Overnight Eggnog Cinnamon Rolls

December. Twenty-four weeks. Hana is the size of an ear of corn, according to the app, and she is kicking with the enthusiasm of someone who has strong opinions about my posture, my lunch choices, and the fact that I sit in a desk chair for eight hours a day. She kicks hardest during Amazon meetings, which I choose to interpret as editorial commentary on corporate culture.

The nursery conversation has begun. James and I do not have a nursery — we have a one-bedroom condo in Capitol Hill, and the "nursery" is going to be a corner of our bedroom with a crib and a changing table and a small bookshelf. David called on Monday to inform me that the crib is "in progress." He has been building it in his garage. Karen reported that he is in there every morning at 7 AM, measuring and cutting and sanding. She said, "He is building that crib like it is a Boeing aircraft. There are blueprints, Stephanie. He drew blueprints." David is an engineer. The crib will be structurally perfect. It will also, knowing David, tilt slightly to the left, like the bookshelf. Hana will learn to compensate.

Banchan Labs: December box shipped — theme is "Winter Warmth," featuring kimchi jjigae, doenjang jjigae (yes, again, because it is the most important Korean soup and it belongs in every season), hotteok (sweet filled pancakes), and a hot toddy recipe with Korean citron tea (yujacha). Subscriber count is at 2,400. James is projecting 3,000 by March. The company is growing. The company is also going to need me to take three months of maternity leave in the spring, which means James and Grace will run the kitchen while I am home with Hana. James says he can handle it. Grace says she can handle James. I believe both of them.

I am beginning to feel the weight of carrying three identities — Amazon engineer, Banchan Labs founder, pregnant woman. The weight is literal (I have gained eighteen pounds) and figurative (I am in meetings from 9 to 5, in the SoDo kitchen from 5:30 to 7, and asleep by 8:30). Something will have to give. I know what will give. It will be Amazon. But not yet. Not until after Hana is born, not until after maternity leave, not until I am sure that Banchan Labs can sustain us. The golden handcuffs are real. The stock is vesting. The health insurance is excellent. The tradeoff is my time, my energy, my presence in my own life. It is a terrible tradeoff. It is the tradeoff millions of working parents make. I am not special in this suffering. I am just newly aware of it.

Jisoo sent a package this week: a quilt for Hana. She made it herself — hand-sewn, traditional Korean patchwork (jogakbo), in pale blues and whites and gold. It must have taken her weeks. She enclosed a note: "For Hana. To keep her warm. Made by her halmoni's hands, which are also her mother's hands, which are also her hands." I unfolded the quilt on the bed. It was beautiful — geometric patterns, precise stitching, the kind of handwork that comes from a lifetime of practice and a heart full of intention. I lay the quilt in the corner of the bedroom where the crib will go. It is the first thing in Hana's nursery. A Korean grandmother's quilt, sent from Busan to Seattle, for a baby who is not yet born but is already deeply, completely loved.

The recipe this week is hotteok — the sweet Korean pancakes from the December box. Dough: flour, water, yeast, sugar, salt, milk. Let it rise for one hour. Filling: brown sugar, cinnamon, crushed peanuts, a few sesame seeds. Pinch off dough, flatten, fill with the sugar mixture, seal, and fry in oil until golden and crispy. The filling melts into a hot, sweet syrup inside the pancake. Eat immediately. Burn your mouth. It is worth it. Hotteok is winter in Korea. Hotteok is the food you eat on cold streets, standing at a cart, your breath visible, your hands wrapped around a paper napkin. I ate mine standing at the counter in Seattle, but I closed my eyes and I was in Busan, and Jisoo was beside me, and the hotteok was hot, and the winter was cold, and everything was exactly right.

The hotteok went into the December box, and I ate mine standing at the counter with my eyes closed — but after a week of eighteen-hour days and the weight of three identities pressing down on me all at once, I wanted something I could set in motion the night before and simply wake up to. Something that did the work while I slept. These overnight eggnog cinnamon rolls are exactly that: you make the dough, you tuck it in, and in the morning the whole apartment smells like warmth before you’ve even opened your eyes. With Jisoo’s quilt already folded in the corner where the crib will go, it felt right to fill the kitchen with something just as soft, just as patient, just as made-with-intention.

Prep Time: 30 min (plus overnight rise) | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 8 hr 55 min | Servings: 12

Ingredients

For the dough:
3/4 cup eggnog, warmed to 110°F
2 1/4 tsp active dry yeast (1 standard packet)
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup unsalted butter, melted and slightly cooled
2 large eggs
1/2 tsp freshly grated nutmeg
1/2 tsp salt
3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
For the filling:
1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground nutmeg
For the eggnog glaze:
1 1/2 cups powdered sugar, sifted
3–4 tbsp eggnog
1/4 tsp vanilla extract
Pinch of nutmeg

Instructions

Activate the yeast. Combine warm eggnog, yeast, and 1 tsp of the granulated sugar in the bowl of a stand mixer. Let sit 5–10 minutes until foamy.
Make the dough. Add remaining sugar, melted butter, eggs, nutmeg, and salt to the yeast mixture. Using the dough hook on medium-low speed, add flour one cup at a time, mixing until a soft, slightly tacky dough forms, about 5 minutes. The dough should pull away from the sides of the bowl cleanly.
First rise. Transfer dough to a lightly oiled bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and let rise at room temperature for 1 hour, until doubled in size.
Fill and roll. On a lightly floured surface, roll dough into a 14×10-inch rectangle. Spread softened butter evenly to the edges. Mix brown sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg together and sprinkle over the butter. Starting from the long edge, roll the dough tightly into a log and pinch the seam to seal.
Cut and refrigerate overnight. Cut the log into 12 equal rolls using a sharp knife or unflavored dental floss. Arrange in a greased 9×13-inch baking dish, cover tightly with plastic wrap, and refrigerate overnight (8–12 hours).
Morning proof. Remove rolls from the refrigerator and let sit at room temperature for 45–60 minutes while the oven preheats to 350°F. The rolls should puff noticeably.
Bake. Bake uncovered for 23–27 minutes, until the tops are golden and the center rolls are cooked through. Do not overbake — the centers should remain soft.
Make the glaze. Whisk together powdered sugar, eggnog, vanilla, and a pinch of nutmeg until smooth and pourable. Add eggnog one tablespoon at a time to reach desired consistency.
Glaze and serve. Drizzle glaze generously over warm rolls. Serve immediately from the pan.

Nutrition (per serving)

Overnight Eggnog Cinnamon Rolls — The Warmth You Make the Night Before