Nutella Cinnamon Rolls With Vanilla Glaze

The grandchildren visited — outdoors, in the backyard, socially distanced, masked, the whole bizarre choreography of pandemic family contact. David brought them from White Plains. Ethan is six, Sophie is four, Noah is eighteen months. They sat in lawn chairs in my backyard and I sat on the porch and we shouted at each other across twelve feet of pandemic-mandated distance, and the absurdity of it — grandchildren I cannot hold, cannot feed from my hand, cannot press against my chest and smell the tops of their heads — was the cruelest thing the virus has done to me, crueler than the isolation, crueler than the remote teaching, crueler than anything except the disease, because the disease was first and worst and the virus is only second.

I made rugelach and put the tin on the porch railing and stepped back, and Jennifer picked it up with gloved hands, and the grandchildren ate rugelach from a grandmother who could not touch them, and the rugelach was the hug I could not give, and the tin was the arms I could not wrap around them, and the chocolate and cinnamon were the words I could not whisper in their ears: I love you. I miss you. You are growing and I am missing it and the missing is a pain I did not know existed until the virus named it.

Ethan shouted, "Bubbe, I miss your soup!" across the yard, and I pressed my hand to my chest because my heart actually hurt — not metaphorically, physically, the kind of hurt that makes you check whether you are having a medical event or merely having a feeling, and the answer was: a feeling, the most powerful feeling, the feeling of a grandmother whose grandson misses her soup and cannot eat it and is shouting about it across a backyard in the most absurd year of a life that has contained plenty of absurdity.

I shouted back, "I will make you soup when this is over!" He shouted, "Promise?" I shouted, "I promise!" The promise floated across the twelve feet and landed on a six-year-old who believed it instantly, the way children believe promises: completely, without reservation, with the faith of someone who has not yet learned that promises are sometimes broken by circumstances that no one can control.

After they left, I went inside and made the soup. The big pot. Ethan's soup. I will freeze it. I will keep it in the freezer until I can hand it to him, bowl to hand, hand to mouth, the chain unbroken, the soup finally arriving. The freezer will hold it. I will hold everything else.

The rugelach I sent across that backyard was chocolate and cinnamon, because those are the flavors that have always meant I love you in my kitchen—the same combination Ethan and Sophie reached for with their little gloved hands. These Nutella cinnamon rolls are what I make when I need the act of rolling and filling and waiting for dough to rise to do the work my arms cannot do; the kitchen smells like the promise I shouted across twelve feet of lawn, and that smell is enough, for now. When you cannot give the hug, you bake the thing that holds the warmth inside it.

Prep Time: 30 min + 90 min rise | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: ~2 hrs 25 min | Servings: 12 rolls

Ingredients

For the dough:
3/4 cup whole milk, warmed to 110°F
2 1/4 tsp (1 packet) active dry yeast
1/4 cup granulated sugar, divided
3 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
1/2 tsp fine salt
1/4 cup unsalted butter, softened
2 large eggs, room temperature
For the filling:
3/4 cup Nutella (or hazelnut-chocolate spread)
2 tsp ground cinnamon
2 tbsp unsalted butter, very soft
For the vanilla glaze:
1 1/2 cups powdered sugar, sifted
3–4 tbsp whole milk
1 tsp pure vanilla extract
Pinch of salt

Instructions

Activate the yeast. Combine warm milk, yeast, and 1 tbsp of the sugar in the bowl of a stand mixer. Let sit 5–10 minutes until foamy. If the yeast does not foam, discard and start again with fresh yeast.
Make the dough. Add the remaining sugar, flour, salt, softened butter, and eggs to the yeast mixture. Using the dough hook, mix on medium speed for 6–8 minutes until the dough is smooth, elastic, and pulls away from the bowl sides. The dough will be slightly tacky.
First rise. Transfer dough to a lightly oiled bowl, cover with plastic wrap or a clean towel, and let rise in a warm spot for 60–90 minutes until doubled in size.
Roll and fill. Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface. Roll into a 12×18-inch rectangle. Spread the soft butter evenly over the surface, then dollop and carefully spread the Nutella in an even layer. Sprinkle cinnamon evenly over the Nutella.
Roll and slice. Starting from the long edge, roll the dough tightly into a log. Using a sharp knife or unflavored dental floss, cut the log into 12 equal rolls, each about 1 1/2 inches thick.
Second rise. Arrange rolls cut-side up in a greased 9×13-inch baking dish, leaving a little space between each. Cover and let rise 30 minutes, until puffed and touching.
Bake. Preheat oven to 350°F. Bake rolls for 22–25 minutes until golden on top and the centers are just set. Do not overbake—they will firm as they cool.
Make the glaze. Whisk powdered sugar, milk, vanilla, and salt together until smooth and pourable. Add milk one tablespoon at a time to reach your desired consistency.
Glaze and serve. Let rolls cool 5 minutes, then pour vanilla glaze over warm rolls so it soaks into the swirls. Serve warm. Store leftovers covered at room temperature up to 2 days, or freeze individually wrapped for up to 1 month.

Nutrition (per serving)

Nutella Cinnamon Rolls With Vanilla Glaze — The Hug I Could Not Give