The movie was Nashville -- one of Robert Altman's best.
The back story is about a politician, Hal Phillip Walker, who has come out of nowhere to capture the imagination of the American voter with such hard-hitting questions as: "Does Christmas smell like oranges to you?"
Howard K. Smith, playing his anchorman self, answers: "As a matter of fact, Christmas has always smelled like oranges to me."
As current as that political inanity may be, I agree with both Hal Phillip Walker and Howard K. Smith -- Christmas and oranges are married in my memory.
That bit of film history ran through my mind while I was eating one of Jean Young's home-made cinnamon rolls. (In truth, I ate three of them, but that does not quite fit in with my weight loss goal. So, let's just say I ate one.)
Jean has recently started a baked goods business here in Melaque. She says she is starting slow during the summer season, and will be in full swing when the snowbirds arrive in winter.
Frankly, I think she is ready now.
Cinnamon rolls are one of my favorite baked goods. Primarily because I like them. But they are also freighted with plenty of memories.
Memories of my mother putting the roll dough on our living room stove to let the yeast do its chemistry best.
Memories of the Salem Saturday Market where I would buy cinnamon rolls from a pleasant Mennonite woman -- and share the bounty with Jiggs on our morning walks.*
Jean's cinnamon rolls are good because they are simply good. But they are also good enough to evoke memories.
And they are not puny Cinnabon rolls. They are full-bodied, buttery, sugary, raisiny rolls. Good enough for a blog post.
She is also baking breads and muffins -- both of which I have tried and liked. And she is selling coffee and sausages, which I have not tried.
Those of us lucky enough to live in or near Melaque have a great new place for baked goods. To learn more, go to Jean's web site.
From here on out, summer will taste of cinnamon to me.
* -- [Gloria -- Jiggs never gets any raisins out of my rolls. Just wanted to let you know that. No pets were injured n the making of this memory.]
The back story is about a politician, Hal Phillip Walker, who has come out of nowhere to capture the imagination of the American voter with such hard-hitting questions as: "Does Christmas smell like oranges to you?"
Howard K. Smith, playing his anchorman self, answers: "As a matter of fact, Christmas has always smelled like oranges to me."
As current as that political inanity may be, I agree with both Hal Phillip Walker and Howard K. Smith -- Christmas and oranges are married in my memory.
That bit of film history ran through my mind while I was eating one of Jean Young's home-made cinnamon rolls. (In truth, I ate three of them, but that does not quite fit in with my weight loss goal. So, let's just say I ate one.)
Jean has recently started a baked goods business here in Melaque. She says she is starting slow during the summer season, and will be in full swing when the snowbirds arrive in winter.
Frankly, I think she is ready now.
Cinnamon rolls are one of my favorite baked goods. Primarily because I like them. But they are also freighted with plenty of memories.
Memories of my mother putting the roll dough on our living room stove to let the yeast do its chemistry best.
Memories of the Salem Saturday Market where I would buy cinnamon rolls from a pleasant Mennonite woman -- and share the bounty with Jiggs on our morning walks.*
Jean's cinnamon rolls are good because they are simply good. But they are also good enough to evoke memories.
And they are not puny Cinnabon rolls. They are full-bodied, buttery, sugary, raisiny rolls. Good enough for a blog post.
She is also baking breads and muffins -- both of which I have tried and liked. And she is selling coffee and sausages, which I have not tried.
Those of us lucky enough to live in or near Melaque have a great new place for baked goods. To learn more, go to Jean's web site.
From here on out, summer will taste of cinnamon to me.
* -- [Gloria -- Jiggs never gets any raisins out of my rolls. Just wanted to let you know that. No pets were injured n the making of this memory.]
