Orange Twists — The Smell That Carries Down the Hall

The Damiano Center on Thursday: wild rice soup, fifty gallons, the same recipe I have been making for twenty-some years now. The constancy is the point. People come into the basement of that building hungry and uncertain and what they find is a fifty-gallon pot of wild rice soup that has been there every Thursday of every year, and they find Linda Johansson, who has been there too, and the constancy is the message: you can come back. You can come back. You can come back. Lena (Anna's youngest, college freshman) is in college now. She calls me sometimes. The calls are about boys, mostly. I listen. I do not give advice. I am eighteen-year-old's grandmother. My credibility on boys is suspect at best. I tell her the kinds of things a grandmother is supposed to tell her: be careful, be brave, trust your gut, do not date the one who reminds you of someone you do not like. She thinks I am wise. I am, in fact, just old. The two get confused sometimes in the right direction. Jakob (Anna's middle, recently graduated) has a job. He hates the job. He is figuring it out. He called me Tuesday for advice. I told him: that is what your twenties are for. The first job is supposed to be unsatisfying. The first job teaches you what you do not want. He said, "Grandma, that is not super helpful." I said, "It is the truth. Helpful is not always the same as comforting." He laughed. He hung up. He kept the job for now. He will figure it out. I cooked Limpa bread this week. Two loaves on a Saturday in November. The smell carries down the hall. The Damiano Center on Thursday. I have served soup at this center for twenty-some years. I know the regulars by name. I know the seasons of the crowd. I know that the first cold snap brings new faces. I know that the days after holidays bring the lonely ones. I know that the worst weeks of the year are not the ones that feel the worst — they are the ones in February when the cold has worn everyone down and the city has run out of tenderness. Paul would have liked this dinner. Paul would have liked this week. Paul would have liked this life. I tell him about it anyway. The telling is the keeping. I have been told, by a grief counselor, by friends, by my own children at certain anxious moments, that perhaps the constant tell-Paul thing is not healthy. I do not agree. I think it is exactly healthy. I think it is, in fact, the structural beam of my emotional architecture. The beam is solid. The house stands. It is enough. Paul is not here. Mamma is not here. Pappa is not here. Erik is not here. They are all here in the kitchen, in the smell, in the taste, in the wooden spoon and the bread pans and the marble slab. The dead are not where the body went. The dead are in the kitchen. The lake from the kitchen window has been doing what the lake does for as long as there has been a lake. The lake has carried fish and ships and the bodies of drowned sailors and the names of Ojibwe villages and the granite-cold of melted glaciers. The lake does not notice the lives along its shore. The lives notice the lake. That is the deal. That has always been the deal. It is enough.

The Limpa I made that Saturday — two loaves, the orange scent moving through every room — reminded me that the right smell at the right moment is its own kind of architecture. These Orange Twists carry that same principle: bright citrus wound into soft dough, the kind of thing you bake not because anyone asked for it but because the house needs it, because you need it, because November requires something warm rising on the counter. Paul always said I baked when I was working something out. He was not wrong. I am working it out.

Orange Twists

Prep Time: 25 min | Cook Time: 18 min | Total Time: 43 min | Servings: 12 twists

Ingredients

• 2 1/4 tsp active dry yeast (1 packet)
• 3/4 cup warm whole milk (110°F)
• 1/4 cup granulated sugar, divided
• 2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
• 1/2 tsp fine salt
• 1/4 cup unsalted butter, softened
• 1 large egg
• Zest of 2 large navel oranges (about 2 tbsp)
• 2 tbsp fresh orange juice
• 1/2 tsp pure vanilla extract
• 2 tbsp unsalted butter, melted (for brushing)
• 1/2 cup powdered sugar (for glaze)
• 2–3 tbsp fresh orange juice (for glaze)

Instructions

1. Activate the yeast. Combine warm milk, 1 tsp of the granulated sugar, and yeast in a small bowl. Stir gently and let stand 5–8 minutes until foamy and fragrant.
2. Make the dough. In a large bowl, whisk together flour, remaining sugar, and salt. Add softened butter and work it in with your fingertips until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Add the egg, orange zest, orange juice, vanilla, and the activated yeast mixture. Stir until a shaggy dough forms.
3. Knead and rise. Turn dough onto a lightly floured surface and knead 6–8 minutes until smooth and elastic. Place in a lightly oiled bowl, cover with a clean towel, and let rise in a warm spot until doubled, about 1 hour.
4. Shape the twists. Punch down the dough and turn it out onto a floured surface. Roll into a 12-by-8-inch rectangle. Cut into 12 equal strips along the long side. Fold each strip in half and twist 3–4 times, pinching the ends to seal. Place on a parchment-lined baking sheet, spaced 2 inches apart.
5. Second rise. Cover loosely and let rest 20 minutes while you preheat the oven to 375°F.
6. Brush and bake. Brush twists with melted butter. Bake 16–18 minutes until golden on top and the kitchen smells like everything good. Transfer to a wire rack.
7. Glaze. Whisk powdered sugar with enough orange juice to make a pourable glaze. Drizzle over twists while still slightly warm. Let set 5 minutes before serving.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 195 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 31g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 105mg