Each bun a warm reminder
Re-creating sweet childhood memories
The following scene comes to mind every time I make the cinnamon-raisin buns of my childhood: seeing my paternal grandmother stuff a bunch of paper napkin-swathed rum buns into her purse, purloined from the Sunday dinner bread basket of a neighborhood restaurant, first scanning the scene to make sure that no one in charge knew what was going on. That was decades ago, long before the doggie bag. My grandmother never actually asked for the buns to-go, but simply expected someone to replace those that we ate along with our fried chicken or seafood, so she could subsequently pilfer as many of them as she could fit into her fairly large pocketbook. My mother and I always thought that she chose a specific purse based on the restaurant selected. When we dined at the place with the warm, soft rum buns, she usually brought along a mini luggage-size version, an efficient delivery-to-home system. It was effective, for this purse was nearly big enough to qualify as an overnight bag.