Oatmeal Dinner Rolls

The school knows. The students know. The English department knows. The news moved through Oceanside High the way all news moves through high schools: fast, distorted, and accompanied by rumors. One student told another that I was moving to Italy. Another student told a third that I had won the lottery. A junior named Marcus — the boy who wrote about his grandmother's collard greens five years ago, now a senior, now a writer, now one of mine — found me after class and said, "Is it true?" I said, "I'm retiring." He said, "But who's going to make us read things we don't want to read?" I said, "Someone will. The books are still there." He said, "It won't be the same." He is right. It won't. But different is not worse. Different is just different.

The retirement dinner is in June. The school is planning an assembly. Former students are being contacted. I have asked for no gifts, no speeches, no fanfare. I have asked for one thing: the chance to teach one more lesson. One more book. One more hour in front of a class, doing the thing I have done for forty-three years, the thing that has defined me as much as cooking has defined me, the thing that I will carry out of the building in June like a bride carries a bouquet: close to the chest, unwilling to let go, already missing the weight of it in my hands.

I made challah for Shabbat and thought about the parallels between teaching and baking: both require patience, both require attention, both produce something that nourishes, and both are best done by someone who cares about the process as much as the product. I have cared about the process. Forty-three years of caring about the process — about the moment when a student's eyes change, when the confusion turns to understanding, when the text opens up and the reader walks in. That moment is the challah's rise. That moment is the yeast doing its work. That moment is what I will miss.

David called to congratulate me. He said, "You've earned this, Mom." Rebecca called to celebrate. She said, "Now you can write the book." Miriam called and said, "You're retiring? Mama worked until she died. Mama would not approve." I said, "Mama would approve of the cooking. The cooking will increase." Miriam said, "Then she approves." The Rosen women measure approval in output. If the output increases, the approval follows.

The challah I made that Friday started me thinking about these oatmeal dinner rolls, which I’ve returned to again and again over the years when I needed something that asked something of me — something that required patience, attention, and the willingness to wait for the rise. Marcus’s question stayed with me all weekend: who is going to make us read things we don’t want to read? I didn’t have a better answer in the kitchen than I had in the hallway, but I had warm rolls, and sometimes that’s the right response to a question that has no clean answer. The output increases. Mama approves.

Prep Time: 20 minutes + 1 hour 30 minutes rising | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 2 hours 10 minutes | Servings: 12 rolls

Ingredients

1 cup boiling water
1/2 cup old-fashioned rolled oats
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
1/4 cup warm water (110°F)
2 1/4 teaspoons active dry yeast (one 1/4-oz. packet)
1/4 cup honey
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1 teaspoon kosher salt
3 to 3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for kneading
Flaky sea salt, for topping (optional)

Instructions

Soak the oats. In a large mixing bowl, combine the boiling water, rolled oats, and 2 tablespoons of the butter. Stir until the butter melts, then set aside to cool until the mixture reaches about 110°F, approximately 15 minutes.
Proof the yeast. In a small bowl, combine the warm water and a pinch of the honey. Sprinkle in the yeast and let stand 5 to 7 minutes, until the mixture is foamy and fragrant.
Build the dough. Add the proofed yeast, remaining honey, beaten egg, and salt to the cooled oat mixture. Stir to combine. Add the flour 1/2 cup at a time, stirring after each addition, until a soft, slightly sticky dough comes together.
Knead. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface. Knead for 7 to 8 minutes, until the dough is smooth, supple, and springs back when poked. Add flour a tablespoon at a time only if the dough is unworkably sticky.
First rise. Place the dough in a lightly greased bowl, turning once to coat. Cover with a clean kitchen towel or plastic wrap and let rise in a warm, draft-free spot until doubled in size, about 1 hour.
Shape the rolls. Punch the dough down gently. Turn it out and divide into 12 equal pieces. Roll each piece into a smooth ball and arrange in a greased 9-by-13-inch baking pan, spacing them evenly.
Second rise. Cover the pan loosely and let the rolls rise until puffed and touching, about 25 to 30 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 375°F.
Finish and bake. Melt the remaining tablespoon of butter and brush it gently over the tops of the rolls. Sprinkle with flaky sea salt if desired. Bake 18 to 22 minutes, until the tops are deep golden brown and the rolls sound hollow when tapped.
Rest and serve. Let the rolls cool in the pan for 5 minutes before pulling apart and serving warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Oatmeal Dinner Rolls — The Yeast Does Its Work