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Make-Ahead Buttermilk Dinner Rolls — The First Thing Mama Baked in Charleston

They are here. Mama and Joy moved into the Charleston house on Saturday, February 3rd, 2018. The movers arrived in Beaufort at eight AM and were done by noon, which means that forty years of a woman's life fit into a truck that took four hours to pack, a fact that is both efficient and devastating.

The drive to Charleston was quiet. Mama sat beside me and held her purse on her lap the way she holds it in church — both hands, firmly, as if the purse contained something more valuable than wallet and keys. It contained, I think, the last of her composure. She did not cry when we left the parsonage. She did not cry when we passed Tabernacle Baptist. She did not cry on the highway or in the marsh or on the approach to Charleston. She cried when she walked into the Charleston kitchen and saw her cast-iron skillet on the stove and her cookbooks on the shelf Robert built and the ceramic mixing bowls from her mother on the counter, and the crying was quiet and brief and followed by the words: "Where's the flour?"

"Where's the flour?" The first sentence Carolyn Simmons spoke in her new home was a question about baking supplies. I showed her the pantry. She opened it, assessed the organization (found it acceptable but improvable), and said, "I need my own shelf." I gave her a shelf. She filled it with the spices and staples she had brought from Beaufort — the Old Bay, the file powder, the stone-ground cornmeal from the Beaufort mill. The shelf became her territory. The kitchen now has two cooks, and the territory is divided like a treaty: mine on the left, hers on the right, the stove shared, the skillet communal.

Joy found her room and immediately put her stuffed animals on the bookshelf Robert built. She arranged them by size, then by color, then by some principle known only to Joy, and when she was done she sat on the bed and said, "This is my room," and the claiming was total and joyful and exactly what I hoped for.

Robert stood in the hallway Saturday evening, after Mama and Joy were settled, and I stood beside him, and we looked at the house — our house, now holding five people and three generations and enough history to fill a library — and he said, "It feels right." I said, "It feels full." He said, "Same thing."

When Mama walked into that Charleston kitchen and her very first words were “Where’s the flour?” I stopped worrying about whether the move had broken something in her — because a woman who reaches for flour is a woman who is already putting down roots. That evening, after Joy had claimed her room and Robert had called the house full, Mama made these buttermilk dinner rolls: soft, golden, and smelling exactly like every church supper and Sunday table I grew up at. Buttermilk was already on her shelf, the flour was already found, and the rolling and rising and brushing with butter was, I understood then, how Carolyn Simmons makes a kitchen hers.

Make-Ahead Buttermilk Dinner Rolls

Prep Time: 25 minutes + 2 hours rise | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 2 hours 45 minutes (or overnight) | Servings: 16 rolls

Ingredients

  • 1/4 cup warm water (110°F)
  • 2 1/4 tsp active dry yeast (one standard packet)
  • 3 tbsp granulated sugar, divided
  • 1 cup buttermilk, warmed to 110°F
  • 3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
  • 1 1/2 tsp kosher salt
  • 1/4 tsp baking soda
  • 3 tbsp unsalted butter, softened, plus 2 tbsp melted for brushing
  • 1 large egg, room temperature

Instructions

  1. Activate the yeast. In a small bowl, combine the warm water, 1 tsp of the sugar, and the yeast. Stir gently and let sit 5–10 minutes until foamy and fragrant. If it doesn’t foam, your yeast may be expired — start again with a fresh packet.
  2. Mix the dough. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, remaining sugar, salt, and baking soda. Add the warm buttermilk, softened butter, egg, and yeast mixture. Stir with a wooden spoon until a shaggy dough forms, then turn out onto a lightly floured surface.
  3. Knead. Knead the dough for 8–10 minutes until smooth, soft, and elastic. It should spring back when you poke it. Add flour one tablespoon at a time only if the dough is sticking heavily — buttermilk dough should stay slightly tacky.
  4. First rise. Place the dough in a lightly greased bowl, turn to coat, and cover with plastic wrap. For same-day rolls, let rise in a warm spot for 1 to 1 1/2 hours until doubled. For make-ahead, refrigerate overnight (up to 16 hours) — the slow cold rise deepens the flavor.
  5. Shape the rolls. Punch the dough down and turn it out onto a lightly floured surface. Divide into 16 equal pieces. Roll each piece into a smooth ball by cupping your hand over it and pressing gently as you rotate. Arrange in a greased 9x13-inch baking dish, sides touching.
  6. Second rise. Cover the pan loosely with plastic wrap or a clean kitchen towel. If the dough is room temperature, let rise 45 minutes to 1 hour. If coming straight from the refrigerator, allow 1 1/2 to 2 hours until the rolls are puffed and pillowy.
  7. Bake. Preheat the oven to 375°F. Bake the rolls for 18–22 minutes until the tops are deep golden brown and the center rolls are fully cooked through. If the tops brown too quickly, tent loosely with foil after the first 15 minutes.
  8. Brush and serve. As soon as the rolls come out of the oven, brush generously with the melted butter. Serve warm. Leftovers keep covered at room temperature for 2 days, or freeze individually wrapped for up to one month.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 148 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 4g | Carbs: 24g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 198mg

Naomi Blackwood
About the cook who shared this
Naomi Blackwood
Week 98 of Naomi’s 30-year story · Charleston, South Carolina
Naomi is a retired librarian from Charleston who spent thirty-one years putting books in people's hands and now spends her days putting her mother's Lowcountry recipes on paper before they're lost. She survived her husband's affair, her father's sudden death, and the long goodbye of her mother's final years. She cooks she-crab soup in a bowl that Carolyn brought from Beaufort, and in every spoonful you can taste the marsh and the memory and the grace of a woman who chose to stay and rebuild.

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