Fennel Cranberry Rolls
It’s a season of firsts here at L’Albergo Fenicotteri*, some more fun than others.
The good: the visit of my very oldest friend, the first dinner party, a housewarming
The bad: my first Veterans’ Day (really enjoyed our national day of completely non-critical celebration of the thing that stripped me of my career, mental health, marriage, and dignity), the first dog-related emergency I had to weather alone
The ugly: the first time I had to put the duvet in the cover
But let’s not dwell on the less-great things; having Margaret over for a weekend was a highlight of my autumn.
If Margaret were a less generously minded woman, she might lay the blame for having to deal with me the last twenty five years at the feet of Max’s Mom. When I was in second grade, I transferred schools and Maxx’s Mom just…declared us friends. No, that’s it.
We were at a back-to-school pool party, and Maxx’s Mom, a rowdy Italian-American woman with a will of steel and head of Botticelli curls, pointed at Margaret across the deck and said, “you have to be friends.” Being seven, we did what we were told, and now here we are decades later, still friends. We’ve overlapped a couple times as adults— the two years right after college, my stint in DC— but it’s been an almost entirely long-distance relationship since 1996. I credit her grace, our very tolerant moms, and the ongoing decline of cellular data prices for our continued closeness.
That being said, Margaret was damn near the last person I told about the disintegration of my life. She had met the man of her dreams (truly, everyone’s dreams; they’re both impossibly smart and athletic and good-looking and nicely dressed and have a golden-haired dog and everything and, I know, right, I know), she was crushing it at work, and she had just bought a gorgeous home. I didn’t want to be a downer. She had been amazing when I lost my job at the beginning of the pandemic and it just seemed like it was maybe one more kindness than I should ask.
But I was about to be in her wedding, and my then-partner had planned to move out of our home the weekend I was off being a bridesmaid. I figured I was going to have to say something because, uh, I was probably not going to be extra fun.
One Sunday, I took a deep breath and dialed her. She was, of course, lovely. “Yes, I am deliriously happy right now, which gives me bandwidth to be caring to people who are struggling.” Did I mention she is also very self-aware and wise? The next morning, a package of pre-made smoothies appeared on my doorstep in Kansas City with a note “these are easy calories. Please eat.”
A few weeks after this, I drove to the suburbs of Nashville, where we lived as kids, and rolled up to her bridal luncheon. I had rehearsed answers for every question that could possibly arise, because I had one goal: not ruin Margaret’s amazing wedding. A woman I didn’t know approached me with a mimosa. Being in a Very Southern Wedding as a Very Southern Lady involves a lot of drinking, often on an empty stomach.
“Where do you live?”
Kansas City.
“How long have you lived there?”
About a year.
“So you moved in the pandemic?”
Yes.
“Why?”
Work stuff.
“What do you do?”
I’m a writer.
“Couldn’t you do that anywhere? Why would you move from D.C. to Kansas City in a pandemic?”
It’s cheaper.
“But moving is expensive and I’m told you’re about to move again! Twice in one year! Why would you do that?”
I have now finished the drink she had proffered and started in on another, and for reasons opaque to me even as I writer this, she was not picking up from tone, syntax, or body language that I didn’t really want to discuss this. I snapped.
“My husband made a series of decisions culminating in him leaving me. Yesterday. So I will be moving out of my home.”
The polyphony of happy women chatting over finger sandwiches ceased with startling speed, and suddenly everyone is being very, very nice to me. I would say this went over like a lead balloon, but honestly, I think lead is more buoyant. I smiled very tightly and then had my mid-morning snack of some Xanax. I am lovely after two drinks and a sedative, I must say.
You’ll be shocked to learn I had a little too much to drink at the reception, but was, by all accounts, well-behaved and occasionally even charming.***
The moment I got all my furniture set, Margaret was the first person to ask to come visit. I got a bed and mattress off Craigslist** the day before she flew down to hang out with me to not do a damned thing. We went out to dinner and went to the art museum (she is a museum professional and I would rather go look at paintings with her than anyone else on the planet), and then she went home.
I wanted to make something nice for us to have for breakfast, and I opted for these soda bread rolls. We both love scones (we each spent a lot of time in the British Isles as children), but they just felt kind of heavy. These are a truly delightful alternative and suitably autumnal. I recommend pairing with a heavily Bergamont-ed Earl Grey.
They’re best the day you make them however they freeze really well. I’m having house guests again this weekend and I made and froze some in advance— they’re going to be a “glad you’re here” signature. I also made myself a batch and got one out each morning for a week or so and had a special-feeling breakfast. Get some really good quality butter for liberal slathering and you’re set.
* this is what I call my house, the Flamingo Inn. They are a personal mascot for me for reasons I will explain at a later time. I really do love to name a house. My place in Oxford I called Babe Manor. In my Charleston single house, I was the lady of Fort Lowlife. When I finally get the creepy old Victorian of my dreams, I will christen it Saint Monday Hall. I already have a tab open on Crane & Co. with the stationery I’m going to have made.
**I know this makes it sound like I don’t like her, but I am a great thrifter. Almost everything I own that is worth owning was previously used by a stranger. I got this mint-condition mid-century Henredon bedroom suite for $800. They threw in a brand-new mattress for free.
***I did steal a rocks glass. I don’t really remember doing this but I found it in my suitcase when I got home and have a hazy recollection of refusing to leave “perfectly good bourbon” behind when the bus came to take us home. Caterers, I am so so sorry. Please reach out and I will pay you for this glass.
UPDATE 18 November 2021: One of you has sent me fennel pollen in the mail. I don’t know who it was because it came without a note, but you really made me happy and I appreciate it so, so much. I would love to send a thank you note if it was you.
Fennel-Cranberry Rolls
adapted from Simply Nigella
serves four to eight
Ingredients
3 tablespoons/42g unsalted butter
1 cup/120g all-purpose flour
2/3 cup/80g whole wheat flour (plus a few pinches for garnishing)
1 teaspoon/5g of sea salt
1 1/2 teaspoons/7g baking powder
3/4 teaspoon/5g baking soda
1 teaspoon/5g allspice
2/3 cup/160g full-fat buttermilk (do not come at me with this low-fat buttermilk, what the hell is wrong with you)
1 large egg
1 scant cup/150g dried cranberries
1 scant tablespoon/12g fennel seeds (or fennel pollen if you have it; I prefer that but I’m all out and it’s a little dear)
good quality butter for serving
To Do:
Preheat the oven to 425F/220C. Melt the butter (microwave or stovetop; do you) and lay it aside. Line a baking sheet with parchment or Silpat. If you are also very southern, pre-heat your seasoned cast iron.
Mix the dry ingredients in a large bowl with a fork. In a smaller bowl, beat the egg and buttermilk together, then stream in the cooled-but-still-melted butter. Dump that into the dry ingredients and mix. Add the fennel and cranberries, coat your hands with some flour, and mix that together until it forms a mass; this should take maybe 90 seconds.
Cut the mass into eight even pieces and shape each into a roll shape. You can weigh this if you are absolutely intent on perfect, but I don’t think this is necessary at all. This is the fun part: get a pair of kitchen shears and snip a little X into the top of each roll, then sprinkle with a little bit of whole wheat flour.
If you’re going to eat these now, put them on a baking sheet and bake for about fifteen minutes, or until brown. This will be hard, but let them cool for ten minutes before you eat them.
If you are going to freeze these bad boys, place them on a plate and pop them in the freezer for a half hour, then pluck them off and put them in a container to freeze them. This keeps them from sticking together. You’ll bake them just the same as above, but for closer to twenty minutes instead.