefore 2 middle rows! However, it does not yield many more middle buns… And, my oven cannot take a bigger baking tray, and I do not want to rip out my perfectly good oven to satisfy my need to bake more middle rows.
I guess the reason I remember the comment is because I enjoyed that time in my life so much. I remember carefree days of sun, cycling, lots of mud and drinking tea on Thursday mornings and occasionally cocktails under Jo’s tree on Fridays. I don’t know if it is the comment that has meaning, or the fondness I remember the comment by. I think it is the latter. A simple phrase can bring back memories that has been long gone. When I bake cinnamon buns, like the morning, I think about the middle row. And then I remember all the fun things during that part of my life, I remember people and I wonder what happened to them and what they are up too. It prompts me to send out an email or text message to just say: I remember the middle row….