Cloverleaf Rolls

Christmas week. The last week before my fifty-first birthday, the first Christmas without Bernice. I have been preparing for this the way I prepare for everything that is both certain and difficult: I am in the kitchen. I have been in the kitchen since Monday. The pound cake is done. The sweet potato pies—three of them this year, because the table is full—are done. The dressing is assembled in its pan. The yams are ready. The collard greens went in this morning at nine and will be ready by dinner. The whole Simms Christmas production, made by Bernice's hands translated into my hands, made in a kitchen in Forestdale, Alabama in December 2020, in the first year of Mama's absence.

I set Bernice's place at the Christmas table this morning. The small plate, the fork, the glass of water. I thought about whether to change the water to sweet tea—whether Bernice, now freed from whatever dietary restrictions the nursing home had imposed in her final years—would want sweet tea. I decided: sweet tea. She would want sweet tea. She made the best sweet tea in Jefferson County for sixty years and she would want it at her place setting, the first Christmas setting that has no living body to sit in it and every part of her spirit. Sweet tea. Mama. Come to the table.

Doris called Wednesday morning and we talked for an hour about Bernice. We have not talked about Mama directly, at length, the way we talked on Wednesday—we have been circling each other in the grief, checking in, managing, but not going fully in. On Wednesday we went fully in. Doris said, "I keep reaching for the phone to call her." I said, "I know." She said, "I keep thinking she's going to tell me something and I'm going to miss it." I said, "I know." We sat in that together for a while, on the phone, two daughters with the same hole, and it was the most comforted I have felt about this grief—not the grief itself but the company in it, the shared knowing, the sister on the other end of the line who has the same hole and knows its exact shape.

The collard greens were already going, the pies were done, Bernice’s glass was filled with sweet tea—and then I stood in the kitchen and thought: the rolls. Mama always made the rolls last, because they need to come to the table warm, because warm bread on a holiday table is not incidental, it is the thing that says we are still here, we are still gathered, this table is still set. I made these cloverleaf rolls the way she made them—pull-apart, golden, soft enough to press a thumb into—and I put the basket down next to her place, and that felt exactly right.

Prep Time: 25 minutes + 1 hour 30 minutes rising | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 2 hours 10 minutes | Servings: 24 rolls

Ingredients

1 package (1/4 oz) active dry yeast
1/4 cup warm water (110° to 115°F)
1 cup warm whole milk (110° to 115°F)
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup unsalted butter, softened, plus more for brushing
1 large egg
1 teaspoon salt
3 1/2 to 4 cups all-purpose flour

Instructions

Proof the yeast. In a large bowl, dissolve the yeast in the warm water and let stand until foamy, about 5 minutes. If the mixture does not foam, discard and start again with fresh yeast.
Make the dough. Add the warm milk, sugar, softened butter, egg, and salt to the yeast mixture and stir to combine. Gradually add flour, 1 cup at a time, mixing until a soft dough forms that pulls away from the sides of the bowl.
Knead. Turn dough onto a lightly floured surface and knead for 6 to 8 minutes until smooth and elastic, adding flour a tablespoon at a time as needed to prevent sticking. The dough should feel soft and slightly tacky but not sticky.
First rise. Place the dough in a lightly greased bowl, turning once to coat. Cover with a clean kitchen towel and let rise in a warm spot until doubled in size, about 1 hour.
Shape the rolls. Grease two standard 12-cup muffin tins. Punch down the dough and divide it into 24 equal portions. Divide each portion into 3 small balls. Place three balls into each muffin cup to form the cloverleaf shape.
Second rise. Cover the pans loosely with a towel and let the rolls rise until puffy and nearly doubled, about 30 minutes.
Bake. Preheat oven to 375°F. Bake rolls for 13 to 15 minutes until the tops are deep golden brown and the rolls sound hollow when tapped. Watch closely in the last few minutes.
Brush and serve. Remove from the oven and immediately brush the tops with softened butter. Serve warm directly from the pan.

Nutrition (per serving)

Cloverleaf Rolls — The Last Thing Left to Make for Bernice’s Table