One of the many foods that are symbolic to me is cinnamon rolls. I have fond memories of eating freshly baked cinnamon rolls dripping with cream cheese frosting many mornings before school throughout my childhood.
Several mornings, after eating a big homemade breakfast, it was oftentimes finished off with the gooey cinnamon dessert. There was something about the smell of baked goods fresh out of the oven in the morning that somehow evoked a feeling of family, love, and comfort for me. I vividly remember how starting my mornings off this way was a precursor as to how my entire day would be. The little pastry roll brought me joy and I knew I was ready to take on the day. Off I went, grabbing my backpack and lunch pail with the extra box of rolls and other pastries and headed to school to share.
Seeing that I am the daughter of a restaurant and bakery owner, I like to tell people I grew up having my own personal chef and baker. But more than the cinnamon rolls, pastries, and big meals I was spoiled with, it was my father’s love of sharing the food he worked so hard throughout the night to make that I relate my childhood and cinnamon rolls (and food altogether) with. I know pastries were not the healthiest way to start off a day but it sure was good for the spirit and soul.
Not only do I connect my childhood with eating the cream cheese delight but with learning how to make them. Although my father was not known to be the most patient man he did his best when teaching me how to cook and bake. Since I was the only one of my three sisters who had a desire to learn, I can only assume his patience would have been tested even further if having more than one young student trying to follow his quick instruction. Even beyond learning how to combine the perfect amount of ingredients to create the blissful dessert is my father’s journey to the business he worked so hard for. Born of Mexican immigrants and raised in Lincoln Heights, he began working for German chefs and bakers at the age of twelve. Having dropped out of school to help his parents financially, his youthful years of employment afforded him the opportunity to become his own boss by the age of twenty-five. He never worked for anyone else again. Unfortunately, he passed away three years ago, but the memories he left me are by far, irreplaceable.
Yes, cinnamon rolls are significant to me not only because of my childhood memories of the delicious aroma that filled the house as a child or the way they were able to get me ready for a great day but of the hardships my father endured and overcame. The unconditional love and support he gave to my mother, sisters and I, are what I think about every time I enjoy this soft and fluffy treat.
