Alright, so I got this itch the other day, you know? I was thinking about those proper dinner rolls, the kind you get in Britain. Not those super sweet things you sometimes find, but just good, honest, fluffy rolls. Figured, why not give them a go myself? It’s been a while.
Getting Started, The Usual Faff
So, I dug out my big mixing bowl. You know the one, it’s seen more dough than a baker’s apprentice. Pulled out the flour, the yeast – had to check the date on that, always a bit of a gamble. Salt, a bit of sugar, some butter, milk. The usual suspects for a decent roll. I’ve seen recipes that call for all sorts of fancy bits, but honestly, simple is often best, isn’t it?
First things first, getting that yeast activated. I warmed up the milk, not too hot, mind you. Cook the yeast and you’re done for before you even start. Been there, done that, got the flat-bread t-shirt. Sprinkled in the yeast and a pinch of sugar and just let it sit for a bit. You’re looking for that bubbly, frothy top. That’s when you know it’s alive and kicking.
Into the Thick of It
Once the yeast was happy, I dumped in the flour, salt, and the softened butter into my bowl. Then poured in the yeasty milk. Started mixing it all up with a wooden spoon, then, well, there’s no avoiding it, hands in. It’s a sticky mess at first, always is. You think, “This is never gonna come together,” but it does. Eventually.
Then came the kneading. Oh, the kneading. I actually don’t mind it too much. Some folks use a stand mixer, and yeah, I get it, it’s easier. But there’s something about working the dough by hand. Push, fold, turn. Repeat. For a good 10 minutes, I reckon. My counter always ends up looking like a flour bomb went off. But you get that smooth, elastic dough, and it’s pretty satisfying, not gonna lie.
The Waiting Game and The Shaping Palaver
Popped the dough into a lightly oiled bowl, covered it up, and stuck it somewhere warm-ish. My kitchen isn’t exactly tropical, so sometimes I just turn the oven light on and pop it in there. Then you wait. And wait. For about an hour, maybe a bit more, depending on how your yeast is feeling that day. It’s supposed to double in size. I always peek. Can’t help myself.
Once it was looking puffy and happy, I tipped it out and knocked it back. Gentle, though. Don’t want to undo all that good work. Then, dividing it up. I aim for about 12 rolls. Do they ever end up the same size? Rarely. Mine always look like a slightly mismatched family. Some plump, some a bit on the lean side. But hey, character, right? Shaped them into little rounds, tucked the edges under, and onto a baking tray they went.
Another wait then, the second proof. Not as long this time, maybe 30-40 minutes. Just to let them puff up again a bit before they hit the heat.
Baking and The Glorious Result
Oven preheated, nice and hot. I gave them a quick brush with a bit of milk – some people use egg wash for a shinier finish, but milk does the job for me. In they went. And then, that smell. Oh, that smell of baking bread. It’s one of the best things, truly. Fills the whole house. Makes all the earlier faff feel worth it.
I kept an eye on them, turned the tray around halfway through so they browned evenly. Or, as evenly as my oven allows. After about 15-20 minutes, they were looking golden. Pulled them out and there they were. My batch of British-style dinner rolls. Not perfectly uniform, a bit rustic, you could say. But they looked good to me.
The best part, of course, is eating them. Waited just long enough so I didn’t burn my tongue. Broke one open. Soft, fluffy inside. Slapped a bit of butter on it. Oh yeah. That’s the stuff. So much better than anything you can buy in a plastic bag. It’s a bit of effort, sure, making them from scratch. But when you take that first bite of a warm, homemade roll… well, there’s nothing quite like it, is there?
So yeah, that was my little baking adventure. Worth it. Every single crumb.
