Cinnabon Cinnamon Sugar Pretzels with Cream Cheese Glaze

Panadería Rosa turns two. Sofia won. We celebrated. A small celebration — not the big party we might have had if Rosa were alive, but something. Conchas for every customer, free, all day. A sign in the window: "Two Years. Gracias." Doña Esperanza brought flowers. The construction workers brought a card signed by all of them, which was sweet and also slightly alarming because I didn't know they all knew each other and the idea of the bakery's construction workers organizing for any purpose — even a nice one — makes me nervous in a way I can't articulate.

Sofia made a speech. An eleven-year-old girl stood on a chair in the bakery she plans to inherit and gave a speech to a room full of customers and she said: "Two years ago, my mom opened this bakery. She named it for my abuela Rosa, who taught her everything. Abuela Rosa died last year, but her recipes didn't. They live here. In every concha, in every tortilla, in every cup of champurrado. My mom is the strongest person I know. And this bakery is proof." She got down from the chair. The room was silent. Then everyone clapped. I was not crying. I was sobbing. There is a difference. Crying is what you do at funerals. Sobbing is what you do when your eleven-year-old daughter tells a room full of strangers that you are the strongest person she knows and you realize that she might be right.

Luis gave me a card that said, "Two years. I never doubted you." Which is a lie — he doubted me constantly, gently, the way a good husband doubts, which is to say he kept his doubts to himself and his support in plain sight. I love this man. I love his grocery store roses and his quiet faith and his burned chilaquiles and the way he drives the bakery van without being asked and fixes things with Ricardo and says don't worry when the oven breaks and doesn't say I told you so when it doesn't. He is the wall the bakery leans against, and walls don't get credit, and that is wrong, and I am putting it here: Luis is the wall. Without the wall, there is no bakery.

I made a special batch of conchas for the anniversary — Rosa's original recipe, no variations, no modifications, no Sofia innovations. Just flour, sugar, butter, yeast, the vanilla that Rosa splurged on because "the vanilla is the voice of the bread, mija — everything else is the words but the vanilla is the voice." I shaped them the way Rosa shaped them — the cross-hatch pattern, four lines each direction, the shell — and I put them in the oven and watched them through the glass and they rose and browned and when they came out they were perfect. Rosa's conchas. Exactly Rosa's. And I ate one, standing at the oven, burning my fingers, and it tasted like Anapra and like home and like the woman I will spend the rest of my life trying to honor.

The recipe notebook has ninety-seven entries. Three more to one hundred. I will reach one hundred this week. That is not a milestone Rosa would have cared about — she didn't care about numbers, she cared about taste — but it is a milestone I care about because it means I have saved one hundred of her recipes from disappearing, one hundred threads pulled from the fabric of her life before the fabric unraveled completely, and one hundred is not enough but it is a number I can hold in my hands, and holding things in my hands is the only skill I have that is stronger than grief.

Rosa’s notebook is almost full, and this week I wanted to bake something that felt like celebration without forgetting that celebration and grief can live in the same kitchen at the same time — something sweet and warm and made with hands that know how to shape dough. Soft pretzels twisted into something golden, coated in cinnamon sugar, finished with a cream cheese glaze that tastes like a reward for showing up: that felt right for week ninety-eight, for the woman still counting. Here is how I made them.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 1 hr 35 min (includes rise) | Servings: 8 pretzels

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups warm water (110°F)
2 1/4 tsp active dry yeast (1 packet)
1 tbsp granulated sugar
4 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
1 tsp fine salt
2 tbsp unsalted butter, melted
Cinnamon Sugar Coating:
4 tbsp unsalted butter, melted
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
Cream Cheese Glaze:
4 oz cream cheese, softened
1 cup powdered sugar, sifted
3–4 tbsp whole milk
1/2 tsp pure vanilla extract

Instructions

Proof the yeast. Combine warm water, yeast, and sugar in the bowl of a stand mixer. Stir gently and let sit 5–8 minutes until foamy. If it doesn’t foam, your yeast is not active — start again with fresh yeast.
Make the dough. Add flour, salt, and melted butter to the yeast mixture. Using the dough hook, mix on low until a shaggy dough forms, then increase to medium and knead 6–8 minutes until the dough is smooth and pulls cleanly from the bowl. It should be soft but not sticky.
First rise. Transfer dough to a lightly oiled bowl, cover with a clean towel, and let rise in a warm spot for 1 hour or until doubled in size.
Shape the pretzels. Preheat oven to 425°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment. Divide dough into 8 equal pieces. Roll each piece into a rope about 22 inches long. Form a U shape, cross the ends twice, then fold them down to make the classic pretzel shape. Press the ends firmly to seal.
Bake. Place pretzels on prepared baking sheets. Brush lightly with water or egg wash if desired. Bake 12–15 minutes until deep golden brown. Watch them through the oven glass — they go from golden to overdone quickly.
Coat in cinnamon sugar. As soon as the pretzels come out of the oven, brush generously with melted butter. Mix cinnamon and sugar together in a shallow dish and press each pretzel into the mixture on both sides, coating thoroughly. Set on a rack.
Make the glaze. Beat softened cream cheese with powdered sugar and vanilla until smooth. Add milk one tablespoon at a time until the glaze runs in slow, thick ribbons from a spoon. Drizzle over warm pretzels just before serving.

Nutrition (per serving)

Cinnabon Cinnamon Sugar Pretzels with Cream Cheese Glaze — Sweet Bread for the Days Worth Remembering