WHEN CINNAMON ROLLS CALL

MY LOVE FOR CINNAMON ROLLS goes back to the days when my cousins – Bernard and Pettis – would call me on the phone to let me know that my Aunt Dorothy was making a batch in her kitchen about a mile away from my grandparents' home.

"Momma's making cinnamon rolls!" they would whisper over the phone.

This was always a big deal to us. So big that whenever my cousins alerted me to the fact that my aunt was making cinnamon rolls, I would find a way to make my way over to their house because I knew a good time was headed our way.

My cousins and I would gather in the kitchen, eagerly watching as my aunt – a longtime master pastry maker for the Marshall Independent School District – plied her culinary skills to produce what would ultimately become my favorite pastry of all time. Cinnamon rolls – especially after Cinnabon stores became ubiquitous at airports and shopping malls throughout the United States – would also ultimately become a longstanding nemesis that I would not defeat until much later in life.

The foundation for my Cinnabon habit was laid during those early cinnamon roll-making sessions in my Aunt Dorothy's kitchen, where my cousins and I, in our anticipation, would argue over who got to lick the spoon.

As a master pastry maker for the local school district, cinnamon rolls were far from the only thing my Aunt Dorothy used to make. The same treats she made for the kids at school she made for us at home, only better. Every day was like a holiday at her house because there was always a beautiful caramel cake — hands down everybody’s favorite — or double boiler banana pudding, a potato pie, a pecan pie or fruit cobbler waiting to fill someone’s mouth with happiness. And if we were in good favor, all the stars were aligned and it had been awhile since she had thrown a shoe at us or threatened us with a Hot Wheels track for misbehaving, she would make her special cinnamon rolls, which I must say were ten times better than any Cinnabon I've ever tasted. If only my Aunt Dorothy had thought to start a franchise to sell her her cinnamon rolls like Cinnabon, this pastry chef from a small-town school district probably could have become a millionaire. Miss Dorothy's Cinnamon Rolls would be known worldwide.

My battle with Cinnabon

I was in my 30s when I tasted a Cinnabon for the first time. I treated myself to this heavenly confection during an all-day shopping extravaganza at a mall in town. Long before I actually saw them, the distinct, familiar and intoxicating aromas of cinnamon, flour, powdered sugar and sweet butter drew me near. The first bite was paradise. The out-of-this-world sweetness of the cream cheese icing. The sugar sweetened Makara cinnamon swirled throughout the bun. The tender and moist gooey center and the stick-to-your-fingers goodness! Too good. These Cinnabons were good, damn near as good as the ones my aunt Dorothy used to make … almost.

They were close enough! I gobbled up the first one and another one immediately afterwards. I remember my skinny shopping companion saying, “I can get one, but, oh my God, I can't eat it all at one time. It’s way too rich!” I had no idea what “too rich” meant. I could not relate. I knew exactly what way too good meant. Can't eat the whole thing? In my mind the questions was, “How can you not eat the whole thing?”

I was hooked. Soon, I couldn’t walk past a Cinnabon kiosk without buying a half dozen, with extra frosting. The next thing I knew, I was planning my weekend shopping expeditions at malls where I knew that they sold Cinnabons. And as if selling them in malls wasn’t enough, the company had the nerve to nerve to start selling them in grocery stores and airports.

Sugar, cravings and memories

My affinity for Cinnabon undoubtedly had something to do with a desire to return to days gone by -- to the warmth and comfort of Aunt Dorothy's kitchen. Physically, I might have been in the mall shopping, but as soon as the cinnamon and cream cheese invaded my consciousness, it took me back in time to those lovely days when my cousins and I were eagerly awaiting my aunt's cinnamon rolls. I’ve eaten more Cinnabons than I can count, chasing the sweetness of a memory. I had the Cinnabon habit bad. I was a stone cold sugar addict and so obese that insurance companies would not cover me. At close to 1000 calories, eating just one Cinnabon a week was responsible for an extra 12 pounds a year.

When I figured out that my sugar addiction, compulsions, and cravings were linked to specific, pleasurable memories, I realized that I was hungry, not for the food, itself, but for the feeling I associated with the food. Prior to that, I had no idea this was going on. For years, instead of finding joy in my memories, I mistook my cravings as hunger and filled the longing for my family with food. My cravings and addiction were just a manifestation of my confusion about family and food.

Kicking the habit

I’m not sure exactly when I stopped binging on Cinnabons, but I remember having learned at some point that I could finally savor the memory without craving the food. I haven't had a Cinnabon since the 1990s. Thankfully, I did stop. I don’t miss them one bit.

Now when I walk by a Cinnabon, there’s no urge, no craving, no irresistible draw. I think less about Aunt Dorothy’s kitchen – the aromas of cinnamon, sugar, flour and vanilla that always hung in the air – and more about what a missed business opportunity it was. Then again, if my Aunt Dorothy had turned her cinnamon rolls into some sort of franchise, then she would be part of America's problem with food, not a solution. Besides, Cinnabons are too rich, so rich in fact that they might rightfully be called sinful – just like the ones my Aunt Dorothy used to make.