Sometimes, I bake. These beauties are the homemade, from scratch rendition of those pastries that come in a cardboard can. You whack ’em against the counter and they pop right open. And if you’re me, you claim the one in the middle. Because there’s no crust. This has always been a thing with me. So when you make ’em in your later years, you put 3 in the middle. Because why not? Now there’ll be 3 without crust. Perfect. There are recipes everywhere for these babies, or you can buy them in a can. They’re a Christmas staple. And while recipes are not really my thing, baking requires a precise focus that benefits from measurements and such. Cinnamon buns. From scratch. Never the same recipe twice. Always delicious. By hand. Because sometimes, the ordinary needs and infusion of extraordinary.